V. THE END OF THE "VERT GALANT"
The Assassination of Henry IV
In the year 1609 died the last Duke of Cleves, and King Henry IV. ofFrance and Navarre fell in love with Charlotte de Montmorency.
In their conjunction these two events were to influence the destinies ofEurope. In themselves they were trivial enough, since it was as mucha commonplace that an old gentleman should die as that Henry of Bearnshould fall in love. Love had been the main relaxation of his otherwisestrenuous life, and neither the advancing years--he was fifty-sixat this date--nor the recriminations of Maria de' Medici, hislong-suffering Florentine wife, sufficed to curb his zest.
Possibly there may have been a husband more unfaithful than King Henry;probably there was not. His gallantries were outrageous, his taste inwomen catholic, and his illegitimate progeny outnumbered that of hisgrandson, the English sultan Charles II. He differs, however, fromthe latter in that he was not quite as Oriental in the manner of hisself-indulgence. Charles, by comparison, was a mere dullard who turnedWhitehall into a seraglio. Henry preferred the romantic manner, the highadventure, and knew how to be gallant in two senses.
This gallantry of his is not, perhaps, seen to best advantage in theaffair of Charlotte de Montmorency To begin with he was, as I have said,in his fifty-sixth year, an age at which it is difficult, without beingridiculous, to unbridle a passion for a girl of twenty. Unfortunatelyfor him, Charlotte does not appear to have found him so. On thecontrary, her lovely, empty head was so turned by the flattery of hisaddresses, that she came to reciprocate the passion she inspired.
Her family had proposed to marry her to the gay and witty Marshal deBassompierre; and although his heart was not at all engaged, the marshalfound the match extremely suitable, and was willing enough, until theKing declared himself. Henry used the most impudent frankness.
"Bassompierre, I will speak to you as a friend," said he. "I am in love,and desperately in love, with Mademoiselle de Montmorency. If you shouldmarry her I should hate you. If she should love me you would hate me. Abreach of our friendship would desolate me, for I love you with sincereaffection."
That was enough for Bassompierre. He had no mind to go further with amarriage of convenience which in the sequel would most probably give himto choose between assuming the ridiculous role of a complacent husbandand being involved in a feud with his prince. He said as much, andthanked the King for his frankness, whereupon Henry, liking him morethan ever for his good sense, further opened his mind to him.
"I am thinking of marrying her to my nephew, Conde. Thus I shall haveher in my family to be the comfort of my old age, which is coming on.Conde, who thinks of nothing but hunting, shall have a hundred thousandlivres a year with which to amuse himself."
Bassompierre understood perfectly the kind of bargain that was inHenry's mind. As for the Prince de Conde, he appears to have been lessacute, no doubt because his vision was dazzled by the prospect of ahundred thousand livres a year. So desperately poor was he that for halfthat sum he would have taken Lucifer's own daughter to wife, withoutstopping to consider the disadvantages it might entail.
The marriage was quietly celebrated at Chantilly in February of 1609.Trouble followed fast. Not only did Conde perceive at last preciselywhat was expected of him, and indignantly rebel against it, but theQueen, too, was carefully instructed in the matter by Concino Conciniand his wife Leonora Galigai, the ambitious adventurers who had comefrom Florence in her train, and who saw in the King's weakness their ownopportunity.
The scandal that ensued was appalling. Never before had the relationsbetween Henry and his queen been strained so nearly to breaking-point.And then, whilst the trouble of Henry's own making was growing abouthim until it threatened to overwhelm him, he received a letter fromVaucelas, his ambassador at Madrid, containing revelations that changedhis annoyance into stark apprehension.
When the last Duke of Cleves died a few months before, "leaving all theworld his heirs"--to use Henry's own phrase--the Emperor had stepped in,and over-riding the rights of certain German princes had bestowedthe fief upon his own nephew, the Archduke Leopold. Now this was anarrangement that did not suit Henry's policy at all, and being then--asthe result of a wise husbanding of resources--the most powerful princein Europe, Henry was not likely to submit tamely to arrangements thatdid not suit him. His instructions to Vaucelas were to keep open thedifference between France and the House of Austria arising out ofthis matter of Cleves. All Europe knew that Henry desired to marry theDauphin to the heiress of Lorraine, so that this State might one day beunited with France; and it was partly to support this claim that he wasnow disposed to attach the German princes to his interests.
Yet what Vaucelas told him in that letter was that certain agents at thecourt of Spain, chief among whom was the Florentine ambassador, actingupon instructions from certain members of the household of the Queen ofFrance, and from others whom Vaucelas said he dared not mention, wereintriguing to blast Henry's designs against the house of Austria, and tobring him willy-nilly into a union with Spain. These agents had gone sofar in their utter disregard of Henry's own intentions as to propose tothe Council of Madrid that the alliance should be cemented by a marriagebetween the Dauphin and the Infanta.
That letter sent Henry early one morning hot-foot to the Arsenal, whereSully, his Minister of State, had his residence. Maximilien de Bethune,Duke of Sully, was not merely the King's servant, he was his closestfriend, the very keeper of his soul; and the King leaned upon him andsought his guidance not only in State affairs, but in the most intimateand domestic matters. Often already had it fallen to Sully to patch upthe differences created between husband and wife by Henry's persistentinfidelities.
The King, arriving like the whirlwind, turned everybody out of thecloset in which the duke--but newly risen--received him in bed-gown andnight-cap. Alone with his minister, Henry came abruptly to the matter.
"You have heard what is being said of me?" he burst out. He stood withhis back to the window, a sturdy, erect, soldierly figure, a littleabove the middle height, dressed like a captain of fortune in jerkin andlong boots of grey leather, and a grey hat with a wine-coloured ostrichplume. His countenance matched his raiment. Keeneyed, broad of brow,with a high-bridged, pendulous nose, red lips, a tuft of beard anda pair of grizzled, bristling moustachios, he looked half-hero,half-satyr; half-Captain, half-Polichinelle.
Sully, tall and broad, the incarnation of respectability and dignity,despite bed-gown and slippers and the nightcap covering his high, baldcrown, made no presence of misunderstanding him.
"Of you and the Princesse de Conde, you mean, sire?" quoth he, andgravely he shook his head. "It is a matter that has filled me withapprehension, for I foresee from it far greater trouble than from anyformer attachment of yours."
"So they have convinced you, too, Grand-Master?" Henry's tone was almostsorrowful. "Yet I swear that all is greatly exaggerated. It is the workof that dog Concini. Ventre St. Gris! If he has no respect for me, atleast he might consider how he slanders a child of such grace and witand beauty, a lady of her high birth and noble lineage."
There was a dangerous quiver of emotion in his voice that was not missedby the keen ears of Sully. Henry moved from the window, and flung into achair.
"Concini works to enrage the Queen against me, and to drive her totake violent resolutions which might give colour to their perniciousdesigns."
"Sire!" It was a cry of protest from Sully.
Henry laughed grimly at his minister's incredulity, and plucked forththe letter from Vaucelas.
"Read that."
Sully read, and, aghast at what the letter told him, ejaculated: "Theymust be mad!"
"Oh, no," said the King. "They are not mad. They are most wickedly sane,which is why their designs fill me with apprehension. What do you infer,Grand-Master, from such deliberate plots against resolutions from whichthey know that nothing can turn me while I have life?"
"What can I infer?" quoth Sully, aghast.
> "In acting thus--in daring to act thus," the King expounded, "theyproceed as if they knew that I can have but a short time to live."
"Sire!"
"What else? They plan events which cannot take place until I am dead."
Sully stared at his master for a long moment, in stupefied silence, hisloyal Huguenot soul refusing to discount by flattery the truth that heperceived.
"Sire," he said at last, bowing his fine head, "you must take yourmeasures."
"Ay, but against whom? Who are these that Vaucelas says he dare notname? Can you suggest another than..." He paused, shrinking in horrorfrom completing the utterance of his thought. Then, with an abruptgesture, he went on, "... than the Queen herself?"
Sully quietly placed the letter on the table, and sat down. He took hischin in his hand and looked squarely across at Henry.
"Sire, you have brought this upon yourself. You have exasperatedher Majesty; you have driven her in despair to seek and act upon thecouncils of this scoundrel Concini. There never was an attachment ofyours that did not beget trouble with the Queen, but never such troubleas I have been foreseeing from your attachment to the Princess of Conde.Sire, will you not consider where you stand?"
"They are lies, I tell you," Henry stormed. But Sully the uncompromisinggravely shook his head. "At least," Henry amended, "they are grossexaggerations. Oh, I confess to you, my friend, that I am sick with loveof her. Day and night I see nothing but her gracious image. I sigh andfret and fume like any callow lad of twenty. I suffer the tortures ofthe damned. And yet... and yet, I swear to you, Sully, that I will curbthis passion though it kill me. I will stifle these fires, though theyconsume my soul to ashes. No harm shall come to her from me. No harmhas come yet. I swear it. These stories that are put about are theinventions of Concini to set my wife against me. Do you know how farhe and his wife have dared to go? They have persuaded the Queen to eatnothing that is not prepared in the kitchen they have set up for herin their own apartments. What can you conclude from that but that theysuggest that I desire to poison her?"
"Why suffer it, sire?" quoth Sully gravely. "Send the pair packing backto Florence, and so be rid of them."
Henry rose in agitation. "I have a mind to. Ventre St. Gris! I have amind to. Yes, it is the only thing. You can manage it, Sully. Disabuseher mind of her Suspicions regarding the Princess of Conde; make mypeace with her; convince her of my sincerity, of my firm intentionto have done with gallantry, so that she on her side will make me thesacrifice of banishing the Concinis. You will do this, my friend?"
It was no less than Sully had been expecting from past experience,and the task was one in which he was by now well-practiced; but thesituation had never before been quite so difficult. He rose.
"Why, surely, sire," said he. "But her Majesty on her side may requiresomething more to reconcile her to the sacrifice. She may reopen thequestion of her coronation so long and--in her view--so unreasonablypostponed."
Henry's face grew overcast, his brows knit. "I have always had aninstinct against it, as you know, Grand Master," said he, "and thisinstinct is strengthened by what that letter has taught me. If she willdare so much, having so little real power, what might she not do if..."He broke off, and fell to musing. "If she demands it we must yield,I suppose," he said at length. "But give her to understand that if Idiscover any more of her designs with Spain I shall be provoked to thelast degree against her. And as an antidote to these machinations atMadrid you may publish my intention to uphold the claims of the GermanPrinces in the matter of Cleves, and let all the world know that we arearming to that end."
He may have thought--as was long afterwards alleged--that the threatitself should be sufficient, for there was at that time no power inEurope that could have stood against his armies in the field.
On that they parted, with a final injunction from Sully that Henryshould see the Princesse de Conde no more.
"I swear to you, Grand Master, that I will use restraint and respectthe sacred tie I formed between my nephew and Charlotte solely so that Imight impose silence upon my own passion."
And the good Sully writes in comment upon this: "I should have reliedabsolutely upon these assurances had I not known how easy it is for aheart tender and passionate as was his to deceive itself"--which isthe most amiable conceivable way of saying that he attached not theslightest faith to the King's promise.
Nevertheless he went about the task of making the peace between theroyal couple with all the skill and tact that experience had taught him;and he might have driven a good bargain on his master's behalf but forhis master's own weakness in supporting him. Maria de' Medici wouldnot hear of the banishment of the Concinis, to whom she was so deeplyattached. She insisted with perfect justice that she was a bitterlyinjured woman, and refused to entertain any idea of reconciliation savewith the condition that arrangements for her coronation as Queen ofFrance--which was no more than her due--should be made at once, and thatthe King should give an undertaking not to make himself ridiculous anylonger by his pursuit of the Princess of Conde. Of the matters containedin the letter of Vaucelas she denied all knowledge, nor would suffer anyfurther inquisition.
From Henry's point of view this was anything but satisfactory. But heyielded. Conscience made a coward of him. He had wronged her so muchin one way that he must make some compensating concessions to her inanother. This weakness was part of his mental attitude towards her,which swung constantly between confidence and diffidence, esteem andindifference, affection and coldness; at times he inclined to put herfrom him entirely; at others he opined that no one on his Council wasmore capable of the administration of affairs. Even in the indignationaroused by the proof he held of her disloyalty, he was too just notto admit the provocation he had given her. So he submitted to areconciliation on her own terms, and pledged himself to renounceCharlotte. We have no right to assume from the sequel that he was notsincere in the intention.
By the following May events proved the accuracy of Sully's judgment. Thecourt was at Fontainebleau when the last bulwark of Henry's prudence wasbattered down by the vanity of that lovely fool, Charlotte, who must beencouraging her royal lover to resume his flattering homage. But bothappear to have reckoned without the lady's husband.
Henry presented Charlotte with jewels to the value of eighteen thousandlivres, purchased from Messier, the jeweller of the Pont au Change; andyou conceive what the charitable ladies of the Court had to say aboutit. At the first hint of scandal Monsieur de Conde put himself intoa fine heat, and said things which pained and annoyed the Kingexceedingly. Henry had amassed a considerable and varied experienceof jealous husbands in his time; but he had never met one quite sointolerable as this nephew of his. He complained of it in a letter toSully.
"My friend,--Monsieur the Prince is here, but he acts like a manpossessed. You will be angry and ashamed at the things he says of me. Ishall end by losing all patience with him. In the meanwhile I am obligedto talk to him with severity."
More severe than any talk was Henry's instruction to Sully to withholdpayment of the last quarter of the prince's allowance, and to giverefusals to his creditors and purveyors. Thus he intended also, nodoubt, to make it clear to Conde that he did not receive a pension of ahundred thousand livres a year for nothing.
"If this does not keep him in bounds," Henry concluded, "we must thinkof some other method, for he says the most injurious things of me."
So little did it keep the prince in bounds--as Henry understood thephrase--that he immediately packed his belongings, and carried his wifeoff to his country house. It was quite in vain that Henry wrote to himrepresenting that this conduct was dishonouring to them both, and thatthe only place for a prince of the blood was the court of his sovereign.
The end of it all was that the reckless and romantic Henry took tonight-prowling about the grounds of Conde's chateau. In the disguise ofa peasant you see his Majesty of France and Navarre, whose will waslaw in Europe, shivering behind damp hedges, ankle-deep in wet grass,spending long hour
s in love-lore, ecstatic contemplation of her lightedwindow, and all--so far as we can gather--for no other result than theaggravation of certain rheumatic troubles which should have reminded himthat he was no longer of an age to pursue these amorous pernoctations.
But where his stiffening joints failed, the Queen succeeded. Henry hadbeen spied upon, of course, as he always was when he strayed from thepath of matrimonial rectitude. The Concinis saw to that. And when theyjudged the season ripe, they put her Majesty in possession of the facts.So inflamed was she by this fresh breach of trust that war was declaredanew between the royal couple, and the best that Sully's wit and labourscould now accomplish was a sort of armed truce.
And then at last in the following November the Prince de Conde tookthe desperate resolve of quitting France with his wife, withouttroubling--as was his duty--to obtain the King's consent. On the lastnight of that month, as Henry was at cards in the Louvre, the Chevalierdu Guet brought him the news of the prince's flight.
"I never in my life," says Bassompierre, who was present, "saw a man sodistracted or in so violent a passion."
He flung down his cards, and rose, sending his chair crashing overbehind him. "I am undone!" was his cry. "Undone! This madman has carriedoff his wife--perhaps to kill her." White and shaking, he turned toBassompierre. "Take care of my money," he bade him, "and go on with thegame."
He lurched out of the room, and dispatched a messenger to the Arsenal tofetch M. de Sully. Sully obeyed the summons and came at once, but in anextremely bad temper, for it was late at night, and he was overburdenedwith work.
He found the King in the Queen's chamber, walking backward and forward,his head sunk upon his breast, his hands clenched behind him. The Queen,a squarely-built, square-faced woman, sat apart, attended by a few ofher ladies and one or two gentlemen of her train. Her countenance wasset and inscrutable, and her brooding eyes were fixed upon the King.
"Ha, Grand Master!" was Henry's greeting, his voice harsh and strained."What do you say to this? What is to be done now?"
"Nothing at all, sire," says Sully, as calm as his master was excited.
"Nothing! What sort of advice is that?"
"The best advice that you can follow, sire. This affair should be talkedof as little as possible, nor should it appear to be of any consequenceto you, or capable of giving you the least uneasiness."
The Queen cleared her throat huskily. "Good advice, Monsieur le Duc,"she approved him. "He will be wise to follow it." Her voice strained,almost threatening. "But, in this matter, I doubt wisdom and he havelong since become strangers."
That put him in a passion, and in a passion he left her to do themaddest thing he had ever done. In the garb of a courier, and with apatch over one eye to complete his disguise, he set out in pursuit ofthe fugitives. He had learnt that they had taken the road to Landrecy,which was enough for him. Stage by stage he followed them in that flightto Flanders, picking up the trail as he went, and never pausing until hehad reached the frontier without overtaking them.
It was all most romantic, and the lady, when she learnt of it, shedtears of mingled joy and rage, and wrote him impassioned letters inwhich she addressed him as her knight, and implored him, as he lovedher, to come and deliver her from the detestable tyrant who held her inthrall. Those perfervid appeals completed his undoing, drove him mad,and blinded him to everything--even to the fact that his wife, too, wasshedding tears, and that these were of rage undiluted by any more tenderemotion.
He began by sending Praslin to require the Archduke to order the Princeof Conde to leave his dominions. And when the Archduke declined withdignity to be guilty of any such breach of the law of nations, Henrydispatched Coeuvres secretly to Brussels to carry off thence theprincess. But Maria de' Medici was on the alert, and frustrated thedesign by sending a warning of what was intended to the Marquis Spinola,as a result of which the Prince de Conde and his wife were housed forgreater security in the Archduke's own palace.
Checkmated at all points, yet goaded further by the letters which hecontinued to receive from that most foolish of princesses, Henry tookthe wild decision that to obtain her he would invade the Low Countriesas the first step in the execution of that design of a war with Spainwhich hitherto had been little more than a presence. The matter of theDuchy of Cleves was a pretext ready to his hand. To obtain the woman hedesired he would set Europe in a blaze.
He took that monstrous resolve at the very beginning of the new year,and in the months that followed France rang with preparations. It rang,too, with other things which should have given him pause. It rang withthe voice of preachers giving expression to the popular view; thatCleves was not worth fighting for, that the war was unrighteous--a warundertaken by Catholic France to defend Protestant interests against thevery champions of Catholicism in Europe. And soon it began to ring too,with prophecies of the King's approaching end.
These prognostics rained upon him from every quarter. Thomassin, and theastrologer La Brosse, warned him of a message from the stars that Maywould be fraught with danger for him. From Rome--from the very popehimself came notice of a conspiracy against him in which he was toldthat the very highest in the land were engaged. From Embrun, Bayonne,and Douai came messages of like purport, and early in May a note wasfound one morning on the altar of the church of Montargis announcing theKing's approaching death.
But that is to anticipate. Meanwhile, Henry had pursued his preparationsundeterred by either warnings or prognostications. There had been somany conspiracies against his life already that he was become carelessand indifferent in such matters. Yet surely there never had been onethat was so abundantly heralded from every quarter, or ever one thatwas hatched under conditions so propitious as those which he had himselfcreated now. In his soul he was not at ease, and the source of hisuneasiness was the coronation of the Queen, for which the preparationswere now going forward.
He must have known that if danger of assassination threatened him fromany quarter it was most to be feared from those whose influence with theQueen was almost such as to give them a control over her--the Concinisand their unavowed but obvious ally the Duke of Epernon. If he weredead, and the Queen so left that she could be made absolute regentduring the Dauphin's minority, it was those adventurers who would becomethrough her the true rulers of France, and so enrich themselves andgratify to the full their covetous ambitions. He saw clearly that hissafety lay in opposing this coronation--already fixed for the 13thMay--which Maria de' Medici was so insistent should take place beforehis departure for the wars. The matter so preyed upon his mind that lasthe unburdened himself to Sully one day at the Arsenal.
"Oh, my friend," he cried, "this coronation does not please me. My hearttells me that some fatality will follow."
He sat down, grasping the case of his reading-glass, whilst Sully couldonly stare at him amazed by this out-burst. Thus he remained awhile indeep thought. Then he started up again.
"Pardieu!" he cried. "I shall be murdered in this city. It is their onlyresource. I see it plainly. This cursed coronation will be the cause ofmy death."
"What a thought, sir!"
"You think that I have been reading the almanach or paying heed to theprophets, eh? But listen to me now, Grand Master." And wrinkles deepenedabout the bold, piercing eyes. "It is four months and more since weannounced our intention of going to war, and France has resounded withour preparations. We have made no secret of it. Yet in Spain not afinger has been lifted in preparation to resist us, not a sword has beensharpened. Upon what does Spain build? Whence her confidence that indespite of my firm resolve and my abundant preparations, despite thefact announced that I am to march on the last of this month, despite thefact that my troops are already in Champagne with a train of artilleryso complete and well-furnished that France has never seen the like ofit, and perhaps never will again--whence the confidence that despite allthis there is no need to prepare defences? Upon what do they build, Isay, when they assume, as assume they must, that there will be no war?Resolve me that,
Grand Master."
But Sully, overwhelmed, could only gasp and ejaculate.
"You had not thought of it, eh? Yet it is clear enough Spain builds onmy death. And who are the friends of Spain here in France? Who was itintrigued with Spain in such a way and to such ends as in my lifetimecould never have been carried to an issue? Ha! You see."
"I cannot, sire. It is too horrible. It is impossible!" cried thatloyal, honest gentleman. "And yet if you are convinced of it, you shouldbreak off this coronation, your journey, and your war. If you wish itso, it is not difficult to satisfy you."
"Ay, that is it." He came to his feet, and gripped the duke's shoulderin his strong, nervous hand. "Break off this coronation, and neverlet me hear of it again. That will suffice. Thus I can rid my mind ofapprehensions, and leave Paris with nothing to fear."
"Very well. I will send at once to Notre Dame and to St. Denis, to stopthe preparations and dismiss the workmen."
"Ah, wait." The eyes that for a moment had sparkled with new hope, grewdull again; the lines of care descended between the brows. "Oh, what todecide! What to decide! It is what I wish, my friend. But how will mywife take it?"
"Let her take it as she will. I cannot believe that she will continueobstinate when she knows what apprehensions you have of disaster."
"Perhaps not, perhaps not," he answered. But his tone was not sanguine."Try to persuade her, Sully. Without her consent I cannot do this thing.But you will know how to persuade her. Go to her."
Sully suspended the preparations for the coronation, and sought theQueen. For three days, he tells us, he used prayers, entreaties, andarguments with which to endeavour to move her. But all was labour lost.Maria de' Medici was not to be moved. To all Sully's arguments sheopposed an argument that was unanswerable.
Unless she were crowned Queen of France, as was her absolute right, shewould be a person of no account and subject to the Council of Regencyduring the King's absence, a position unworthy and intolerable to her,the mother of the Dauphin.
And so it was Henry's part to yield. His hands were tied by the wrongsthat he had done, and the culminating wrong that he was doing her bythis very war, as he had himself openly acknowledged. He had chanced oneday to ask the Papal Nuncio what Rome thought of this war.
"Those who have the best information," the Nuncio answered boldly,"are of opinion that the principal object of the war is the Princess ofConde, whom your Majesty wishes to bring back to France."
Angered by this priestly insolence, Henry's answer had been animpudently defiant acknowledgment of the truth of that allegation.
"Yes, by God!" he cried. "Yes--most certainly I want to have herback, and I will have her back; no one shall hinder me, not even God'sviceregent on earth."
Having uttered those words, which he knew to have been carried to theQueen, and to have wounded her perhaps more deeply than anything thathad yet happened in this affair, his conscience left him, despite hisfears, powerless now to thwart her even to the extent of removing thosepernicious familiars of hers of whose plottings he had all but positiveevidence.
And so the coronation was at last performed with proper pomp andmagnificence at St. Denis on Thursday, the 13th May. It had beenconcerted that the festivities should last four days and conclude on theSunday with the Queen's public entry into Paris. On the Monday theKing was to set out to take command of his armies, which were alreadymarching upon the frontiers.
Thus Henry proposed, but the Queen--convinced by his own admission ofthe real aim and object of the war, and driven by outraged pride to hatethe man who offered her this crowning insult, and determined that atall costs it must be thwarted--had lent an ear to Concini's purpose toavenge her, and was ready to repay infidelity with infidelity. Conciniand his fellow-conspirators had gone to work so confidently that a weekbefore the coronation a courier had appeared in Liege, announcingthat he was going with news of Henry's assassination to the Princes ofGermany, whilst at the same time accounts of the King's death were beingpublished in France and Italy.
Meanwhile, whatever inward misgivings Henry may have entertained,outwardly at least he appeared serene and good-humoured at his wife'scoronation, gaily greeting her at the end of the ceremony by the titleof "Madam Regent."
The little incident may have touched her, arousing her conscience. Forthat night she disturbed his slumbers by sudden screams, and when hesprang up in solicitous alarm she falteringly told him of a dreamin which she had seen him slain, and fell to imploring him with atenderness such as had been utterly foreign to her of late to take greatcare of himself in the days to come. In the morning she renewed thoseentreaties, beseeching him not to leave the Louvre that day, urging thatshe had a premonition it would be fatal to him.
He laughed for answer. "You have heard of the predictions of La Brosse,"said he. "Bah! You should not attach credit to such nonsense."
Anon came the Duke of Vendome, his natural son by the Marquise deVerneuil, with a like warning and a like entreaty, only to receive alike answer.
Being dull and indisposed as a consequence of last night's broken rest,Henry lay down after dinner. But finding sleep denied him, he rose,pensive and gloomy, and wandered aimlessly down, and out into thecourtyard. There an exempt of the guard, of whom he casually asked thetime, observing the King's pallor and listlessness, took the liberty ofsuggesting that his Majesty might benefit if he took the air.
That chance remark decided Henry's fate. His eyes quickenedresponsively. "You advise well," said he. "Order my coach. I will go tothe Arsenal to see the Duc de Sully, who is indisposed."
On the stones beyond the gates, where lackeys were wont to await theirmasters, sat a lean fellow of some thirty years of age, in a dingy,clerkly attire, so repulsively evil of countenance that he had once beenarrested on no better grounds than because it was deemed impossible thata man with such a face could be other than a villain.
Whilst the coach was being got ready, Henry re-entered the Louvre, andstartled the Queen by announcing his intention. With fearful insistenceshe besought him to countermand the order, and not to leave the palace.
"I will but go there and back," he said, laughing at her fears. "I shallhave returned before you realize that I have gone." And so he went,never to return alive.
He sat at the back of the coach, and the weather being fine all thecurtains were drawn up so that he might view the decorations of the cityagainst the Queen's public entry on Sunday. The Duc d'Epernon was onhis right, the Duc de Montbazon and the Marquis de la Force on his left.Lavordin and Roquelaure were in the right boot, whilst near the leftboot, opposite to Henry, sat Mirebeau and du Plessis Liancourt. He wasattended only by a small number of gentlemen on horseback, and somefootmen.
The coach turned from the Rue St. Honore into the narrow Rue de laFerronerie, and there was brought to a halt by a block occasioned bythe meeting of two carts, one laden with hay, the other with wine. Thefootmen went ahead with the exception of two. Of these, one advanced toclear a way for the royal vehicle, whilst the other took the opportunityto fasten his garter.
At that moment, gliding like a shadow between the coach and the shops,came that shabby, hideous fellow who had been sitting on the stonesoutside the Louvre an hour ago. Raising himself by deliberately standingupon one of the spokes of the stationary wheel, he leaned over the Ducd'Epernon, and, whipping a long, stout knife from his sleeve, stabbedHenry in the breast. The King, who was in the act of reading a letter,cried out, and threw up his arms in an instinctive warding movement,thereby exposing his heart. The assassin stabbed again, and this timethe blade went deep.
With a little gasping cough, Henry sank together, and blood gushed fromhis mouth.
The predictions were fulfilled; the tale borne by the courier ridingthrough Liege a week ago was made true, as were the stories of his deathalready at that very hour circulating in Antwerp, Malines, Brussels, andelsewhere.
The murderer aimed yet a third blow, but this at last was parried byEpernon, whereupon the fellow stepped back from th
e coach, and stoodthere, making no attempt to escape, or even to rid himself of theincriminating knife. St. Michel, one of the King's gentlemen-in-waiting,who had followed the coach, whipped out his sword and would have slainhim on the spot had he not been restrained by Epernon. The footmenseized the fellow, and delivered him over to the captain of the guard.He proved to be a school-master of Angouleme--which was Epernon'scountry. His name was Ravaillac.
The curtains of the coach were drawn, the vehicle was put about, anddriven back to the Louvre, whilst to avoid all disturbance it wasannounced to the people that the King was merely wounded.
But St. Michel went on to the Arsenal, taking with him the knife thathad stabbed his master, to bear the sinister tidings to Henry's loyaland devoted friend. Sully knew enough to gauge exactly whence the blowhad proceeded. With anger and grief in his heart he got to horse, illas he was, and, calling together his people, set out presently for theLouvre, with a train one hundred strong, which was presently increasedto twice that number by many of the King's faithful servants who joinedhis company as he advanced. In the Rue de la Pourpointicre a man inpassing slipped a note into his hand.
It was a brief scrawl: "Monsieur, where are ye going? It is done. I haveseen him dead. If you enter the Louvre you will not escape any more thanhe did."
Nearing St. Innocent, the warning was repeated, this time by a gentlemannamed du Jon, who stopped to mutter:
"Monsieur le Duc, our evil is without remedy. Look to yourself, for thisstrange blow will have fearful consequences."
Again in the Rue St. Honore another note was thrown him, whose contentswere akin to those of the first. Yet with misgivings mounting swiftlyto certainty, Sully rode amain towards the Louvre, his train by nowamounting to some three hundred horse. But at the end of the street hewas stopped by M. de Vitry, who drew rein as they met.
"Ah, monsieur," Vitry greeted him, "where are you going with such afollowing? They will never suffer you to enter the Louvre with more thantwo or three attendants, which I would not advise you to do. For thisplot does not end here. I have seen some persons so little sensible ofthe loss they have sustained that they cannot even simulate the griefthey should feel. Go back, monsieur. There is enough for you to dowithout going to the Louvre."
Persuaded by Vitry's solemnity, and by what he knew in his heart, Sullyfaced about and set out to retrace his steps. But presently he wasovertaken by a messenger from the Queen, begging him to come at onceto her at the Louvre, and to bring as few persons as possible with him."This proposal," he writes, "to go alone and deliver myself into thehands of my enemies, who filled the Louvre, was not calculated to allaymy suspicions."
Moreover he received word at that moment that an exempt of the guardsand a force of soldiers were already at the gates of the Arsenal, thatothers had been sent to the Temple, where the powder was stored, andothers again to the treasurer of the Exchequer to stop all the moneythere.
"Convey to the Queen my duty and service," he bade the messenger, "andassure her that until she acquaints me with her orders I shall continueassiduously to attend the affairs of my office." And with that he wentto shut himself up in the Bastille, whither he was presently followedby a stream of her Majesty's envoys, all bidding him to the Louvre.But Sully, ill as he was, and now utterly prostrated by all that he hadendured, put himself to bed and made of his indisposition a sufficientexcuse.
Yet on the morrow he allowed himself to be persuaded to obey hersummons, receiving certain assurances that he had no ground for anyapprehensions. Moreover, he may by now have felt a certain security inthe esteem in which the Parisians held him. An attempt against him inthe Louvre itself would prove that the blow that had killed his masterwas not the independent act of a fanatic, as it was being represented;and vengeance would follow swiftly upon the heads of those who wouldthus betray themselves of having made of that poor wretch's fanaticisman instrument to their evil ends.
In that assurance he went, and he has left on record the burningindignation aroused in him at the signs of satisfaction, complacency,and even mirth that he discovered in that house of death. TheQueen herself, however, overwrought by the events, and perhapsconscience-stricken by the tragedy which in the eleventh hour she hadsought to avert, burst into tears at sight of Sully, and brought in theDauphin, who flung himself upon the Duke's neck.
"My son," the Queen addressed him, "this is Monsieur de Sully. You mustlove him well, for he was one of the best and most faithful servants ofthe King your father, and I entreat him to continue to serve you in thesame manner."
Words so fair might have convinced a man less astute that all hissuspicions were unworthy. But, even then, the sequel would very quicklyhave undeceived him. For very soon thereafter his fall was brought aboutby the Concinis and their creatures, so that no obstacle should remainbetween themselves and the full gratification of their fell ambitions.
At once he saw the whole policy of the dead King subversed; he saw therenouncing of all ancient alliances, and the union of the crownsof France and Spain; the repealing of all acts of pacification; thedestruction of the Protestants; the dissipation of the treasures amassedby Henry; the disgrace of those who would not receive the yoke of thenew favourites. All this Sully witnessed in his declining years, and hewitnessed, too, the rapid rise to the greatest power and dignity in theState of that Florentine adventurer, Concino Concini--now bearing thetitle of Marshal d'Ancre--who had so cunningly known how to profit by aQueen's jealousy and a King's indiscretions.
As for the miserable Ravaillac, it is pretended that he maintained undertorture and to the very hour of his death that he had no accomplices,that what he had done he had done to prevent an unrighteous war againstCatholicism and the Pope--which was, no doubt, the falsehood with whichthose who used him played upon his fanaticism and whetted him to theirservice. I say "pretended" because, after all, complete records of hisexaminations are not discoverable, and there is a story that when at thepoint of death, seeing himself abandoned by those in whom perhaps he hadtrusted, he signified a desire to confess, and did so confess; but thenotary Voisin, who took his depositions in articulo mortis, set themdown in a hand so slovenly as to be afterwards undecipherable.
That may or may not be true. But the statement that when the Presidentdu Harlay sought to pursue inquiries into certain allegations by a womannamed d'Escoman, which incriminated the Duc d'Epernon, he received aroyal order to desist, rests upon sound authority.
That is the story of the assassination of Henry IV. re-told in thelight of certain records which appear to me to have been insufficientlystudied. They should suggest a train of speculation leading toinferences which, whilst obvious, I hesitate to define absolutely.
"If it be asked," says Perefixe, "who were the friends that suggested toRavaillac so damnable a design, history replies that it is ignorant andthat upon an action of such consequences it is not permissible to givesuspicions and conjectures for certain truths. The judges themselves whointerrogated him dared not open their mouths, and never mentioned thematter but with gestures of horror and amazement."