Complete Story. A Queen’s Favour.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIV, Issue XV, 14 April 1900, Page 705

Complete Story. A Queen’s Favour.

By

For all that the Chateau of Pau is the greatest in the kingdom, it is not. beloved. Our King Henry tolerated its labyrinths of corridors and traditional stiffness of Court etiquette for the sake of what lay beyond the walls, since nowhere could he find more royal sport than in the woods which so thickly covered the hills a league south of the Have, which, as the world knows, washes the hillslope upon whose ridge stands the chateau. A wandering bear from the higher spurs, boars in sufficiency, wolves beyond sufficiency and the curse of our peasants, were the quarry beyond the walls ; and there were not wanting those who hinted that the rambling corridors lent themselves to a pursuit less royal, though as much to the King's taste, when the rain, drifting in from the west, pent us indoors ; but it is charity to suppose that these last spoke in malice rather than in good faith.

To us courtiers, bound by form and servants to ceremony, the cold shadows of Paris usages which haunted l*au were unutterably irksome. We sighed for the freedom of Orthez or Navarreux, where the King was plain Monsieur d'Albert and we his fellowgentlemen ; and trebly irksome it was when —as at this time—the Queen was in Paris and the Court berefit of half her ladies.

To one who did not know the crooked policies of the day, it would have seemed the very time to fling ceremony aside and bid the Court go play, but our shrewd King and we of his council knew belter. Failing- the policy of assassination, what was the prime aim of Henry of France ? To set wife and husband at variance, and so give himself a brotherly right to put an armed hand on Navarre for the great comfort of his sister and the aggrandisement of his kingdom. To this end spies were as thick in Navarre as priests at a funeral, and that the enemy might not have cause to blaspheme. we doubled punctilio until such time as the Queen's return restored us to gaiety. For all their whimsies and occasional cross-pur-poses these two understood one another marvellously, and were agreed —as was wise—upon a large toleration. So long, therefore, as the same walls held King and Queen. France could do little mischief. What L have now to tell of is of a mischief that failed, even in the Queen’s absence, thanks to a watchfulness as far distant as Paris is from Pau.

For five and forty minutes of a council meeting’ we had played with admirable seriousness at doing nothing. For the moment there was no plot brewing either by intolerant Catholics or fanatical Huguenots. We were at peace with Spain on the south, and suspiciously friendly with France on the north. As to finances, we had no money, and therefore, with the lightheartedness of empty pockets, need give no thought to the spending of it. Still, we played the game of governing a kingdom with as solemn carefulness as the Augurs of old invoked destiny, and with an equal faith in our own usefulness. There. was, therefore, a general rousing into interest when the King, from his raised seat at the head of the table, demanded if the business of the council were concluded, and being told “Aye” by the wondering secretary, went on, taking a paper from a leather pouch by his side : “The thousand ways in which my good brothers of France have shown their love to me are known to you ; now. and not for the first time, it is the turn of madame, my mother. Remembering- our loneliness, she sends my dear friend the Comte de Clazonay to cheer us. To-night the Count arrives—not, remember, gentlemen, as ambassador, but as friend and comrade. See to it that his welcome fits the occasion, and do you, Monsieur de Bernauld, remain at the breaking up of the council that 1 may instruct you as to his reception.” Then he rose abruptly, as if to prevent inquiry, and in the bustle, that, followed. Rosny plucked me by the sleeve : “What has come to him with his rounded periods and dear comrades ? There will be need for a second brain in this, so 1 will wait,

Hamilton Drummond.

you in the hall below.” That was Rosny all over. In his eyes no man had the wit of a frog to save himself. While the council-chamber emptied, Henry stood in an embrasure overtopping the Gave, his hands clenched behind his back, his beard sunk upon his breast, and his face wrinkled as was his habit when in deep thought. As the door closed he turned, all his suave smoothness gone, and in its place the hawk's look we came to know so well in those long days of struggle when the throne of France was the stake of the game. “All that.” he said harshly, “was for La Vraille’s itching ears. Let him earn his hire from Catherine with the telling of it. Read this, old friend, and tell me which has Clazonay come to strike—Navarre or only Henry?”

“If he strikes the last, sire—which God forbid be dreams of—he strikes the first,” said I, taking the papers. “Blit this is from the Queen, perhaps you —” “Read, man, read!” he broke in impatiently, and turned back again to the window. “ ’Tis as you say, from the Queen to the King; had it been from Margot to the Lord knows who, your nice caution had been more justified.”

Yet, considering many things which the King knew better than I. it was a warm letter enough, and ran something in this fashion: — Monsieur, and My Very Bear Husband: Though Navarre is so many leagues away, it is very near to me in my thoughts, and that I may be brought closer to thee -our good mother has lent me thy ancient and very true friend, Monsieur de Clazonay, to carry to thee news of how I fare. That, because of thy weighty affairs in Navarre, thou canst not be persuaded to visit Paris, is to her a great grief, and also to our brother Henry. I kiss thee on both cheeks. Thy very faithful and very loving wife, Marguerite. Mindful of thy love for the chase, and that thou mayest the better keep us in memory, we beg thee to wear the gift whereof Monsieur de Clazonay is bearer. A very sweet and lover-like letter, but, as it seemed to me, somewhat unlike Madame Marguerite. The former thought I told the King; the latter, for the sake of peace, I kept to myself.

“Aye,” answered he. facing me: “ and the bee with the honey-bag carries a sting in its tail. Look at the seal, de Eernauld, look at the seal.”

Turning the letter to the light, T found it sealed in two places, the first splash of red wax bearing the cypher “M.V.”; the second, a serpent reared upon its coils, and with head poised, ready to strike.

“The doves of Venus are more to Margot’s liking,” went on Henry; “ and yon venomous thing is a fair warning. I were a greater fool than madame the Queen-Mother has yet found me if I neglected it. Note the postscript, de Bernauld. There is much need of a gift, is there not, to freshen my memory of Catherine de Medici? By the Lord who made me what l am, it is hard to bear with patience the witch’s cajoleries! The voice is Margot’s voice, but the hand is Catherine’s, and the man she flatters had best walk circumspectly! Note, too, the messenger. I know this fellow, de Clazonay, of old. ■ “When Bearn wedded France and Coligny was in favour, he thought our star in the ascendant, and turned Huguenot; but the mild persuasions of Bartholomew were too many for him, and he recanted. Aye, I know what you would say. Monsieur de Bernauld—that I too have turned and recanted; but our eases are not equal. The liberties of a nation count for more than a place at Court. He is my very good friend, this de Clazo-

nay, and for cause, since in the old days and over that same recantation I stood him in good stead. Guise was no more prone to mercy then than now. and but for poor Henry of Navarre, de Clazonay had been one of the forgotten thousands, recantation or no recantation. Now, like the cur he is. he comes to bite the hand that saved him."

All this seemed to me an over-large deduction from a splash of wax, but the King would hear of no reply.

“I know the man,” he said stubbornly, “and 1 know his mistress. The only |>oint of doubt is whether he conies to foment n quarrel or ” and he stopped short, tapping himself on the breast significantly. "For the one, see that no pretext be given him, and if he lies of the Queen with hints and smiles, turn a deaf ear and play the dullard. For the second, that is your affair, since a King of Navarre must hold himself a frank gentleman even to traitors. Meet him for me, de Bernauld, and feed him with his own honey. Speak of our anxious affection for our mother in Paris, our gratitude for her tender thought; thou knowest the trick of lies, for all that thou art a man of camps rather than courts."

Here he linked his arm in mine and drew me toward the door, as was his habit when, having said his sav. he desired to throttle all reply. “Speak of our love for the Queen, the austereness of our life, our unconsoled grief at her absence ! What., man, thou hast my meaning ? 1 myself will sen to it that La Belle Fadette does not cross his path.” Then, his eyes twinkling and with an upward twist of his moustache, he flung open the door and was gone, leaving me staring.

Truly here was a thorny burr to handle, and one like to prick my fingers. If the King were right, a false move might give our greedy neighbour a pretext for armed intervention, and then farewell to Navarre's liberties. As I gnawed my beard 1 inwardly cursed my fortune that Henry had not rather given his confidences to the more supple-minded de Rosny, to whom diplomatic lies and crooked policies were but playthings. Yet, for all that. T kept my counsel when de Rosny stopped me in the hall below, intent to pick ray brains ; and from the rebuff 1 then gave him I date that enmity which he never forgot, even when I remained plain Blaise de Bernauld and he had blossomed into Monseigneur the Due de Sully and the first Minister of a King of France !

With half a dozen fellows at my back I went as far as the Cheval Rouge on the Auch road, a league and a. half maybe, and there, in company with a bottle of red wine of Burgundy, waited for my gentleman’s coming. Nor was my patience greatly tried, for his was the fourth dust-cloud, and if at first lie looked a little askance at finding a plain soldier flanked by sis pikemen where he thought to find a Court gallant, his mood soon changed. All the same, the start he gave when 1 greeted him in Henry's name, and when he saw' the glint of the sun on the steel points, told of an uneasy conscience. and a discomfort grew within me : What if the King's guess had hit the nail ?

” In the King’s name. Monsieur,” I began, ray hand upon his saddle—• ’twas then he started — “a friend’s* welcome to a friend. He is all impatience to hear more particularly of those in Faris whom he holds so dear." “ So.” said he, eyeing me closely, “the King has Madame Marguerite's letter ?” “ We call her Queen of Navarre here, if we seek to keep the King's favour,” I answered bluntly, for the fellow’s impertinent assumption nettled me. “ Then there are a dozen who call her Margot in Paris," replied he with a laugh. “Some because it is tlra fashion, and some because —shall I say it ?—because she is ” “A daughter of France,” I broke in. “We understand all that, monsieur, and that the Queen is happy in the love of Paris is the King's recompense for her absence." “ Nay, said he, sneering, “ not of all Paris. Only some eight or ten of the Court." But I had stopped his venomous tongue for that time, and fro.ti thenceforward as we rode to Pau we were on less slippery ground. What I had said to do Clazonay was true enough ; we understood to the full his hints and gibes ; and. since the King was no uxorious fool, there seemed to me no good reason for hiding from him what had passed at the inn.

For answer he nodded thoughtfully and tupped me ou the shoulder. Con* fees, which was right, de Bernauld, thou or 1 ? But to win his game he must play more boldly than to chatter idle hints and Court gossip. Say we shall receive him in the Salle d’Armes before supper. He shall sit at my right, and bid Carrier see that by no evil chance the Count’s hand strays above my wine-cup, though, to be honest, I think he is more cautious than frankly to endanger his own bead when some subtler plan will serve his purpose.” As the dingy grub is to the flaunting butterfly so was the <lusty horseman of the Auch road to the gay courtier who came smilingly among us as we waited the coining of the King. Such a wealth of silks and laces, plumes and jewels, was, to my mind, out of taste at a Court so poor as that of Navarre, and the display made no friends to the wearer among those hon»*st gentlemen who had stripped themselves to their barest necessities that the King might have wherewith to keep safe the liberties of the nation. His page was his very miniature, and as the lad minced and strutted behind his master down the hall, a toy blade hanging at his left thigh and a loose packet wrapped in crimson silk flung across his arm, it was hard to say which of the two showed the greater pride. Yet it is only justice to admit that the fellow carried himself well and did his mistress no discredit. To his braveries of dress, which —by our younger men. at least—were the more observed because we lacked them, he added a bold carriage and a man’s fine figure. If his look was crafty, and his eye overmuch on the alert, excuse might lie in the antagonisms abroad upon the air, and which it was impossible but he must have felt even through their veil of courtesy. Me he had singled out, and with de Rosny and Rohan we formed a group apart, when the great doors at the further end of the saloon were flung open and the King entered, alone and dressed with careful simplicity.

It was clear that the manner of it struck de Clazonay. He had looked for an aping of the Louvre, a pinchbeck ceremony, a display of tinsel masquerading as fine gold, a puppet decked in tawdry grandeur: and found instead a simple, frank-hearted gentleman, who reigned as King by a different and more divine right than that of the Valois—the right of a people's love and good-will.

With no more than passing greetings to right and left, the King came straight toward us. “Welcome, Monsieur de Clazonay, mine ancient and very true friend,” he cried, repeating the exact words of the Queen’s letter, with the contents of which he did not doubt the Count was well acquainted. “Rut that none can be so dear to me as the Queen and our good mother, I would say that this gracious loan of one so high in favour would reconcile me to the loss of Madame Marguerite. ’Tis so they call her in Paris is it not? That she finds so much of love in the Louvre is my great comfort. Presently, Monsieur. you must tell me of her conquests.” I>c Clazonay had fallen on one knee as the King came near, and though the smile never left his face, he felt the irony of the King’s speech through the suave greeting, and his lips tightened across his teeth, lie was a cur, Henry had said, and there was the cur's snarl. More than that, the King’s jeering banter had angered the cur, and the cur was eagerly alert to bite. “The Queen, my mistress, knows my poor worth more nearly,” hr answered with a great show of humility, “and that I may truly win acceptance to your favour, she has made me bearer of a token of her abiding affection to Your Majesty.” With the cur's snarl still on his lips, and the hard, false smile fixed in his eyes, he made as if to kiss the King’s hand. But, with a mighty show of heartiness. Henry forestalled him and bade him rise.

“This,” he said, loudly, “is a meeting of friend and friend. Let iis have none of these* still’ courtesies, Monsieur de Clazonay. Gentlemen, 1 present to the favour of you all. my ancient Paris comrade. Let him find through your

as>i.-tanve that Navarre, though biuall in. size, is large of heart-.’* Which was very kingly anil gracious, and passed muster finely with the crowd. but 1 noted that for all his fine words, he never so much as touched the Count’s hand. •‘And the Queen's gift*, sire?” ‘•Ah, true!” he cried. “When was the Queen of France not gracious to Navarre? The list of unpaid debts will be a long one when the day of requital coiues. I beg you to believe and assure Her Majesty that what Navarre lacks is not the heart to pay, but the means. This latest obligation we are is it here, monsieur?” De Clazonay turned and beckoned to his side the page, and. as I live by bread, the evil look in his face deepened, and his smile grew yvt nearer to the cur's snarl. “’Tis hut a small thing." he said, taking the crimson packet from the boy's arm, “though I call all men to witness that what lies behind the gift is great beyond words.” “The love of my good mother?” “Aye, sire, that and all that love w ills.” There v as a marble-topped table two \ arils away, a thing of many colours, of much gilding and glitter. On it de Clazonay placed the packet, I hen turning, he bowed <*-y. e\y to Henry, as if to say the Queen s gift had now passed to the King s keeping. It was, as I have said, of crims >n si’k. some twenty inches long by fifteen wide, and tied with silken cords of its qwn colour. For all his gratitude the receiver of the gift was in no haste to take possession. •The honour has been yours, thus far. Monsieur le Comte,” he said; “Jet the honour still be yours, and do you unfold the covering.” Drawing his dagger—a toy affair, alf damascene and jewels de Clazonay cut the cords, and turning aside the flaps of s.ilk. ag-ain bowed. Then he stepped back. On the table lay a pair of hunting gloves, and gloves truly worthy of a King's wearing. Their colour was that of the silk; a blood-crimson, and from finger-point to wrist the deerskin of which they were made was as delicately soft, for all its strength, as the most dainty court lady could desire; while the deep gauntlet, running almost to the elbow, was stiff and glazed ami so narrow as to hug the sleeve. They lay reversed that is, the one with the palm. the other with the knuckle uppermost — and which would most win the fancy was

an open question, the palm l»eing a network of many - coloured silk cords of exceeding, fineness to give a grip to the haft of knife or spear, and the back sewn thickly with pearls of large size, gray, smoky and black. With his hands behind him and his beard upon his breast as he had stood that <lay in the Council Chamber, the King stood over the Paris gloves. “ Margot was shrewder than 1 guessed,” I heard him murmur, but so low that had 1 not been at his elbow and had an inkling of his thought it would have passed unheeded. Then he beckoned to de Clazonay. and looking him keenly in the face said smilingly: “ Put them on. my friend, that I may beter judge the splendour of the Queen's gift,” but de Clazonay, who had stepped forward, drew back again, back to the very limits of the narrow circle that stood watching the scene, and, unless 1 am blind, his face grew grey in the lamplight. “ Who am 1,” he said, “ to wear the (Queen's gift before it has even touched the King's hand ? If 1 so presumed, how could I dare face my mistress’ displeasure ?”

“11-m!” and Henry nodded his head twice or thrice slowly ; “ humility is a plant of speedy growth. How con hl such a slight thing displease so gracious a mistress ? Women are very forgiving, monsieur, whereas I, who am a man, am not to be trifled with when the mood takes me.” Then he turned to de Clazonay’s page, “Wrap these dainties up again, and lay them in my dressing-chamber. Gentlemen,” and he raised his voice, “ these are a Queen's gift ; see that no man touch them save myself lest they be mishandled. Now”— and as if to show that his veiled threat was but an outburst of momentary irritation, the King took de Clazonay by the arm—- “ to supper, monsieur, and recalling old memories, we will renew old friendships ; then we must plan a hunt further afield than ordinary that we may do full honour to the Queen's gift.” Than Henry of Navarre no man could at will be more winning, more frankly gracious, and the light was back to the Count's eyes and the flush to his cheeks before his glass had been emptied twice. Be was not the first nor the last who sharpened his wits against the King’s, to his own wounding. The first step to failure,

whether in war or diplqmaey, is to despise your enemy. Later, when the great hall was awhirl with talk and laughter, and de Clazonay the centre of a jesting group, the King sent for me. V See to it, de Bernauld,” said he, the careless smile never so much as flickering on his face ; “ that Marcel, your man, has speech with me when all this folly is over. Let him wait me in my cabinet half an hour before midnight and let my toughest, speediest horse be standing ready saddled in the courtyard. The fellow 4s faithful, almost as faithful as thyself, and I must borrow him for eight days. See to it, too, that he is not questioned whether to-night or later ; for where and when he rides is the King's business.”

As to when he rode, it was that night, since thenceforth for something' better than a week Marcel was missing ; and when he returned to Pau he returned a sorely weary man, mud-spattered almost out of recognition. As to where he rode I can but guess, for he told me as much of his mission as 1 asked him, and that was nought. Thenceforward, too. for eight days the King was strangely busy. Where they came from in little Navarre, those presing claims of State' which tilled his mind to the exclusion of all else, was a mystery which even Rosny could not fathom, as great a mystery as the King's sudden zeal and tireless devotion. Such a glutton was he that when affairs of State failed him he called in vexed affairs of Church, and there was not a grievance in all Bearn. Bigorre, Foix or Navarre, even though it was a twelvemonth old, that he did not sift.

“ 'Tis a King's business,” he told de Clazonay. who all these days was Henry's shadow, “ to give his life to his subjects, and not. to his own pleasuring.'' Therefore it follows that in these eight days he did no hunting.

Then, as suddenly as he had assumed the burden of State he flung it aside, and I noted that the change eame after a erumpled letter, sealed both back and front, had been brought him ns he sat at supper. “We go hunting- to-morrow.” he said to the Frenchman who filled the place by his side, and iu a pause in the babel his words travelled down the hall ; “and. by the grace of fortune, by noon we shall have Hipped the claws

of the bloodiest wolf that ever rav« aged Navarre.” ” For my part, sire,” answered de Clazonuy, “ 1 hold that craft leads to more clipped claws than does fortune.” rl “Be content, "—and the King laughed —“there shall be eraft enough. He of Navarre are simple folk, but HO' fools. The rendezvous is for ten, monsieur, and in my private cabinet.” That night, too," Marcel returned to report himself as once more on service, and went asleep on his feet as he spoke. ' 1 Acting upon the King's orders, II betook myself to his cabinet at the appointed hour. It was a small and somewhat narrow room situated at the end of a south corridor. To the right were two windows which overlooked the river ; opposite these the wall wits only broken by a deep fireplace where,' to my great astonishment—it being a. warm May day—there burned a fire of many faggots. At the further end of the room a curtain swept from ceil-’ ing to floor. De Rosny was already in waiting", and as we talked de Clazonay entered, the King at his heels, and followed by a groom of the chamber carrying the famous packet of crimson silk. “ Leave it there and go,” said Henry curtly, pointing to the table. ” Monsieur de Rosny,” he went on, standing with his back to the heaxth, “ your place is by the window ; yours, Monsieur de Bernauld, by the door ; yours, Monsieur de Clazonay, there,” —and he motioned with his hand to the end of the table in front of the drawn curtains. A strange prelude this to a day's sport ! But we silently took our places as directed, and then stood in the hush of expectancy, for, saving the King, no man knew what was in the air.

“ Honour for honour,” he said, bending over the table and slowly unfolding the silken wrappings. “ How can I better show appreciation of a friend's services and my love to the Qu'een, my mother, than by a gift to you. Monsieur de Clazonay ?”

“ I am deeply sensible of your goodness, sire, and most humbly thank —” began de Clazonay. But the King stopped him with a gesture and a curt “ Wait,” and then fell again to unwrapping the silk ; and when the covering’s were removed, de Clazonay’s gratitude was as dead in his heart as on his lips. There was no longer one pair of gloves, but two —and two so

Strangely similar that none but a wizard could have chosen between .them. Alike in colour, in shape, in itexture, there was not as much aa the varied lustre of a pearl to say jvhich had been the Queen's gift. “ Choose, monsieur.” < “I, sire, I?” stammered de Clazonay ; “ such things are for Kings’ wearing, and not for simple ” “Aye,” said Henry bitterly, “I understand you; for Kings’ wearing!” Though it was plain the fellow was a villain plotting with his eyes open, and no blind tool, yet I could not but pity him. His face had g'one ashen gray, great sweat-drops were on his forehead and standing thickly through the roots of his hair, and, strive as he would, his jaw shook as if smitten by a palsy. “ Choose,” said the King again ; “ choose and make an end ; the Court goes hunting and waits.” De Clazonay drew a shuddering breath. “ I will not choose,” he said between the teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. “ I will not choose, and you dare not murder me,” and folding his arms he stepped back from the table. “ Monsieur de Rosny,” and the King's voice was very eold and hard, “ draw back the curtain that Monsieur de Clazonay may choose the better.” Back came the drapery with a ringing clatter that shook even my nerves, so tense was the strain, and behind it were five soldiers of the guard standing shoulder to shoulder, their steel bare in their hands.

“ Choose !” cried the King a third time. “ For, by the Dord who made me. you wear these gloves to-day os die where yon stand. To kill a poisoner is no murder.” That the King- was stonily in earnest was plain to be seen, and grasping at a straw for life, de Clazonay turned to the table and bent over the gloves, scanning every stitch, every gem, every line and curve. To him it was a veritable lottery of life or death, and at last he pitched upon two and drew them toward him with shaking fingers. • “ These, sire.”

Th King turned to me. “ Monsieur de Bernauld, you will ride to-day bji the side of Monsieur de Clazonay. See to it that he does not so much as shift a hand until our return.” “And if I return, sire ?” cried da Clazonay eagerly, plucking at th<> gloves with nervous fingers.

“ If you return in peace.” said Henry solemnly, “ then God has spoken. Come, monsieur, glove yourself ; the Court waits.”

Turning, he raised the tongs from the hearth, and lifting the remaining pair of gloves, thrust them deep into the bosom of the red embers. “To horse, gentlemen,” he cried ; ” and de Bernauld, let there be neither mistake nor pity. This is a State matter ; see, therefore, that your sword sits light in its sheath. You understand, Monsieur de Clazonay ?”

Of that day I will say little, only I pray God I may never see again th<» sorrows of a tortured soul. As for the gloves, I had the Kings’ orders, and where they were they stayed until we had clattered up the winding causeway that leads from the Gave de Pau to the gate of the Chateau. Once within the courtyard my charge waa done with, and it was nought to m« that de Clazonay shook off the crimson leather from his hands as a man shakes off a hornet. They were as while and smooth from wrist to fin-ger-tip as when, in all his hunting bravery, he that morning entered the King's cabinet.

“Pray God all's well," said lie, with

a deep breath that was almost a g-roan; but even as he spoke ha stumbled in his walk, pawing the ait as a man does in terror of the dark. That night he died. “ The fool !” said the King when ona told him ; “ did he think that Rene had no second pair of gloves ; or that Navarre was too poor to pay tha price ?”—“The New Illustrated Magazine.”