An Enemy to the King | Page 3

lady of
the court, and our passion must be attended by circumstances of
mystery, danger, everything to complicate it and raise it to an epic
height. Such was the amour I had determined to find in Paris.
Remember, you who read this, that I am disclosing the inmost dreams
of a man of twenty-one. Such dreams are appropriate to that age; it is
only when they are associated with middle age that they become
ridiculous; and when thoughts of amatory conquest are found in
common with gray hairs, they are loathsome. If I seem to have given
my mind largely up to fancies of love, consider that I was then at the
age when such fancies rather adorn than deface. Indeed, a young man
without thoughts of love is as much an anomaly as is an older man who
gives himself up to them.
I looked back once at La Tournoire, when I reached the top of the hill
that would, in another minute, shut it from my view. I saw old Michel
standing at the porte. I waved my hand to him, and turned to proceed
on my way. Soon the lump in my throat melted away, the moisture left
my eyes, and only the future concerned me. Every object that came into
sight, every tree along the roadside, now interested me. I passed several
travellers, some of whom seemed to envy me my indifference to the
cold weather, my look of joyous content.
About noon I overtook, just where the road left a wood and turned to
cross a bridge, a small cavalcade consisting of an erect, handsome
gentleman of middle age, and several armed lackeys. The gentleman
wore a black velvet doublet, and his attire, from his snowy ruff to his
black boots, was in the best condition. He had a frank, manly
countenance that invited address. At the turn of the road he saw me,
and, taking me in at a glance, he fell behind his lackeys that I might
come up to him. He greeted me courteously, and after he had spoken of
the weather and the promise of the sky, he mentioned, incidentally, that
he was going to Paris. I told him my own destination, and we came to
talking of the court. I perceived, from his remarks, that he was well
acquainted there. There was some talk of the quarrels between the

King's favorites and those of his brother, the Duke of Anjou; of the
latter's sulkiness over his treatment at the hands of the King; of the
probabilities for and against Anjou's leaving Paris and putting himself
at the head of the malcontent and Huguenot parties; of the friendship
between Anjou and his sister Marguerite, who remained at the Court of
France while her husband, Henri of Navarre, held his mimic Huguenot
court in Béarn. Presently, the name of the Duke of Guise came up.
Now we Huguenots held, and still hold, Henri de Guise to have been a
chief instigator of the event of St. Bartholomew's Night, in 1572.
Always I had in my mind the picture of Coligny, under whom my
father had fought, lying dead in his own courtyard, in the Rue de
Bethizy, his murder done under the direction of that same Henri, his
body thrown from his window into the court at Henri's orders, and there
spurned by Henri's foot. I had heard, too, of this illustrious duke's open
continuance of his amour with Marguerite, queen of our leader, Henri
of Navarre. When I spoke of him to the gentleman at whose side I rode,
I put no restraint on my tongue.
"The Duke of Guise!" I said. "All that I ever wish to say of him can be
very quickly spoken. If, as you Catholics believe, God has an earthly
representative in the Pope, then I think the devil has one in Henri de
Guise."
The gentleman was quiet for a moment, and looked very sober. Then he
said gravely:
"All men have their faults, monsieur. The difference between men is
that some have no virtues to compensate for their vices."
"If Henri de Guise has any virtues," I replied, "he wears a mask over
them; and he conceals them more effectually than he hides his
predilection for assassination, his amours, and his design to rule France
through the Holy League of which he is the real head."
The gentleman turned very red, and darted at me a glance of anger.
Then restraining himself, he answered in a very low tone:

"Monsieur, the subject can be discussed by us in only one way, or not
at all. You are young, and it would be too pitiful for you to be cut off
before you have even seen Paris. Doubtless, you are impatient to arrive
there. It would be