The Constable De Bourbon

Charged with this defiant message, D’Imbaut departed.

END OF THE SECOND BOOK

BOOK III. – THE CHEVALIER BAYARD

I. HOW THE COMTE DE SAINT-VALLIEr’s PARDON WAS OBTAINED

On learning that his offer had been scornfully rejected by Bourbon, as related in the preceding chapter, François I. at once ordered the Chancellor Duprat to confiscate the whole of the fugitive’s possessions, to degrade him from his rank, and declare his name infamous; to efface his armorial bearings, and his swords as Constable from all his châteaux; to demolish in part his magnificent hôtel in Paris, and strew the ground with salt; and to cause the public executioner to sully with yellow ochre such portion of the building as should be left standing, in order that it might remain as a memento of the duke’s treason.

Thus did the infuriated king wreak his vengeance upon the enemy who was beyond his grasp. For a time, François remained at Lyons, fearing that Bourbon might raise an army in the Franche-Comté and march into France, and entirely abandoning his design of proceeding to Italy, began to adopt vigorous measures for the defence of his own kingdom. He despatched the Duc de Vendôme and Chabot to Paris to watch over the defence of the capital, and ordered the grand seneschal of Normandy, De Brézé, to raise six thousand men in that province. His apprehensions, however, were relieved by the retirement of the English army, and by the withdrawal of the Emperor’s forces from before Bayonne.

Tired at last of his sojourn at Lyons, yet indisposed to return to Paris, François proceeded to Blois, and in the magnificent chateau, which he had partially rebuilt in the style of the Renaissance, sought to banish his cares by abandoning himself to pleasurable enjoyment; passing his days in the chase, and his nights in festivity. Amidst all his distractions, he could not banish from his breast the image of the fair Diane de Poitiers. The violent passion he had conceived for her still possessed him, though months had flown by since he had seen her.

The king was at Blois when a messenger arrived from the chief president of the Parliament, De Selve, to acquaint his majesty with the judgment pronounced upon the principal personages connected with Bourbon’s conspiracy.

“First in regard to the nineteen accomplices of Charles de Bourbon, who have followed their rebellious lord in his flight from the kingdom,” said the messenger. “These contumacious rebels are all condemned to death, and, if taken, that sentence will be immediately carried into effect upon them. In the case of Lurcy, whose guilt is held to be greater than that of the others, the sentence is that his head shall be exposed on the bridge over the Rhone at Lyons.”

“Pass on from the fugitives to the traitors who are in our power,” said the king. “How have they been dealt with? – with due severity, I trust.”

“The Bishop of Puy has been liberated, sire,” replied the messenger, “but the Bishop of Autun is to be deprived of his possessions, and detained a prisoner during your majesty’s pleasure.”

“Why should more clemency be shown to one prelate than to the other?” said François. “Both are equally guilty, methinks! Proceed.”

“Desguières and Bertrand Simon are condemned to make amende honorable, and to be imprisoned for three years in any castle your majesty may appoint,” said the messenger. “D’Escars is adjudged to the torture; Gilbert de Baudemanche is sentenced to a brief imprisonment; and Sainte-Bonnet is acquitted.”

“And what of Saint-Vallier?” demanded the king.

“Sire, he is to be deprived of his possessions, to be degraded from his rank, to be put to the torture, and afterwards beheaded at the Place de Grève.”

“A just and proper sentence,” remarked François. “All the others should have been served in like manner.”

“It rests with your majesty to appoint the day for Saint-Vallier’s execution,” said the messenger.

“I will think of it,” replied François. And the messenger quitted the presence.

Shortly afterwards, another messenger arrived, bringing a letter from the Duchesse d’Angoulême to the king, her son, in which she urged him not to show any clemency to Saint-Vallier. “Be firm on this point,” she wrote. “Too much leniency has been shown towards the conspirators by the Parliament, and if a severe example be not made of some of them, it will be an incitement to rebellion. Strong efforts, I know, will be made to induce you to pardon Saint-Vallier, but do not yield to the solicitations. The Chancellor Duprat concurs with me in opinion.”

“Shall I take back an answer from your majesty?” said the messenger.

“Say to her highness that I will attend to her counsel,” replied the king, dismissing the messenger.

Somewhat later in the day, while the king was still in his chamber he was informed by an usher that the Comtesse de Maulévrier had just arrived at the château, and besought an immediate interview with him.

François at once granted the request, and Diane de Poitiers was ushered into his presence. Her lovely features bore traces of profound affliction. At a sign from the king, the usher immediately withdrew, and left them alone.

“You will readily divine my errand, sire,” cried Diane, throwing herself on her knees before him, in spite of his efforts to prevent her. “You know that my unfortunate father has been condemned by the Parliament to torture and to death by the headsman’s hand. Have compassion on him, sire – spare him – for my sake!”

“Rise, Diane, and listen to me,” said François. “My heart prompts me to yield to your solicitations, but, were I to do so, my clemency would be misconstrued. The Comte de Saint-Vallier having been found guilty of lèse-majesté and rebellion by the solemn tribunal at which he has been placed, I am compelled to confirm the sentence passed upon him. Bourbon’s revolt has steeled my breast to pity. Your father was the traitor’s chief friend and counsellor.”

“As such, sire, he strove to dissuade the duke from his design,” she cried.

“The Parliament can have had no proof of that beyond your father’s affirmation,” said the king. “On the contrary, they believe him to be deeper dyed in treason than the rest of the conspirators.”

“My father’s judges have been unjust, sire,” she rejoined; “but I see it is in vain to convince you of his innocence. You are determined to wreak your vengeance upon him, in order that the blow may be felt by Bourbon. The answer you have given me is little in accordance with your former language.”

“You ask what I cannot grant, Diane. Why torture me thus?”

“I will torture you no more. Adieu, sire! I quit your presence never to re-enter it.”

“Stay, Diane,” he cried, detaining her. “I cannot part with you thus. You know how passionately I love you.”

“I find it impossible to reconcile your professions with your conduct, sire. As for myself, if I have ever felt love for you, I will tear it from my heart.”

“Then you confess that you have loved me, Diane? You never owned as much before. Nay, to speak truth, I fancied from the coldness of your manner that you were insensible to my passion.”

“It matters little now what my feelings have been towards you, sire,” she rejoined. “But if it will pain you to know the truth, I will not hide it. I did love you – love you passionately. But I hate you now – ay, hate you as a tyrant.”

“No, no, you do not, cannot hate me,” he cried. “It is impossible to resist your influence. You have conquered. I yield,” he added, kneeling to her. “Say that you love me still, and I will grant your request.”

“Your majesty has already extorted the avowal from me,” she rejoined. “I thought you had crushed the feeling, but I find it still survives. Promise me my father’s life, and all the love my heart has to bestow shall be yours.”

“I do promise it,” he replied, clasping her in his arms. “The Comte de Saint-Vallier ought to rejoice that he has so powerful an advocate. None but yourself could have saved him. I had fully determined on his death.”

“Mistake not my father, sire,” she rejoined. “He would not accept pardon from you if he knew how it was purchased. Dread of dishonour made him join with Bourbon.”

“Think no more of that,” said François, passionately. “I care not to inquire into his motives for rebellion, since I design to pardon him. But I account it worse than treason that he should forbid you to love me.”

“Enough of this, sire. I must crave leave to depart. I shall never feel easy till I know that my father is safe. Let me return to Paris with his pardon.”

“A messenger is here from the first president,” replied François. “He shall take back the warrant.”

“I can trust it to no custody but thy own,” said Diane. “You will not refuse me this, sire?”

“I have said that I can refuse you nothing, sweet Diane,” he rejoined. “But you will come back soon?”

“As soon as I have set my father free,” she rejoined. “Stay, Diane. I must not deceive you,” said François, somewhat gravely. “I cannot order your father’s immediate liberation. He must remain a prisoner for a time.”

“You will not belie your royal word, sire?” she cried. “You do not mean to play me false?”

“I will liberate the Comte de Saint-Vallier ere long, and bestow a full pardon on him – foi de gentilhomme!” said the king. “For the present, I can merely commute his sentence into imprisonment. But that is tantamount to pardon.”

“Since your majesty gives me that assurance, I am content,” said Diane. “But let me have the warrant.” François at once sat down at a table, and tracing a few lines on a sheet of paper, signed the despatch, and gave it to her. “This letter to the Chancellor Duprat will accomplish all you desire,” he said. “Your father is in no danger of torture or the headsman’s axe. He will be sent to the Château de Loches. But he will soon be liberated. Are you content?”

“I must be, sire,” said Diane, as she took the letter. “I shall fly with the missive to Paris.”

“Return as quickly as you can,” said François. “Were it possible, you should bring the Comte dc Saint-Vallier with you.”

“He would rather remain in his dungeon than accompany me,” she rejoined. “Adieu, sire.”