France -- History -- Henry III, 1574-1589 -- Fiction
“Quelus, my child,” said the king, “you will be as blue as Schomberg
when he came out of the indigo.”
Quelus stopped, but Schomberg still continued to tear at his hair.
“Schomberg, Schomberg, a little reason, I beg.”
“It is enough to drive one mad!”
“Indeed, it is a dreadful misfortune; there will be a civil war
in my kingdom. Who did it--who furnished the ladder? Mordieu!
I will hang all the city! Who was it? Ten thousand crowns to
whoever will tell me his name, and one hundred thousand to whoever
will bring him to me, dead or alive!”
“It must have been some Angevin,” said Maugiron.
“Oh yes! we will kill all the Angevins!” cried Quelus. However,
the king suddenly disappeared; he had thought of his mother,
and, without saying a word, went to her. When he entered, she
was half lying in a great armchair: She heard the news without
answering.
“You say nothing, mother. Does not this flight seem to you criminal,
and worthy of punishment?”
“My dear son, liberty is worth as much as a crown; and remember,
I advised you to fly in order to gain a crown.”
“My mother, he braves me--he outrages me!”
“No; he only saves himself.”
“Ah! this is how you take my part.”
“What do you mean, my son?”
“I mean that with age the feelings grow calm--that you do not
love me as much as you used to do.”
“You are wrong, my son,” said Catherine coldly; “you are my beloved
son, but he of whom you complain is also my son.”
“Well, then, madame, I will go to find other counselors capable
of feeling for me and of aiding me.”
“Go, my son; and may God guide your counselors, for they will
have need of it to aid you in this strait.”
“Adieu, then, madame!”
“Adieu, Henri! I do not pretend to counsel you--you do not need
me, I know--but beg your counselors to reflect well before they
advise, and still more before they execute.”
“Yes, madame, for the position is difficult.”
“Very grave,” replied she, raising her eyes to heaven.
“Have you any idea who it was that carried him off?” Catherine
did not reply.
“I think it was the Angevins,” continued the king.
Catherine smiled scornfully.
“The Angevins!”
“You do not think so?”
“Do you, really?”
“Tell me what you think, madame.”
“Why should I?”
“To enlighten me.”
“Enlighten you! I am but a doting old woman, whose only influence
lies in her prayers and repentance.”
“No, mother; speak, you are the cleverest of us all.”
“Useless; I have only ideas of the last century; at my age it
is impossible I should give good counsel.”
“Well, then, mother, refuse me your counsel, deprive me of your
aid. In an hour I will hang all the Angevins in Paris.”
“Hang all the Angevins!” cried Catherine, in amazement.
“Yes, hang, slay, massacre, burn; already, perhaps, my friends
are out to begin the work.”
“They will ruin themselves, and you with them.”
“How so?”
“Blind! Will kings eternally have eyes, and not see?”
“Kings must avenge their injuries, it is but justice, and in this
case all my subjects will rise to defend me.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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