The Constable De Bourbon. Ainsworth William Harrison

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СКАЧАТЬ proportioned. Her features were of extreme delicacy, her eyes large and of a tender blue, her eyebrows beautifully pencilled, her locks blonde, and her complexion ravishingly fair. Her attire was of white brocade, her long stomacher being covered with gems, while the girdle that encircled her narrow waist was studded with precious stones. Over her gown she wore a surcoat of azure satin embroidered with gold, and having loose hanging sleeves. A magnificent head-dress of goldsmith’s work confined her blonde tresses, and set off her lovely countenance. Françoise de Foix was as fascinating in manner as she was charming in person, and her royal lover seemed spellbound by her attractions. She was not, however, more faithful to him than she had been to her husband, but she had the art to conceal her infidelities, and never incurred his suspicions. Unable to brook his dishonour, the Comte de Châteaubriand had withdrawn wholly from court, and secluded himself in his lonely château in Brittany, where he meditated a terrible revenge, which he afterwards consummated. The end of the lovely countess was very tragical.

      From the contemplation of the bewitching Françoise de Foix we must turn to another lovely woman, who formed part of the assemblage in the gallery. This was the king’s sister, Marguerite de Valois, Duchess d’Alençon – La Marguerite des Marguerites, as she was styled by her royal brother, who tenderly loved her. Graceful of person, beautiful of feature, amiable in disposition, a model of virtue in a depraved court, united to a husband she could not respect, and who was incapable of appreciating her merits, yet to whom she was faithful, highly accomplished, learned, and witty, the Duchess d’Alençon was the chief ornament of the court of François I.

      About two years subsequent to the period of our history Marguerite was liberated from her husband by death, and espoused in her second nuptials Henri d’Albret, King of Navarre – a consort in all respects better suited to her. As Queen of Navarre, her court was thronged by poets, savants, and men of letters. Clement Marot thus eulogises her:

      Entre autres dons de grâces immortelles,

      Madame écrit si haut et doucement,

      Que je m’étonne, en voyant choses telles,

      Qu’on n’en reçoit plus d’ebanissement.

      Puis quand je l’ouis parler si sagement,

      Et que je vois sa plume travailler,

      Je tourne bride, et m’ébanis comment

      On est si sot de s’en émerveiller.

      Ronsard, then a handsome page, thus addresses her:

      Ainsi tu fus, ô princesse,

      Ançois plutôt, ô déesse,

      Tu fus certes tout l’honneur

      Des princesses de notre âge,

      Soit en force de courage,

      Ou soit en royal bonheur.

      By some she was styled the Tenth Muse and the Fourth Grace. Her Nouvelles, which obtained a wonderful celebrity in her own day, may be classed with the Decameron of Boccaccio.

      Marguerite was dressed in crimson velvet, richly embroidered, and her head-dress was of goldsmith’s work, like that of the Comtesse de Châteaubriand. If she was not so fascinating as the latter syren, she possessed infinitely more dignity, and her features had an expression which nothing but purity can impart.

      Many other beautiful and high-born dames and demoiselles were present, but we do not think it necessary to describe them, neither can we do more than allude to the brilliant collection of young seigneurs, all magnificently arrayed, by whom the king was attended.

      “So you are resolved to go to Italy, sire,” observed the Comtesse de Châteaubriand to the king, who was standing near an open window, gazing into the orange-garden. “Nothing that I can say will detain you.”

      “I must win back the duchy of Milan, which your brother, the Maréchal de Lautrec, has suffered Prospero Colonna and Pescara to wrest from me,” rejoined François. “Had I been there, this would not have happened. I have been idle far too long, and must conduct the war in person.”

      “I trust it will be a brief campaign,” sighed the countess.

      “Doubt it not, ma mie,” replied the king. “The duchy shall soon again be mine. During the winter I will hold my court at Milan, and you shall come thither, if you list.”

      “I would I might accompany you during the campaign, sire! Let me go with you, I entreat you!”

      “No, that cannot be. You could not cross the Alps with the army. But you shall follow speedily. Nay, content you, mignonne. You shall go with me as far as Lyons.”

      At this moment, Bonnivet, who had come quickly down the gallery, approached them.

      “You have some news for us?” said the king, looking inquiringly at him. “Any tidings from Bayonne, or from the Milanese?”

      “None, sire,” replied the Admiral. “I merely come to announce to you a most unexpected visitor. Not to keep you a moment in suspense, I will add that the Prince Mal-endurant has just arrived at the palace.”

      “The Constable de Bourbon arrived here!” exclaimed the countess.

      “His arrival is not unexpected,” replied the king, smiling. “In fact, I sent for him.”

      “You sent for him, sire!” exclaimed Bonnivet, surprised, and exchanging a glance with the countess. “I did not suppose you would adopt such a course. If I had been aware of it, I would have counselled you against it.”

      “And so would I,” added the countess.

      “For that very reason, I did not mention my design,” remarked François. “What will you say, ma mie, if I should be reconciled to the Constable?” he added to the countess.

      “I shall say that your majesty is not true to yourself,” she replied, unable to conceal her vexation.

      “Reconciliation with Bourbon is impossible, unless the Duchess d’Angoulême will forego her claim – and she will never do that!” cried Bonnivet.

      “Hum!” exclaimed François. “One cannot tell what may happen. I always pay the greatest deference to my mother’s wishes, and, as she has expressed a desire to see the Constable, I have sent for him.”

      “It is strange I should hear nothing of this before, sire,” remarked Françoise de Foix, in a tone of pique.

      “Not so strange as you think, mignonne,” replied the king. “The duchess bound me to secresy.”

      “What can be the meaning of this?” thought Bonnivet. “The duchess hates Bourbon too deeply to make terms with him.”

      “I see it!” mentally ejaculated the countess, instinctively arriving at the truth. “Her love for Bourbon has been suddenly revived. But will he accept her terms? If I know him, he will not.”

      “Here comes the Constable,” remarked François, as the tall and majestic figure of Bourbon was seen moving slowly down the gallery. He was preceded by the chamberlain, and followed by Saint-Vallier and René de Bretagne.

      “He has not lost his insolent deportment,” remarked the Admiral. “I ought to have informed your majesty that he has brought with him an escort of three hundred gentlemen.”

      The observations told, and a frown of displeasure passed over the king’s brow. But it fled before Bourbon came up, and gave way to a gracious smile.

      “Welcome, СКАЧАТЬ