"I mean the sharp touch which King Henry used to cure the ill of which you speak," replied Julia.
"No, perhaps not that," said Henry, musing. "I am not cruel; and I do not love such sharp remedies even with hard, iron-tempered men. I have a notion, too, that ladies' necks were made for other things than to bear an axe--to bear gay jewels and bright glittering chains, I mean. That same fondness of the axe you speak of, especially in the case of women, seems a particular characteristic of the Tudor race. Thank God, it has not come hither. I do not think I should like the practice, even on the worst of women; and by my faith, the dagger and the bowl, which we have been rather fond of here in former years, is not to my taste either. If I were to choose, I would rather be the victim than the executioner. God deliver me from being either!"
There was something in the conversation, and the course which it had taken, which brought a fit of deep thought upon Henry; and for the next twenty minutes he said little or nothing; then looking up, he pointed forward with his hand, saying, "There is fair Chamberry; but it is some miles distant yet; and as you must needs go forward to-night--which, after all, is perhaps better--I will send on to bid them have my homely dinner ready, and a few spoonfuls more pottage than is ordinarily supplied to the king's table. I can tell you, cousin, the kings of France are almost sure to find their way to Abraham's bosom, for there is much more of Lazarus than of Dives in their condition on this earth. Things are rather better now, thanks to Rosni; but in times past I have often wanted a dinner, and even now, as you may see, and will see, I am neither clothed in purple and fine linen, nor fare sumptuously every day."
CHAPTER XIV.
Although Henry IV. was much accustomed to call things by their own names, the tent which he had spoken of was a handsome house in the town of Chamberry, his camp the wide circuit of the city itself, though, to say sooth, there were other tents, and another camp without the walls. The purveyors of the royal household had not, it is true, been much more careful in providing "cates divine" for the monarch's table than they usually had been in times past. Perhaps no general officer in his army fared so ill as Henry IV., for he was too good-humoured to take notice of any little derelictions, and cared less for an offence against his own person than one against the state. Perhaps he was wrong; I believe he was: for a man who tolerates disobedience of orders or default of duty in one instance, gives encouragement to the same fault in another. But still men of great genius have many roads open before them to the same ends; and the rigid rule which one considers necessary to the attainment of his objects, may be dispensed with by another without danger.
It may be true as an axiom, that the French nation can never remain peaceable and prosperous--considering their peculiar national characteristics--except under a tyrant. It may be true that Henry IV., had he been a tyrant, would never have perished by the knife of Ravaillac. It may be true, that no strong-minded tyrant ever fell either by the hands of the assassin or the judgment of his people; that it is the combination of weakness of character with despotic theories, that has been the downfall of every monarch who has succumbed to public indignation or private vengeance:--"The roar of liberated Rome" itself was merely the exultation of a people who had been cowed for years by a madman and a fool, at their liberation from a yoke as pitiful as it was oppressive. But there is a power in love, when excited by a being whose sterner and stronger qualities command respect, which is powerful over great masses; and although Henri Quatre passed over many small faults in those who surrounded him, I believe his vigour and determination in great things would have secured him against anything like popular caprice or versatility; and that the only thing which he had to fear, as a consequence of his good-humoured lenity in regard to personal offences, was the cowardly means of private assassination.
However that may be, the king's table, on the day of which we have been speaking, was certainly more poorly provided than that of many private gentlemen of modern fortune. The pomp and circumstance of a court waited around; but yet his scanty meal was no way royal, and the king felt a little mortified that such penuriousness had been displayed before a stranger.
Immediately after dinner, Henry left the fair Julia with Madame de Rosni and some other ladies, and called Gowrie away to a small cabinet of the house in which he had taken up his quarters. Seating himself, he motioned his young guest to a chair, and then said, "I take it for granted, my lord, that what you have said is actually the case, and that you have not seen our good cousin of Savoy, nor know anything of his affairs; but that you are simply travelling homeward with the beautiful bird in your trap, intending, of course, to make her your bride when you reach your native land?"
Gowrie merely bowed his head, saying, "I assure your majesty, I know nothing of the Duke of Savoy whatever."
"Well, then," replied Henry, "there may be one, perhaps, whom you may be well pleased to know--I mean Elizabeth, Queen of England. I will therefore write her majesty a few lines in your favour; and you will do well, when you reach Paris, to see her ambassador, Sir Henry Neville, in order that he may second my recommendation. I can see the time coming," continued the king, "when favour in England may be highly beneficial to a Scottish nobleman. If you should attain it, use it discreetly, for you have to deal with two people who have their peculiarities. The one, with strong sense, has small sincerity, with infinite policy combines many weaknesses, who can be a bitter enemy, but not an honest friend, and who will always sacrifice to expediency those who have served her--and there are none others--for their own ends. It will be right for you to be well with her, but not too well. The other has the greatest wit of any man I know, and the least wisdom. Cunning as a fox, his policy is as wily as that of the beast, and as pitiful. But his hatred is very dangerous, for it is strong in proportion to his weakness, and will pursue paths as obscure as his logic or his religion. To the latter personage you must have access from your own rank; to the former I will give you a letter, which will prove of good or bad effect on your own fortunes as you shall use it. Wait a moment, and I will write. You have done me some wrong in your own thoughts to-day; but I do not bear malice long; and I will not tell the maiden queen that you were half afraid to trust yourself with her brother of France, having a fair maiden in your company."