Part 6 (2/2)
Coligny smiled. Charles IX. rubbed his hand over his brow, yellow and s.h.i.+ning like ivory, and repeated in a kind of sing-song the following couplets:
”Ronsard, I am full sure that if you see me not, Your great King's voice by you will shortly be forgot.
But as a slight reminder--know I still persevere In making skill of poesy my sole endeavor.
And that is why I send to you this warm appeal, To fill your mind with new, enthusiastic zeal.
”No longer then amuse yourself with home distractions; Past is the time for gardening and its attractions.
Come, follow with your King, who loves you most of all, For that the sweet strong verses from your lips do fall.
And if Ardoise shall not behold you shortly present, A mighty quarrel will break out and prove unpleasant!”
”Bravo! sire, bravo!” cried Coligny, ”I am better versed in matters of war than in matters of poetry, but it seems to me that those lines are equal to the best, even written by Ronsard, or Dorat, or even Michel de l'Hopital, Chancellor of France.”
”Ah! my father!” exclaimed Charles IX.; ”would what you said were true!
For the t.i.tle of poet, you see, is what I am ambitious, above all things, to gain; and as I said a few days ago to my master in poetry:
”'The art of making verse, if one were criticised, Should ever be above the art of reigning prized.
The crowns that you and I upon our brows are wearing, I as the King receive, as poet you are sharing.
Your lofty soul, enkindled by celestial beams, Flames of itself, while mine with borrowed glory gleams.
If 'mid the G.o.ds I ask which has the better showing, Ronsard is their delight: I, but their image glowing.
Your lyre, which ravishes with sounds so sweet and bold, Subdues men's minds, while I their bodies only hold!
It makes you master, lifts you into lofty regions, Where even the haughty tyrant ne'er dared claim allegiance.'”
”Sire,” said Coligny, ”I was well aware that your Majesty conversed with the Muses, but I did not know that you were their chief counsellor.”
”After you, my father, after you. And in order that I may not be disturbed in my relations with them, I wish to put you at the head of everything. So listen: I must now go and reply to a new madrigal my dear and ill.u.s.trious poet has sent me. I cannot, therefore, give you the doc.u.ments necessary to make you acquainted with the question now debating between Philip II. and myself. There is, besides, a plan of the campaign drawn up by my ministers. I will find it all for you, and give it to you to-morrow.”
”At what time, sire?”
”At ten o'clock; and if by chance I am busy making verses, or in my cabinet writing, well--you will come in just the same, and take all the papers which you will find on the table in this red portfolio. The color is remarkable, and you cannot mistake it. I am now going to write to Ronsard.”
”Adieu, sire!”
”Adieu, my father!”
”Your hand?”
”What, my hand? In my arms, in my heart, there is your place! Come, my old soldier, come!”
And Charles IX., drawing Coligny toward him as he bowed, pressed his lips to his white hair.
The admiral left the room, wiping away a tear.
Charles IX. followed him with his eyes as long as he could see, and listened as long as he could catch a sound; then, when he could no longer hear or see anything, he bent his head over toward his shoulder, as his custom was, and slowly entered his armory.
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