Paris: The Novel (66 page)

“And to my astonishment, my little boy seemed to be enjoying it more than anybody. He was fascinated by this Falstaff. I have no idea why, but he was. We came to the end of a scene. We applauded. There was a silence.
And then, suddenly, my little boy stood up, pointed at the actor who was playing the prince and shouted: ‘Off with his head!’ Just like that. ‘Off with his head!’

“Everyone turned to look at him. I could see the actors were alarmed. They obviously suspected the French were monsters. ‘You really want me to cut off his head?’ I asked.
‘Oui, Papa,’
he says. ‘Off with his head.’ ”

“I did not know he was so bloodthirsty,” laughed one of the ladies.

“Nor did I, madame,” confessed the king. “But it was then that I made my great mistake. I looked at him severely, and I said: ‘You must wait. We never execute an actor until the play is finished.’ And that was that.”

“You mean he was quiet after that?”

“Not at all, madame. I mean that the actors absolutely refused to continue. They begged the ambassador to save them. Nothing would persuade them to give us another line.” He turned to one of the gentlemen. “Bertrand, you were there. Didn’t it happen just like that?”

“Exactly, sire.”

They all burst out laughing.

“You did not command them to continue?” asked one of the ladies.

“Well, to tell you the truth,” King Henry admitted, “I was getting quite bored by then, so I called for refreshments instead.”

His anecdote done, he seemed about to engage in conversation with one of the ladies. Robert longed to reach out and grab him by the arm, but could not. Was this chance of helping Alain slipping away from him as well?

The king was murmuring something to the lady. But then, abruptly, he turned back to Robert.

“Walk with me, de Cygne,” he said kindly, “and your brother too, of course. I think best when I am walking.”

They moved along the path that ran parallel to the great gallery.

“Tell me,” King Henry said to Alain, “are you a young man who likes adventure?”

“I am, sire,” Alain replied.

“The greatest adventure in the world is in America, at present,” King Henry declared. “I am thinking in particular of the northern region we call Canada. A huge wilderness, unimaginable in its size and, perhaps one day, its riches. A vast territory to be explored and settled. During your lifetime, it could become a huge colony, a new France. Might that be of interest to you?”

Robert looked at King Henry in horror. Was he trying to send his beloved brother away into the wilderness? Where he might never see him again?

But Alain’s face had lit up.

“Under what terms might I go, sire?” he asked.

“I gave the trade monopoly and settlement to the Sieur de Mons. He has a number of talented men with him. There’s Du Pont, the explorer. There’s a young fellow named Champlain. He comes from a family of mariners, knows how to explore the great rivers and how to survey land. He seems to have talent. We have both Catholics and Protestants, all working together. Hardly any nobles. If I ask de Mons to find a place for you, he will. But after that, it will be entirely up to you how you impress these men, and what you make of it. There’s not much ceremony in such circumstances. But plenty of adventure. You’d learn a lot.”

“I am ready to learn, Your Majesty.”

If Alain seemed eager, Robert had taken note of something else the king had let fall. There were hardly any nobles out there. If Alain did well enough, then later on, once the settlements grew to be colonies under royal rule, he would have an advantage. He could even finish up as governor of a province someday. And his family in France would certainly make sure that his name was remembered in the royal court. He could see the cleverness of the king’s offer. But what a distance.

“So,” the king asked, “am I to take it that you are interested?”

“Most assuredly, sire.”

“I am afraid your brother will never forgive me.” The king gave Robert an understanding look. “It seems that he is fond of you.”

“My brother is the best man I know, Your Majesty,” said Alain with feeling.

The king turned back to Robert.

“Sometimes, de Cygne, to get on, we must make compromises. Even sacrifices. But remember this: France is full of ambitious nobles. Many have families far more powerful than yours. But across the ocean, a man can make a name for himself more easily.” He paused, and nodded. “And there is so much land …”

The king now signified that the interview was over, and that they should withdraw. As they did so, he called out: “Long life, Alain de Cygne.”

“To Your Majesty also,” Alain replied.

King Henry looked thoughtful, but said nothing.

As the two brothers made their way back into the Marais, they were both rather quiet. Finally Robert said: “I had not thought of you departing.”

“I know,” Alain answered. “Nor had I. But it’s an opportunity. A big adventure. And with a letter of recommendation from the king …”

“But Canada …”

“I shall write to you, brother.” Alain put his arm around Robert’s shoulder. “With every ship that crosses the ocean.”

Simon Renard was just a quarter mile ahead of the two brothers as he turned into the street that led to his house.

At just past forty, he was quite a handsome man, with only a few gray hairs. A year ago his wife had died, leaving him with three children. He was still getting over her loss.

On reaching his home, he found the house quiet. There was a single servant in the kitchen, who told him that his daughter had taken the younger children to the market with one of their friends, but that the friend’s mother would be coming by to pick up her child.

Simon was glad of the chance to make up his accounts in peace for an hour, and was about to go out to the storehouse in the backyard when he heard a knock at the street door and, on opening it, saw a pleasant, dark-haired woman who was obviously the mother of the child to be taken home.

“Come in,” he said. “I’m afraid the children went to the market, but no doubt they’ll be back soon.” It was annoying to have his work interrupted, but he hoped he didn’t show it.

She stepped in and glanced around.

“You have always lived here?” she inquired.

“Yes. It was my parents’ house. I enlarged it some years ago.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “Your parents are still living?”

“No. I lost them in the plague of ’96.”

The plague had returned to Paris twice since his childhood. Once in 1580, then again in 1596. The first time it had missed this little enclave of the city. The second time, he had been away in Lyon on business and returned to find both his parents gone.

Simon tried to think of something to say. His children had many friends, and he didn’t always remember the details of all their families.

“I forget how many children you have,” he said.

“Just three.”

“Ah yes. The same as me.”

They had stepped into the parlor. It was well furnished. There was a pair of square, upright walnut armchairs with panels of Brussels tapestries across their backs, and a carved trestle table. There was a Turkey carpet on the floor, and a tapestry hanging on the wall. Simon was rather proud of it. So he was pleased when the woman glanced around admiringly and remarked that he had a very handsome parlor.

“I see your business prospers,” she remarked with a smile.

Unlike his father, Simon had not refused to accept any help from his relations. When Guy’s father had offered to put him in the Italian trade, importing silk and leather gloves, he had gladly accepted, and the results had been excellent. Indeed, he could have increased his fortune more had he wished to. But he didn’t. He’d enlarged the house. His family wanted for nothing. But that was enough. He was a member of a guild, but he took no part in its politics. He did not want to impress anyone. He hoped his children would marry into solid, honest families, but not more than that. He had never moved from the quiet spot at the end of the alley which remained a haven of peace and quiet in a stormy world.

His visitor was smiling at him.

“You do not remember me.”

“Forgive me.” He gave her an embarrassed look. It was no use pretending. “My children have so many friends …”

“The fault is mine. You are clearly expecting someone. The mother of some child your children know. But I am someone else. I was last in Paris thirty-two years ago. I did not even know your name. But I came here to see if you still lived here, because I owe you thanks. When I was a little girl, you saved my life. Do you know me now?”

He stared at her in amazement.

“My God. You are the little Protestant girl. You are Constance?”

“I would have sent you a message years ago, but when your father left me with my relations in La Rochelle, all those years ago, he would not even tell them his name. He just hurried away.”

“I didn’t know that.” Simon nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that in
those days, when it was dangerous even to help a Protestant, he might have thought he was protecting our family that way.”

“I think so too. And if I ever knew your family name, I certainly forgot it. I was only five. But I always meant to thank you. So when I arrived in Paris the other day, I set out to find the house. I thought I could remember it.”

“And you did.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Well, after wandering around looking for an hour. I wondered if you would still be living here, and I had no idea if I’d recognize you if you were. But when you opened the door, I thought it was you. And then before I could say anything, you asked me in.”

“But this is wonderful.” He nodded to himself as he remembered. “When my father came back from La Rochelle, he told us you were safe. Then not long after, the royal army came to take La Rochelle. The Protestants held out there so strongly that the army gave up. But we heard that many people had died during the siege, so I had no idea whether you had survived. And here you are. You must bring your husband and children to meet my children.”

“We are still Protestants, you know.”

Simon shrugged.

“It’s legal, now,” he said.

The truth was that, though a Catholic himself, Simon Renard didn’t much care what religion people followed anymore. Even now, he could still remember his sense of shock as a boy that Christians could murder innocents in the street in the name of their faith, and his sense of disappointment when Uncle Guy had seemed to condone it. He had joined that large body of moderate Catholics who felt—no matter what the pope said—that such horrors were against the Christian spirit.

“Well, I should be happy to bring my children to meet your family,” she said. “But alas I cannot bring my husband. He died two years ago. I have come to Paris with my brother-in-law and his family. Our children have grown up together. And when some friends of his urged him to come and join the Protestant church here in Paris, we decided we’d all come together.”

“Then you shall all come,” said Simon. “We shall have a reunion.” And he was about to tell her that his own wife had died, but for some reason he decided not to. Not just yet.

So it was agreed that they should all meet the following Saturday afternoon. Then Constance left.

After she had gone, Simon went back to attend to his business. But for some reason, he found it hard to concentrate.

Did Constance remember that in those far-off days when they were both little children, he had taught her the alphabet? Perhaps. He must ask her. Did she remember that when she was about to leave with his father, he had declared he would marry her? Probably not.

That was certainly out of the question. King Henry might have made peace, but Catholics and Protestants didn’t marry.

He realized that he had never even been inside a Protestant church. He had no idea what one of their services was like.

Perhaps he’d ask Constance and her brother-in-law to take him to one. There could be no harm in that.

•  1898  •

It was a cold January afternoon when Roland brought Marie to Versailles. The trees were bare, and the sky was gray. The palace was closed to visitors that day, but he’d arranged a private tour, and he acted as her guide.