Old Court Life in France ... New edition, with ... illustration, etc

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OLD COURT-LIFE IN FRANCE BY FRANCES ELLIOT . AUTHOR OF "THE DIARY OF AN IDLE WOMAN IN STAIN," "PICTURES OF OLD ROME" "THE ILL-TEMPERED COUSIN," " THE RED CARDINAL," ETC. IRew Edition WITH 20 ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALFRED FREDERICKS LONDON WARD & DOWNEY, 12 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN PEE FAC E. All my life I have been a student of French memoir-history. In this species of literature France is remarkably rich. There exist ■contemporary memoirs and chronicles, from a very early period down to the present time, in which are_ preserved not only admirable out looks over general events, but details of language, character, dress, and manners, not to be found elsewhere. I was bold enough to fancy that somewhat yet remained to tell — say, of the caprices and eccentricities of Louis XIII., of the homeliness of Henri Quatre, of the feminine tenderness of Gabrielle d'Estrees, of the lofty piety and unquestioning confidence of Louise de Lafayette, of the romantic vicissitudes of Mademoiselle de Montpensier ; and that some pictures might be made of these old French personages for English readers in a way that should portray the substance and spirit of history, without affecting to maintain its form and. dress.

In all I have written I have sought carefully to work into my dialogue each word and sentence recorded of the individual, every available trait of peculiarity of character to be found in con temporary memoirs, every tradition that has come down to us. To be true to life has been my object. Keeping close to the back ground of history, I have endeavored to group the figures of my fore ground as they grouped themselves in actual life. I have framed them in the frames in which they really lived. FRANCES ELLIOT. t CONTENTS ■CIIAPTEB PAGE I. FRANCIS I., . . . . 1 CHAPTER PAGE XXXVII. — LOUISE DE LAFAYETTE, . 120 II. — CHARLES DE BOURBON, . 3 XXXVIII. — TEMPTED, .... 126 III. — BROTHER AND SISTER, . . 5 XXXIX. — THE KEEPER 01' THE ROYAL IV. — THE QUALITY OF MERCY, . 8 CONSCIENCE, . . . 131 V. ALL LOST SAVE nONOE, . 12 XL. — A NOBLE RESOLVE, . .134 VI.

BROKEN FAITH, . . .14 XLI. — THE SACRIFICE, . . . 136 VII. — LA DUCnESSE d'etampes, . 17 XLII. — MONSIEUR LE GRAND, . 139 VIII. LAST DAYS, . . . .21 XLIII. DEATn ON TnE SCAFFOLD, 144 IX. — CATHERINE DE MEDICI, . 23 XLIV. — THE END OF THE CARDINAL, 147 X. — A FATAL JOUST, . . .24 XLV. THE QUEEN -REGENT, . .149 XI. — THE WIDOWED QUEEN, . . 26 XI.VI. THE DUO DE BEAUFORT, . 15 i XII. — MAEY STUART AND HER HUS' XLVII. — MIDNIGHT VISITORS, . . 159 BAND, . . . .28 XLVIII. — THE TWO DUCHESSES, . 162 XLIX. — ';PUT NOT THY TRUST IN Xin. A TRAITOR, . . . .30 XIV. — TnE COUNCIL OF STATE, . 33 PRINCES," . . . 166 xv. — Catherine's vengeance, . 35 L. — CHARLES STUART, . .170 XVI. — TnE ASTROLOGER'S CHAMBER, 39 LI. — THE LADIES' WAR, . . 174 XVII. — AT CnENONCEATJ, . . .41 I.II. MAZAEIN PLAYED OUT, . 177 XVIII.

Chapter I. Feancis

I. TTTE ave in the sixteenth century. VV Europe is young in artistic life. The minds of men are moved by the discussions, councils, protests, and con tentions of the Reformation. The print ing-press is spreading knowledge into every corner of tlie globe. At this period, three highly-educated and unscrupulous young men divide the power of Europe. They are Henry VIII. of England, Charles V. of Austria, and Francis I. of France. Each is magnifi cent in taste ; each is desirous of power and conquest. Each acts as a spur to the others both in peace and in war. They introduce the cultivated tastes, the refined habits, the freedom of thought of modern life, and from tlie period in which they flourish modern history dates. The wealth of beauty and color, the flowing lines of almost divine expression in the works of the Italian painters of the Cinque-cento, delighted the sensuous soul of Francis.

"Wherever he lived he gathered treasures of their art around him. Such a nature as his had no sym pathy with the meritorious but precise elaboration of the contemporary Dutch school, led by the Van Eycks and Hol bein. It was Leonardo da Vinci, the head of the Milanese school, who blended power and tenderness, that Francis de lighted to honor. He brought Cellini, Primaticcio, and Leonardo, from Italy, and never wearied of their company. He established the aged Leonardo at tho Chateau de Clos, near his own castle of Amboise, where the painter is said to have died in the arms of his royal patron. Of these three monarchs, Francis is the boldest, cleverest, and most profligate. The elegance, refinement, and luxury of his court, are unrivalled ; and this luxury strikes the senses from its contrast with the frugal habits of the ascetic Louis XL and the homely Louis XII.

His reign educated Europe. If am bition led him toward Italy, it was as much to capture the arts of that classic As an architect, Francis left his mark beyond any other sovereign of Europe. bright, and beautiful. He delighted in the repose of peace, yet no monarch ever plunged his country into mere ruinous and causeless wars. Though capable of the tenderest and purest affection, no man was ever more heartless and cruel in principle and conduct. He transformed the gloomy fortress-home — embattled, turreted, and moated — into the elaborately-decorated, manorial cha teau. The bare and foot-trodden space without, enclosed with walls of defence, was changed into green lawns and over arching bowers breaking the vista toward the royal forest, the flowing river, and the open champaign. Francis, Due de Valois, was educated at home by his mother, Madame Louise deSavoie, Duchesse d'Angouleme, Regent of France, together with his brilliant sis ter, Marguerite, " the pearl of the Va lois," poetess, story-teller, artist, end politician.

Each of these royal ladies was tenderly attached to the clever, handsome youth, and together formed what they chose to call "a trinity of love." The old Castle of Amboise, in Touraine, the favorite abode of Louis XII., continued to be their home after his death. Here, too, the hand of Francis is to be traced in sculptured windows and architectural facades, in noble halls and broad galleries, and in the stately terraced gardens overlooking the Loire which flows beneath its walls. Here, under the formal lime-alleys and flower ing-groves, or in the shadow of tiie still fortified bastions, the brother and sister sat or wandered side by side, on many a summer-day ; read and talked of poetry and troubadours, of romance and chival ry, of Arthur, Roland, and Charlemagne, of spells and witcheries, and of Merlin the enchanter, whose magic sailed before a woman's glance.

Francis had a mania for building. Like Louis XIV., who in the century following built among the sand-hills of Versailles, Francis insisted on creating a fairy-palace amid the flat and dusty plains of Sologne. Here the Renaissance was to achieve its triumph. At Chambord, near Blois, were massed every device, decoration, and eccentricity of his favorite style. So identified was this place with its creator, that even his intriguing life peeps out in the double staircase un der the central tower — representing the gigantic sieur -de-lys in stone — where these who ascend are invisible to those who descend ; iu the doors, concealed in sliding panels behind the arras; and in many double walls and secret stairs. Azay le Rideau, built on a beautifully wooded island on the river Indrc, though less known than Chambord, was and is an exquisite specimen of the Renaissance.

It owes the fascination of its graceful outlines and peculiar ornamentation to the master-hand which has graven his crowned F and Salamander on its quaint facades. The Louvre and Fontainebleau are also signed by these monograms. He and his son, Henry IL, made these piles the historic monuments we now behold. Printing at that time having become general, literature of all kinds circulated in every direction, stirring men's minds with fresh tides of knowledge. Margue rite de Valois, who was called "the tenth Muse," dwelt upon poetry and fiction, and already meditated her Boccaccio-like stories, afterward to be published under the title of the " Heptameron." Francis gloated over such adventures as were detailed in the roundelay of the "Four Sons of Aymon," a ballad of that day; devoured the history of "Amadis de Gaul," and tried his hand in twisting many a love-rhyme, after the fashion of the "Romaunt of the Rose."

Such was Francis, the artist. As a soldier, he followed in the steps of Bay ard, sans peur et sans reproche. Be per fected that poetic code of honor which reconciles the wildest courage with gen erosity toward an enemy. A knight-er rant in love of danger and adventure, Francis comes to us as tho perfect type of the chivalrous Frenchman ; ready to do battle on any provocation either as king or gentleman, either at the head of his army, in the tournament, or in the duello. He loved all that was gay, CHARLES DE BOURBON. 3 In such an idyllic life of love, of soli tude, and of thought, full of the human izing courtesies of family life, was formed the paradoxical character of Francis, who, .above all men, possessed what the French ■describe as "the reverse of his qualities." His fierce passions still slumbered, his im agination was filled with poetry, his heart beat high with the endearing love of a brother and a son.

His reckless courage vented itself in the chase, among the royal forests of Amboise and of Chante loup, that darkened the adjacent hills, or in a tussle with the boorish citizens, or travelling merchants, in the town be low. his proud nature easily turns to vindictive and almost savage revenge. Invested with the double dignity of general of the royal forces and Constable of France, he comes to Amboise to salute the king and the princesses, who are both strangely interested in his career, and to take the last commands from Francis, who does not now propose accompanying his army into Italy. There is a restless, mobile expression on Bourbon's dark yet comely face, that tells of strong passions ill suppressed. A man capable of ardent and devoted love, aud of bitter hate ; his marriage with his cousin Suzanne, lately dead, had been al together a political alliance to bring him royal kindred, wealth, and power.

Su zanne had sailed to interest his heart. It is said that another passion has long en gaged him. Francis may have some hint as to who the lady is, and may resent Bourbon's presumption. At all events, the constable is no favorite with the king. He dislikes his fanfaronnade and haughty address. He loves not either to see a subject of his own age so powerful and so magnificent ; it trenches too much on his own prerogatives of success. Besides, as lads, Bourbon and Francis had quarrelled at a game of maille. The king had chal lenged Bourbon, but had never fought him, and Bourbon resented this refusal as an affront to his honor. Thus he grew into manhood, his stately yet condescending manners, hand some person, and romantic courage, gain ing him devoted adherents. Yet, when we remember that Francis served as the type for Hugo's play of " Le Roi s'amuse," we pause and — think.

Chapter II. Ohaeles De Bouebon

TriE court is at Amboise. Francis is only twenty, and still solicits the advice of his mother, Louise de Savoie, regent during his minority. Marguerite, now married to the Due d'Alencon, has also considerable influence over him. Both these princesses, who are with him at Amboise, insist on the claims of their kinsman, Charles de Montpensier, Due de Bourbon — in right of his wife, Su zanne, only daughter and heiress of Pierre, the last duke — to be appointed Constable of France. It is an office next in power to the sovereign, and has not been revived since the treasonable con spiracy of the Comte de St.-Pol, in the reign of Louis XL The constable, mounted on a splendid charger, with housings of black velvet, and attended by a brilliant suite, gallops into the court-yard. His fine person is set off1 by a rich surcoat, worn over a suit of gilded armor.

He wears a red and-white panache in his helmet, and his sword and dagger are thickly incrusted with diamonds. At the top of the grand staircase are posted one hundred archers ; royal pages conduct the constable through the range of state apartments. Bourbon is only twenty-six, hut he is already a hero. He has braved death again and again in the battle-field with dauntless valor. In person he is tall and handsome. In manners, he is frank, bold, and prepossessing; but, when offended, Tho king receives Bourbon in the great gallery hung with tapestry. He is seated on a chair of state, ornamented with elaborate carving, on which the arms of France are in High relief. This chair is placed on the constable, in the name of Queen Claude, to join her afternoon circle. Meanwhile, he is charged to conduct the constable to an audience with the regent-mother, who awaits him in her apartments. a raised floor, or dais, covered with a carpet.

Beside him stands the grand master of the ceremonies, who introduces the constable to the king. Francis, who in ch nes his head and raises his cap for an instant, is courteous, but cold. Marguerite d'Alencon is present ; like Bourbon, she is unhappily mated. The Due d'Alen- Qon is, physically and mentall}', her in ferior. When the constable salutes the king, Marguerite stands apart. Conscious that her brother's eyes read her thoughts, she blushes deeply and averts her face. Bourbon advances to the spot where she is seated in the recess of an oriel window. Be bows low before her ; Marguerite rises, and osiers him her hand. Their eyes meet. There is no disguise in the passionate glance of the constable ; Mar guerite, confused and embarrassed, turns awav. The king had been cool and the princess silent and reserved ; not so the Re gent Louise de Savoie, who advances to meet the constable with unmistakable eagerness.

" I congratulate you, my cousin," she says, holding out both her hands to him, which he receives kneeling, " on the dignity with which my son has invested you. I may add, that I was not altogether idle in the matter." " Your highness will, I hope, be jus tified in the favor you have shown me," replies the constable, coldly. " Bo seated, my cousin," continues Louise. " I have desired to fee you alone that I might fully explain with what grief I find myself obliged, by the express orders of my son, to dispute with a kinsman I so much esteem as yourself" — she pauses a moment, the constable bows gravely — "the inherit ance of my poor cousin, yonr wife, Ma dame Suzanne de Bourbon. Suzanne was dear to me, and you also, Consta ble, have a high place in my regard." " Has your highness no word of kind ness for your kinsman ?

" Days the con stable, in a low voice. " You know, cousin, your interests are ever dear to me," replies she, in the same tone; then, courtesying deeply to the king, she takes the arm cf her husband, M. d'Alencon, who was killing flies at tho window, and leaves the gallery. " Liable ! " says Francis to his confidant, Claude de Guise, in an undertone : "My sister is scarcely civil to the constable. Did you observe, she hardly an swered him? All the better. It will teach Bourbon humility, and not to look too high for a mate." Louise ceases. She looks significantly at the constable, as if Availing for him to answer; but he does not reply, and again bows. "I am placed," continues the regent, the color gathering on her cheek, " in a most painful alternative. The chancellor has insisted on the legality of my claims — claims on the inheritance of your late wife, daughter of Pierre, Due de Bourbon, my cousin.

I will not trouble you with details. My son urges the suit. My own feelings plead strongly against proceeding any further in the matter." She hesitates and stops. " Yet her highness pleaded eagerly with your majesty for his advancement." " Yes, yes ; that was to please our mother. Suzanne de Bourbon was her cousin, and the regent promised her be fi ire her death to support her husband's claims." Meanwhile, the constable receives, with a somewhat reserved and haughty civility, the compliments of the court. He is conscious of an antagonistic at mosphere. It is well known that the king loves him not; and whom the king loves not, neither does the courtier. " Your highness is, of course, aware that tho loss of thh. suit would be abso lute ruin to me ? " says Bourbon, looking hard at Louise. A page then approaches, and invites " I fear it would be most disastrous to ' Has your highness no word of kindness sot your kinsman.1 "—Page 4.

BROTHER AND SISTER. 5 your fortunes. That they are dear to me, judge — you are by my interest made Constable of France, second only in pow er to my son." into his face. Bourbon starts violently and looks up. Louise de Savoie, still holding his hand, meets his gaze with an unmistakable expression. She is for ty years old, but vain and intriguing. There is a pause. Then the constable rises and drops the hand which had rested so softly upon his own. His handsome face darkens into a look of disgust. A flush of rage sends the blood tingling to the cheeks of Louise. " I have already expressed my gratitude, madame." "But, constable," continues Louise de Savoie, speaking with much animation, " why have you insisted on your claims — why not have trusted to the gratitude of the king toward a brave and zealous sub ject ?

"Why not have counted on myself, who have both power and will, as I have shown, to protect you ? " " Your highness mistakes me," says Bourbon. "The respect I owe to his majesty, the disparity of our years, my own feelings, all render such a union impossible. Your highness does me great honor, bnt I do not at present intenel to contract any other alliance. If his ma jesty goes to law with me, why, I will fight him, madame — that is all." "The generosity of the king and your highness's favor, which I accept with gratitude, have nothing to do with the legal rights of my late wife's inheritance. I desire not, madame, to be beholden in such matters even to your highness or to his majesty." " Enough," answers Louise, in a hoarse voice, "I understand." Tho con stable makes a profound obeisance and retires.

""Well, constable, well, as you will; you arc, I know, of a proud and noble nature. But I have desired earnestly," and the regent rises and places herself on another chair nearer the constable, "to ascertain from your own lips if this suit cannot be settled _ Vamiable. There are many means of accommodating a law suit, duke. Madame Anne, wife of two kings of France, saved Brittany from cruel wars in a manner worthy of imi tation." This interview was the first act in that long and intricate drama by which the spite of a mortified woman drove the Due de Bourbon — tho greatest general of his age, under whom the arms of France never knew defeat — to become a traitor to his king and to France. "Truly," replies Bourbon, with a sigh; "but' I know not what princess of tho blood would enable rp e to accom modate your highness's suit in so agree able a manner."

Chapter III. Beothee And Sistee

" Have you not yourself formed some opinion on the subject?" asks Louise, looking at the constable with undisguised tenderness. Yeaes have passed ; Francis, with his wife, Queen Claude, daughter of Louis XII. and Anno of Brittany, is at Cham bord, in the Touraine. Claude, but for the Salic law, would have been Queen of France. In her childhood she was affianced to Charles, son of Philip the Fair, afterward Charles V. of Germany, the great rival of Francis. Francis had never loved her; tlie union had been political; yet Claude is gentle and devoted, and he says of her, that "her soul is as a rose without athorn." Tliis queen— the darling of her parents — can neither bear the in- "No, madame, I have not. Since the hand of your beautiful daughter, Madame Marguerite, is engaged, I know no one."

"But" — and she hesitates, and again turns her eyes upon him, which the con stable does not observe, as he is adjusting the hilt of his dagger— " but— you forget, duke, that I am a widow." As she speaks she places her hand upon that of the constable, and gazes to the Duchesse d'Alencon, as the sun re appears out of a bank of cloud, " the weather mends; in a quarter of an hour we shall start. Meanwhile, dear sister, sit beside me. Morbleu, how well that riding-dress becomes you ! You are very handsome, and worthy to be called the Rose of the Valois. There are few royal ladies in our court to compare to you ; " and Francis glances significantly at his gentle queen, busy over her embroidery, as if to say — " Would that she resembled you ! " difference nor the infidelity of her brilliant husband, and dies of her neglected love at the early age of twenty-five.

Marguerite d'Alencon, the duke her husband, and the court, arc assembled for hunting in the forests of Sologne. Chambord, then but a gloomy mediæval fortress, lying on low, swampy lands, on the banks of the river Casson, is barely large enough to accommodate the royal party. Already Francis meditates many changes ; the course of the river Loire, some fifteen miles distant, is to be turned, in order to bathe the walls of a sumptuous palace, not yet fully conceived in the brain of the royal architect. Marguerite, proud of her brother's praise, reddens with pleasure, and reseats herself at his side. "By-and-byl shall knock down this sombre old fortress," continues Francis, looking out of the window at the gloomy facade, " and trans form it into a hunting chateau. The situation pleases me, and the surrounding forest is full of game."

It is spring; Francis is seated in the broad embrasure of an oriel window, in an oak-panelled saloon, which looks toward the surrounding forest. He eagerly watches the gathering clouds that veil the sun and threaten to prevent the boar hunt projected for that morning. Beside him, in the window, sits his sister Mar guerite. She wears a black-velvet rid ing-habit, faced with gold; her luxuriant hair is gathered into a net under a plumed hat, on which a diamond aigrette glistens. At the farther end of the roem Queen Claude is seated on a high-backed chair, richly carved, in the midst of her ladies. She is embroidering an altar-cloth; her face is pale and very plaintive. She is young, and, though not beautiful, there is an angelic expression in her large gray eyes, a dimpling sweetness about her mouth, that indicate a nature worthy to have won the love of any man, not such a libertine as Francis.

Her dress is plain and rich, of gray satin, trimmed with er mine ; a jewelled coif is upon her head. She bends over her work, now and then raising her wistful eyes with an anxious look toward the king. The queen's hab its are sedentary, and the issue of the hunting-party is of no personal interest to her: she always remains at home with her children and ladies. Many attendant lords, attired for hunting, are waiting his majesty's pleasure in the adjoining gallery. "My brother," says Marguerite, inter rupting him and speaking in an earnest voice, for her eyes have not followed tho direction of the king's, which are fixed on the prospect; she seems not to have heard his remarks, and her bright look has changed into an anxious expression ; " my brother, tell me, have you decided upon the absolute ruin of Bourbon?

Think how his haughty spirit must chafe under the repeated marks of your displeasure." They are both silent. Mar guerite's eyes are riveted upon the king. Francis is embarrassed. He averts his face from the suppliant look cast upon him by his sister, and again turns to the window, as if to watch the rapidly-passing clouds. " My sister," he says at length, " Bour bon is not a loyal subject; he is un worthy of your regard." " Sire, I cannot believe it. Bourbon is no traitor! But, my brother, if he were, have you not tried him sorely? Have you not driven him from you by an intolerable sense of injury? O Francis, remember he is our kinsman, your most zealous servant; did he not save your life at Marignano? Who among your generals is cool, daring, valiant, wise as "Marguerite," says the king, turning BROTHER AND SISTER. 7 Bourbon?

Has he not borne our flag triumphantly through Italy? Have the French troops under him ever known de feat? Yet, my brother, you have now publicly disgraced him." Her voice trem bles with emotion ; she is very pale, and her eyes fill with tears. he glances at Marguerite, whose eyes fall to the ground. "But see, my sister, the sun is shining; and there is some one al ready mounting in the court-yard. — Give the signal for departure, Comte de Saint - Vallier," says the king, in a louder voice, turning toward two gentlemen standing at an opposite window in the gallery. The king has to repeat his command be fore tho Comte de Saint- Vallier hears him. " Saint-Vallier, you are in deep converse with De Pomperant. Is it love or war?" " By the mass, Marguerite, no living soul, save our mother, would dare to ad dress me thus !

" exclaims the king, turning toward her. He is much moved. Then, examining her countenance, he adds : " You are strangely agitated, my sister. What concern have you with the constable? Believe me, I have made Bourbon too powerful." "Neither, sire," replies the captain of the royal archers, looking embarrassed. "M. de Pomperant, are you going with us to-day to hunt the boar?" says the king, advancing toward them. " Not now, not now, Francis, when you have, at the request of a woman — of Madame de Chateaubriand, too — taken from him the government of Milan ; when he is superseded in his command ; when our mother is pressing on him a ruinous suit, with your sanction." " Sire," replies De Pomperant, bow ing profoundly, "your majesty does me great honor ; but, with your leave, I will not accompany the hunt.

Urgent business calls me from Chambord." At the name of Madame de Chateau briand Marguerite's whole countenance darkens with anger, the king's face grows crimson. " Ah, coquin, it is an assignation ; con fess it," and a wicked gleam lights up the king's eyes. " No, sire," says De Pomperant. " I go to join the Constable de Bourbon, who is indisposed." " My sister, you plead Bourbon's cause warmly — too warmly, methinks," and Francis turns his head aside to conceal his confusion. " Ah ! to join the constable ! " Fran cis pauses and looks at him. " I know he is your friend," continues he, suddenly becoming very grave. " Where is ho ? " "Not only has your majesty takenfrom him the government of Milan," continues Marguerite, bitterly, unheeding the king's interruption, " but he has been replaced by Lautrec, brother of Madame de Cha teaubriand, an inexperienced soldier, un fitted for such an important post.

Oh, my brother, you are driving Bourbon to des pair. So great a general cannot hang up his victorious sword." "At his fortress of Chantelle, sire." " At Chantelle ! a fortified place, and without my permission. Truly, Monsieur de Pomperant, your friend is a daring subject. What if I will not trust you in his company, and command your attend ance on our person here at Chambord? " " Then, sire, I should obey," replies De Pomperant; "but let your gracious majesty remember the Due de Bourbon is ill; he is a broken and ruined man, de prived of your favor. Chantelle is more a chateau than a fortress." "By my faith, sister, you press me hard," replies the king, recovering the gentle tone with which ho always ad dressed her; " I will communicate with my council ; what you have said shall bo duly considered.

Meanwhile, if Bourbon inspires you with such interest, as it seems he does, tell him to humble his pride and submit himself to us, his sovereign and his master. If he do, he shall be greater than ever, I promise you." As he speaks "Go, De Pomperant; I did hut jest. Tell Bourbon, on the word of a king, that he has warm friends near my person; that, if the regent-mother gains her suit against him, I will restore tenfold to him in money, lands, and honor. Adieu, Monsieur de Pomperant. You are dismissed. Bon voyage.'' is dangerously full of temptations to the young." " We lose a bright jewel by her ab sence," says Marguerite, abstractedly. "M. le Comte," she continues, in a low voice, speaking quickly, and motioning to him with her hand to approach nearer, " I have something private to say to yon.