I am nothing to him, thought Catherine; and she is all. What I would I not give to see her lying dead? ‘It is a pleasure to see you, Madame,’ said Catherine. ‘How well you look.’
Diane rustled regally to the bed and kissed Catherine’s hand. ‘And you, I am sad to see, do not look so well. You have overtired yourself.’
Diane glanced at Madalenna. ‘I had given instructions that Madame la Dauphine was to sleep this afternoon.’
‘You must not blame Madalenna,’ said Catherine. ‘She obeyed her mistress and brought my son to me.’
Diane was playful and firm all at once. She clicked her tongue. ‘It was so very wrong of you to so tire yourself. And young Francis was to stay in his nursery. He has not been well these last days, and I did not wish him to be carried through the corridors. Hello, my little one.’
The boy smiled. ‘Look!’ he said; and he held out a ring.
‘That is beautiful. And what are you doing with Maman’s rings, eh?’
Catherine felt as though she wanted to burst into tears, for Francis looked at Diane as though she were his mother.
‘Come along,’ said Diane. ‘We are going back to the warm nursery; and if you are very good I will tell you a story. Madalenna, cover up your mistress, and put the baby in her cradle. Madame la Dauphine must not tire herself so. Oh yes, I know she is feeling better.’ This was to Catherine. ‘But we want no ill effects to spoil our pleasure in Madame Elizabeth’s arrival.’
She picked up young Francis, and Catherine noticed how willingly he left the rings to go to her. She longed to snatch him from her arms, to shout: ‘You have my husband! Leave me my child!’
But instead she smiled and murmured: ‘You do too much for me― and my family.’
Diane, if she saw subtle allusions, knew when to ignore them. ‘Indeed no. I count myself favoured to serve you and the Dauphin. Now say Au revoir to Maman― there is a little fellow.’
Was it Catherine’s imagination or did young Francis say Au revoir with something like relief?
As Diane and Francis left, Madalenna obediently took up little Elizabeth and laid her in her cradle.
Catherine lay back on her pillows. She set her mouth into a smile while she thought of her hatred of Diane.
Madalenna stitched quietly in the window seat; the baby slept, and as the afternoon wore on, Catherine lay still thinking of how much she hated her enemy.
* * *
As soon as she was well enough to travel, Catherine left Fontainebleau to join the court at Saint-Germain-en-Layne. When she was there she sent for Cosmo and Lorenzo Ruggieri. She wished, she said to discuss with them her daughter’s horoscope.
When they came to her she dismissed all her attendants. ‘Speak in Italian,’
she said, ‘and quietly; for what I say to you two must be heard by none other.’
They begged her to proceed.
‘How,’ she asked, ‘can I rid myself of an enemy and have no hand in her going?’
The two brothers looked first at each other and Catherine; they were worried.
Cosmo was the first to speak. He said: ‘ Duchessina, there is one enemy of whom you could not rid yourself without the gravest suspicion. Is it of her we must speak?’
She did not answer. She knew that he was right; but she wished to ease her jealous soul by talking of the impossible.
‘It matters not who it is,’ she said imperiously as the brothers were waiting for her to speak.
‘I crave pardon, Madame la Dauphine,’ said Lorenzo firmly, ‘but we cannot agree that it matters not.’
‘There are poisoned perfumes,’ she said.
‘Dangerous!’ answered Cosmo. ‘They may fall into the wrong hands.’
‘Lip salve,’ she suggested.
‘As dangerous as perfume,’ Lorenzo put in. ‘Very easily to those who supply it.’
‘There are gloves so cleverly poisoned that a victim has only to draw them on and death follows,’ she said.
The brothers nodded and were silent; but their lips, she were tightly compressed.
‘And then,’ she went on, ‘there are books. It is but necessary to turn the leaves, and the poison enters through the skin and the victim dies. In Italy we know how such things are done.’
‘It is necessary for Italians to be cautious,’ said Cosmo. ‘We are not loved in this land.’
‘I thought you two would work for me,’ she said.
‘We have sworn to serve you,’ said Cosmo.
‘With all our hearts and minds,’ echoed Lorenzo.
‘But always with caution, dear Duchessina,’ finished Cosmo. ‘Oh dear lady, if aught happened to the one you wish removed, every finger would point to you. All know the position she holds. All understand how deeply she has humiliated you. Why, if she were to die a natural death tomorrow, there would be those to look askance at you. Rather you should employ us to keep her alive than to remove her.’
She stared before her. ‘I see― that you are right, my dear wise friend. Let us talk of my daughter’s future.’
The brothers were greatly relieved. They knew of the raging emotion beneath the calm of their mistress. They were often afraid they would wish them to act rashly. At the time of Dauphin Francis’s death they had suffered agonies of suspense; they had expected to be arrested and put to the torture. The would be a fool if she tried to remove the Sénéchale.
‘Come,’ said Catherine. ‘Will my daughter make a good marriage?’
But how could she be interested in her daughter’s future? It was that of herself and her husband that mattered her. Henry’s hatred would be unrelenting if anything happened to Diane, for he would be the first to blame her.
What folly was love that brought nothing but misery and jealousy! If only she could curb her emotions for that silent prince, her husband. How cruel that she, Catherine de’ Medici so clever, so accomplished in many ways, should be such a fool in this one!
She did not listen to the brothers. She wanted to tell them : I do not care. I love my husband so much that there is little left for others― even my children. She dismissed them since they would not talk to her of how she could remove Diane. She shut herself into her chamber and tried to rest.
She made resolutions. In future she would try to see the faults of Henry. She would try to return indifference for indifference. What if she took a lover? She laughed. Respect she could inspire― and awe. But love? Had any other loved her? Ippolito? Doubtless he had thought that as they were Medici cousins they would run well in harness. Nobody loved her. She was alone. Even the lowest serving girl had a lover. Even those who lived in hovels down by the river were loved by someone. Yet, the future Queen of France must remain unloved; and even her child turned to another woman in preference to herself.
‘Where do I fail?’ she asked herself as she watched evening shadows fall across the windows.
How lonely she was! Her women had left her for the night and Henry would not come. She laughed bitterly. With one child but a few weeks old, the time was not ripe for the begetting of another.
She lay sleepless, listening to the palace settling down for night. She heard the sound of voices in the garden. Some lovers lingering there? A soft footfall in a corridor. Lovers’ meetings? The shutting of a door; the creaking of a board.
All over the palace there would be lovers. The King and Madame d’Etampes.
The ladies-in-waiting. The Gentlemen of the Bedchamber― all the noble men and women of the royal household. Madalenna perhaps. Some secret assignations; some legitimate love. The Dauphin and Diane. Why, their relationship was of such long standing and so discreetly conducted that it was almost a marriage.
She laughed bitterly and got out of bed. She wrapped a rich velvet gown about her and threw back her long fair hair.
I am not ill-favoured, she thought. I am more than twenty younger than she even says she is! Why, oh why, should I be left alone? Diane’s apartments in this palace were directly below her own. She had felt exultan
t when she had heard that, and had the fulfillment of a wish which had long been hers.
Shortly before the birth of Elizabeth, she had brought in an Italian workman, a servant of the brothers Ruggieri, and had j hole through the floor of her room and the ceiling of Diane’s. The work had been done when the court was in residence at Les Tournelles; and so neatly had it been executed that, if the spy-hole between the two floors was not looked for, it would not be noticed. The workman was an artist in his way, and the hole in the ceiling was set within a beautiful carving of flowers so that it seemed to the casual eye to be part of the decoration. On Catherine’s floor it was carefully covered by a rug over which she kept her writing desk. She was just able to move this desk herself; then it was a simple task to remove the rug, put her eye to the hole, and see a good deal of what went on in the room below.
When the Court was at Saint-Germain and Diane was with it, ostensibly in attendance on the Queen, Catherine would lock her doors, lift the desk, remove the rug, and watch through the spy-hole.
The sight of her husband and his mistress together, while it tortured her, yet fascinated her; and while she knew they were together, she could not resist watching them.
Through the spy-hole, she saw a new Henry, a new Diane.
Sometimes she laughed to think that she shared their intimate secrets; more often she wept. She knew that she would be a happier woman if she brought back her Italian workman and bid him fill up the hole.
But again and again she returned to the torture. And on this night they were together― her husband, dark and lithe, Diane with her milk-white skin and raven hair.
Catherine wept bitterly as, cramped and stiff, she kept vigil at the spy-hole until they slept.
* * *
Catherine could see no escape from her enemy. She believed now that Henry would be faithful to Diane till death. If only Anne d’Etampes could prevail upon the King to banish Diane from court!
Tension between the King and the Dauphin was growing. The war between France and Spain had come to another halt with the Treaty of Crépy; and the two court parties― the Reformed party and the Catholic party― were at odds concerning the treaty. The King had agreed to it, and the Dauphin was against it.
Henry believed that had he been allowed to fight he and his troops would have been more than a match for those of Spain. But Francis, with Anne and young Charles of Orléans, was delighted with a treaty which offered the young Prince a choice of two brides― Charles V’s daughter, Infanta Maria, or his niece, the daughter of Ferdinand of Austria. And he was to be allowed four months in which to decide. With the Infanta went the Netherlands, but only on the death of Charles V; with Charles’s niece went Milan, but only when an heir was born to the couple.
Henry pointed out that these terms were much the same that had been offered previously. What, he demanded, had they gained by the sacrifices of the war which they had been pursuing for so long? The boy was right, thought Francis; but he was weary of war. He wanted to see young Charles settled; and Anne was continually pointing out that the Dauphin’s objections to the treaty meant that he did not wish to see his brother too powerful.
Henry’s apartments, with those of Diane, had become the headquarters of the Catholic party; and one evening, not long after the signing of the Crépy Treaty, Diane and Henry were supping more merrily than usual with a group of their closest friends.
Catherine was not of the party; she remained in her chamber. She had, earlier in the day, spoken of a sick headache. She had set Madalenna to watch and report all that was said at Henry’s supper table.
The girl must wait in an antechamber, hide herself in the hangings and make sure that she was in a spot where she could overhear what was being said.
Catherine waited wretchedly. Madalenna did her work well, for all that she hated it. She dared do nothing else. Catherine smiled coldly, recalling the frightened face of Madalenna. She, Catherine de’ Medici, might not know how to win people’s love, but she knew how to make them tremble.
She hoped Madalenna would have something worthwhile to report; if Diane would only say something which would, if repeated, be construed as treason against the King! What joy if she were banished. But then, if she were, Henry would follow her into exile. Still, as Dauphin, there were duties at court which he could not neglect. She was tempted to tell Anne something of her love for her husband and her hatred of his mistress. The venomous feelings they both had for Diane should make them the closest allies. But she hesitated, reminding herself that no one must know her mind, for it had always been advantageous to work in the dark.
Madalenna came breathlessly to her and Catherine rose from her chair.
‘Madalenna! Why have you left your post?’
‘Madame la Dauphine, Monsieur de Vieilleville has just left the Dauphin’s table. He said that he was unwilling to be a party to the Dauphin’s indiscretion.
There is a fine scene in there― and―’
‘What scene?’ demanded Catherine. ‘What have you heard?’
‘It begun when they talked of the King and said what a fine man he once was, and how sadly he is changing, and how in the last months his health is seen to be failing―’
‘Yes, yes. We know all that.’
‘Well, then the Dauphin said that when he was King, he would bring back Anne de Montmorency, and there was applause round the table. Then he told Monsieur Brissac that he should be Grand Master of the Artillery and Monsieur de Saint-André that he should be Grand Chamberlain.’
‘What folly!’ cried Catherine. ‘What if this comes to the King’s ears?’
‘That is what Monsieur de Vieilleville said. He said that the Dauphin was selling the skin of the bear before the bear is killed. And he begged leave to go.’
‘You have done well, Madalenna. Why, the Dauphin and the Sénéchale have done enough, I’ll swear, to get themselves banished from the court― You need not go back. Stay here. Tell none what you have heard, or they would ask you how you heard it, and that, little Madalenna, would not be easy for you to explain.’
Madalenna flushed hotly and Catherine smiled at her. She slipped out into the corridor which separated her apartments from those of her husband and, seating herself in a window seat, she waited.
She did not wait long before she saw the King’s Jester Briandas, creep silently out of the Dauphin’s apartment, ‘Good day to you, Briandas,’ she cried.
‘You have a guilty air! What secrets have you been listening to in there?’
The man seemed astonished; he had lost his native wit. He stammered:
‘Secrets? Why, Madame la Dauphine―’
Catherine said slyly: ‘And what post, Briandas, is to be yours when mine is Queen of France?’
‘You have sharp ears, Madame la Dauphine.’
‘News travels fast in palaces, Jester.’ She stared at her beautiful white fingers. “Do you think Saint-André will be a better Grand Chamberlain than Saint-Pol?’ She continued to study her fingers. ‘I know not what the King will say to these changes. I fear he will not be over-pleased with those who applauded them. They might find that they lose their heads before they attain their posts. What think you, Jester?’
‘It is true,’ said Briandas, ‘a post would be of little use to a man without a head.’
‘All those present would be under suspicion.’
‘Is that so, Madame la Dauphine? Methinks you are right. Only a humble man such as myself would be safe.’
‘It is not wise to be too humble, Briandas. I myself am humble yet had I been at that table, I know what I should be doing now instead of exchanging this chatter.’
‘What would you be doing, Dauphine?’
‘I would go to the King and make sure that he knew I was a loyal subject. A King-that-is is more to be feared than a King-to-be. For if you lost your head today, it would not matter to you who is King tomorrow.’
‘I see you are my friend, Madame.’
‘I am the friend the humble and me
ek.’
The jester’s eyes kindled as he bowed low.
Catherine watched him make his way to the King’s apartments.
Francis was at supper with Anne, the Cardinal of Lorraine and several of the officers of the Crown, including Monsieur de Tais, the Grand Master of the Artillery and the Comte de Saint-Pol.
The jester addressed the King without ceremony.
‘God save you, Francis of Valois!’ he cried.
Francis, startled by such an insolent address, even from his jester, demanded to know the meaning of it.
‘Why,’ said Briandas slyly, ‘you are King no longer. I have just had this proved to me. And you, Monsieur de Tais, are no longer Grand Master of the Artillery; Brissac is appointed. And you, Comte de Saint-Pol, are no longer Grand Chamberlain, because Saint-André is. Montmorency is soon to be with us again. Begone, Francis of Valois. I call God to witness, thou art a dead man.’
The King rose; he took the jester by the collar and shook the little man.
‘Foy de gentilhomme!’ he cried. ‘You will explain more fully what you mean, or feel my steel in your heart. Speak, man, if you wish to live other minute.’
‘The King is dead!’ cried Briandas. ‘Long live King Henry of Valois!’
The King’s face was purple.
Briandas hurried on: ‘With these ears I have heard. King Henry and Queen Diane are already mounting the throne.’
But the King had had enough of this folly and told him to speak seriously of what he had heard. When Briandas finished, Francis stood glowering before him.
Anne laughed. ‘So he has dared to speak his evil aloud. Depend upon it, this is Madame Diane’s will. She can no longer wait for her queen-ship.’
But there was no need to goad Francis. Catherine, who had quietly entered the room during the uproar, saw that his blood was up. She laughed silently, for she had heard Anne speak of Diane. Surely now there would be no place at court for Henry’s mistress; and surely the Dauphin would not be allowed away too long.
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