Montemorency moved off, and she gave the Vidame permission to sit beside her.
The young man was amusing; he was always ready with the latest gossip, and she had found more than once that he soothed her wounded vanity. People glanced their way, and she knew they wondered whether this was the beginning of a love affair― although there had never been anything of this nature in the life of the Queen.
‘Your Majesty is looking charming this evening.’ The young man’s handsome head moved closer to that of the Queen, who tried to show that the flattery did not interest her; she could not be blamed if it did, she reminded herself, since she had received so little in a lifetime of humiliations at the court of France.
‘Poor old Montmorency seems troubled tonight,’ she said.
‘It is this affair of his son’s. The old man is ambitious for the boy, and the boy, the saints preserve him, is ambitious for love.’
‘I think the boy has spirit,’ said Catherine.
‘What we would call spirit, Madame, the old Constable calls folly.’
Catherine smiled. The whole court was talking of the Montmorency affair at the moment. The King had offered his daughter, Diane of France, to the Constable’s son, and the Constable’s son had already promised marriage to one of Catherine’s ladies. Montmorency was furious to think that the man had, by his impetuous act, spoiled his chances of linking his family with the King’s. He had had the girl whom his son wished to marry shut up in a convent, and was endeavoring to get the Pope to annul the promise of marriage.
‘Ah well,’ went on the Vidame, ‘it is a great temptation. The old Constable would rejoice to see his son make such a noble marriage. One understands.’
‘One understands the Constable’s feelings and those of his son. The latter is not the first to refuse a match that would bring him advantage.’
They exchanged smiles. Catherine was referring to the Vidame’s declining the hand of Diane’s daughter.
‘Madame,’ whispered the Vidame, ‘there is one here who greatly enjoys the Constable’s discomfiture.’
Again they could smile together, cosily, intimately. It was very pleasant to chat with someone who had proved that he had no wish to serve Diane.
‘How well they hide their enmity from the King!’ said the Vidame.
The Queen was silent, and he wondered if he gone too far. He was ambitious; he had not thought ageing Diane could hold her influence at court as long as this; and even now, he looked at her silver hair― though she was beautiful in spite of it― and he felt, as all did, that she would hold the King’s attention until she died, he was sure that he had done the right thing in winning the good graces of the quiet Queen instead of those of Diane. His was a waiting policy and the Queen was comparatively young. When he had looked into those dark eyes that could seem so mild, he had seen something which others had failed to see; he had discovered that Catherine was not the insignificant person many believed her to be. He remembered the death of Dauphin Francis which had made her Queen. Ah, Madame Serpent, he thought, could you solve that mystery? But sly she might be, subtle too, yet she was also a neglected wife; he was not rich, but his face, his breeding, his charming manners were his fortune, and he had always been a great success with women.
‘How beautiful she looks,’ said Catherine, ‘in her black-and-white. I declare it becomes that silvery hair of hers more it did the raven locks.’
‘Beautiful, yes. What health she enjoys! There must be sorcery in it. But even sorcery cannot hold off the years indefinitely.’
‘Yes; she has aged much since I first set eyes on her.’ He had come close and she moved slightly.
‘A thousand pardons, Madame,’ he said. ‘For one blessed moment, I forgot you were the Queen.’
She looked away with a hint of impatience, but he knew that she was not displeased. The Vidame began to wonder seriously about the possibility of a love-affair with the Queen. He was sure it would be a most profitable love affair, and the poor Bourbons with the King’s four sons standing between them and the throne, could not afford to ignore any opportunity.
Catherine, too astute not to read his thoughts and to suspect his motive, was wondering how she might use the Vidame. Diane was ageing. The King was inclined to simplicity. He had never thought of his wife as an attractive woman.
Would it be possible to gain his attention by letting him think that one of the handsomest men at court was interested in her?
It was a thought worth considering. Therefore she allowed the Vidame to stay at her side, and listened with apparent lightheartedness to his veiled compliments which he knew so well how to phrase.
She was watching the two lovers― Francis and Mary― on the window-seat.
Francis de Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine were still with them; the wily pair were talking merrily, and the children were going off into fits of laughter at their presumably witty conversation. Young Francis was staring up at the scarred face of Francis de Guise with adoration. Of what was the Duc de Guise speaking? Of Metz, where he had routed Spaniards? Of his entry into Paris, where the people adore him even as young Francis was preparing to do? Even that terrible scar on his right cheek which had earned for him the name of le Balafé― hideous though it was― he had turned to advantage. The terrible Duc de Guise, the greatest soldier in France, the idol of Paris, the most scheming of a scheming family, the uncle of her who might one day be Queen! In that event it would be the Guise brothers who would become the power behind the throne. Now, as he talked, he was drawing others to him; and his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine, was there to help him.
The Cardinal was the cruellest of men, the most cunning, the most witty, the most ambitious and immoral man who ever strove for his own ends under the sanctifying robes of the Church. He was as ready with a quotation from the Bible or the classics as he was with a risqué story; he was completely unscrupulous. And this man, with Francis de Guise, stood behind the Scots Queen and the boy Francis awaiting the death of the King, that they, through these children, might rule France. And on whom did these men turn their flattery― on the pale-faced, delicate boy Dauphin or the girl with that shining mass of hair and the most charming smile in France? The wily uncles would direct their niece, for she adored them, and the girl in turn would rule the Dauphin since he was passionately in love with her.
Catherine stood up suddenly; she was determined to break-up the conference by the window.
‘Let us play a game,’ she said. ‘Let it be Pall-Mall.’
The ladies and gentlemen could all join in this, and better to have them playing than engaging in dangerous conversation.
Mary Stuart’s eyes met those of the woman who was to be her mother-in- law, and the girl’s mouth hardened. She knew that the merry conversation she was enjoying had been deliberately broken up.
So! thought Mary. She is jealous. I and the Dauphin surround ourselves with all the most important people in the land, and that makes her angry. The daughter of tradesmen is afraid that she will lose what little dignity she has! Catherine noted the girl’s pout, and laughed inwardly. Silly little Mary Stuart! She thought it was for her charming beauty that those uncles of hers flattered her. She did not realize that even to such rakes as the Guise brothers there were more important matters than beautiful women.
The King joined in the game of Pall-Mall, playing with enthusiasm which he gave to all games, and with that fine sportsmanship which made a game he played in as informal as any played without him.
How noble he looked at play! thought the Queen, and wondered when and if old age would ever ease her longing for him.
She passed among the players, and in doing so could not help but hear an ill-timed remark of Mary Stuart’s:
‘She likes not to see you gentlemen more interested in Francis and me than in herself. Is not that what one would expect from a daughter of tradesmen?’
Catherine’s face was impassive. Let the insult pass for the moment; it would not be forgotten.
But, watching the King, she had little thought to spare for the girl. She could not live without the hope of one day luring him from Diane.
Would it be possible to kindle a spark of jealousy? And if so, not might not slumbering passion be awakened?
Her speculative eyes sought the tall, handsome figure of the Vidame of Chartres.
* * *
In Catherine’s apartments her women were robing her for the wedding of her eldest son. She could hear the bells ringing out the city and the people were already shouting in the streets.
As they slipped her jewel-studded gown over her head, she thought of the events which had befallen this land thick and fast in the last few months — events which had culminated in marriage which neither she nor Diane and the King had wished to take place so soon. Francis and Mary were children only fourteen and fifteen. They were madly in love― at least Francis was, and Mary was ready to pet him and love him because of the eagerness with which he did everything she of asked him.
In these last months, those uncles of Mary Stuart had grown in importance.
The idol of Paris had become almost the King of Paris. Even Diane, who had once worked steadily to advance them, was appalled by their rising power, and had even sunk her differences with Montmorency to work against their further rise.
Whatever happened at court, it seemed that wars must come and go, and this time the enemies of France had been both the Spaniards and the English― allies because the King of Spain was the husband of the Queen of England. The Spaniards had reached Saint-Quentin, surrounded it, besieged it, and the town had fallen to King Philip’s men while Montmorency himself had been taken prisoner. Paris was threatened, and the country was in despair. The terrified Parisians were showing signs of panic, and there had been a few outbreaks of rioting.
Catherine could smile now as the jewels winked back at her, for out of this disaster had she achieved great triumph. She had been Regent in Henry’s absence; and this time, sweeping aside all those who would hamper her, she gave the citizens of France a glimpse of the real woman behind that submissive façade. She had seen clearly that Paris must be lifted from its apathy and fear unless the whole of France was to be lost; and she had made her way to the Parliament and there demanded money for the armies, and had commanded that the people should not be told that the war was lost. So eloquently did she speak, so skilful were her arguments, so courageous her manner, and above all so calm was she, that she won the admiration those who had previously regarded her as a nonentity. Paris became hopeful. Funds were raised for the armies. Catherine was proved right. The war was not lost.
Then Francis de Guise― le Balafré― saw an opportunity of saving his country and winning fresh honour for himself. He took Calais from the English.
It was an unimportant little town but the moral effect was tremendous, for the English, after two hundred years, were at last expelled from Franc; and the humiliation of having foreigners on French soil was at last removed. What mattered it that the Constable de Montmorency was a prisoner when there was Francis de Guise to fight the battles of France.
The Spaniards could not extend their lines of communication beyond Saint- Quentin; their armies were disbanded and withdrawn, and it became obvious that the Queen’s bold action in demanding money to continue the fight had saved France from ignoble and unnecessary surrender.
Thinking back, Catherine could smile with more than elation, with hope of achieving her heart’s desire. It was longer possible to regard the Queen with indifference. The King showed in his manner a new respect for his wife. And there was the young Vidame de Chartres waiting to pay her his respectful admiration, which, at a sign from the Queen, could kindle into something deeper. Catherine thanked the saints nightly for the miracle of Saint-Quentin.
But the hero of the day was Francis de Guise, and to him must go great honour. Henry began by giving an Oriental masque for him in the Rue Saint-Antoine. It was lavish, colourful, expensive; worthy, said the Parisians, of their beloved le Balafré. But the cunning Duke was after more glory than the Oriental masque could give him. He and his brother the Cardinal pressed for the marriage of their niece to the Dauphin; and, being well aware of the immense popularity― swollen now by the gain of Calais― of the impudent Guises, the King, with Diane, agreed that the marriage should take place at once.
‘Bring me my pearls,’ said Catherine; and they were brought placed about her neck.
‘Now, send in my children, that I may inspect them,’ she ordered.
They came― all except the bridegroom, who was being prepared for his wedding in his own establishment.
Catherine embraced first Elizabeth and Claude and complimented them on their charming appearance. ‘My dears, you are excited, I can see, to witness your brother’s marriage. Well, we shall soon be finding husbands for you, eh?’
‘And for me also,’ said saucy Margot, pushing forward out of her turn.
‘If we can find someone who will put up with your wickedness, Mademoiselle Margot!’ said her mother, trying to look severely at the brightest of all the faces before her.
‘It is easy to find husbands for princesses,’ said Margot, with wisdom beyond her five years. ‘So one will be found for me, I doubt not.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Papa’s sister, Aunt Marguerite, has no husband, and she is a princess.’
‘Hush, my children, this is most unseemly talk,’ said the Queen. ‘The wedding has made you forget your manners.’ Then her eyes went to her darling boy. He returned that special secret smile they kept for each other. ‘And how Henry today? Excited, wishing for a wedding of his own?’
He skipped towards her; his movements were graceful, like a girl’s than a boy’s. The others noticed that he was not reprimanded for forgetting the respect owed to the Queen, even though she was his mother.
Catherine stooped and kissed her beloved child, first on cheek, then on the other.
Seven years old and growing in grace and beauty every day! Oh my darling, she thought, I would it were your wedding today and that you were the Dauphin! You would not care more for the flighty fair-haired beauty than for your Maman.
‘I would rather have a new clip for my coat, Maman, than a wedding,’ said Henry seriously. ‘I have seen a beautiful one in gold set with a sapphire.’
‘So you wish for yet another ornament, my proud popinjay?’
She would give an order for the clip. He should have it for his birthday.
He showed her his coat. Was it not magnificent? Did she not like it better than that of Hercule or even Charles? He, himself had ordered the alterations to be made.
She pinched his cheek. ‘So it is a little dressmaker you have become then?’
But she must remember the others waiting expectantly for notice.
She made Charles turn round that she might see the set of his coat. Silly, sullen little boy! He was angry and jealous because Mary was marrying his brother. His eyes were weeping. How stupid of a boy of eleven to think he had lost the love of his life!
Little Hercule, the baby, was four and very pretty though Mademoiselle Margot outshone them all― except Henry, in Catherine’s eyes― with her gay spirits and bright red cheeks and flashing eyes. She must pirouette and curtsy and take little Hercule by the arm and pretend that he was her bridegroom and that they were bowing to the crowds. The children were so comic that Catherine found herself bursting into loud laughter.
‘We forget the time,’ she declared at length. ‘It will not do for us to be late.’
She signed to the attendants. ‘Take them now and see that they are ready when the time comes.’
The royal party had spent the night at the palace of the Bishop of Paris, and a gallery had been erected which ran from the palace to the west door of Notre Dame. This gallery was fitted with tapestries and cloth of silver and gold, wherever possible ornamented with the fleur-de-lys.
It was now time to join the party which was to make its way through the g
allery to Notre Dame, and the King’s gentlemen led the way, followed by princes, cardinals, archbishops, and abbots; then came the Papal Legate with the Dauphin and his brothers, the Bourbon princes following; and after that, the most enchanting sight of all― young Mary Stuart, dazzling all eyes in a white gown with a long train, while on her fair curling hair, she wore a golden crown, decorated with pearls and coloured precious stones. The people gasped and could not take their eyes from her as the King himself led her into Notre Dame.
And after the King and the little Queen, came Catherine and her ladies.
Catherine’s alert eyes missed nothing. Francis de Guise, she noted, was much in evidence― diabolically attractive with that hideous scar and his rich garments. He had taken Montmorency’s place as Grand Master of the King’s Household, and Catherine admired his cleverness in playing to the crowd. He had allowed the common people to use the scaffolding which had been erected for the occasion.
‘Le Balafré!’ called the crowd. He knew well how to play to the humble people of Paris, he was their idol, determined to be their King.
Cardinal de Bourbon greeted the royal party as they entered the church.
While he was delivering his oration, gold and silver coins were thrown to the crowds. Even in the church it was possible to hear the shouts of the people, shouts of delight from those who secured the money, shouts of protest and from those who were almost trampled to death in the struggle. All through the ceremony the shouting persisted, mingled with screams of the injured.
Catherine was glad when they left the church, for by time the weak had prevailed on the heralds to stop the scattering of money, crying out that unless they did, there would be many deaths to celebrate the wedding of their Dauphin, Back at the Bishop’s Palace a banquet awaited them, and after this the King led the bride in a dance; watching them, Catherine remembered her own wedding and magnificent Francis with the kind, debauched eyes holding her hand telling her that she was Catherine of France now, not Caterina of Italy.
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