Madame Serpent (30 page)

Bravo! Bravo! thought Catherine, glancing toward Henry and Diane, and

emulating their looks of consternation,

It was not serious, but to the braggart de Vivonno, the finest dueller in France, it came as a complete surprise, and as he staggered back, de Chabot was able to give him another blow on the same spot, and this time, a more violent one.

It is done,
exulted Catherine.

And she was right.

His tendons had been severed, and de Vivonne staggering back with an

awful cry, let his sword fall from his hand as his blood spurted over the green grass.

The crowd roared. The combat was over. It was victory for de Chabot― and

Catherine de’ Medici.

But my victory,
thought Catherine,
is the greater because none but myself
and de Chabot know it is mine.

The breathless crowd waited. What now? Would de Chabot dispatch his

victim and hand him over to the executioner for the gibbet or would he spare his life on receiving a confession that de Vivonne had lied and that de Chabot’s cause was the just one?

De Chabot answered the question by shouting: ‘De Vivonne, restore my

honour; and ask mercy of God and the King for the wrong you have committed.’

The wretched de Vivonne, in direst pain, still was sufficiently aware of his surrounds to remember ambition. He tried to get up, but failing wretchedly, sank back on the grass.

The moment for which Catherine had waited. De Chabot had left his victim

and was kneeling before the King.

‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I entreat you to esteem me a man of honour. I give de

Vivonne to you. Let no imputation, Sire, rest either on his family or upon him on account of his offence; for I surrender him to you.’

Henry had never felt so embarrassed. Here he was, defeated before his court and the citizens of his capital; for de Vivonne’s cause had been his‚ and it was Henry’s honour that de Vivonne was defending.

Catherine’s elation was complete.

Now, my darling,
she was thinking,
who is to blame for bringing you to this
unhappy pass? Whose action, in the first place, set the scandal abroad? Look
into the face of her who sits beside you. She is the guilty one. Hate Diane for
this; not de Chabot. Oh, my love, why waste time on one who bungles so, when
here is your clever Queen who, with your power to help her, could outwit all the
men and women of France?

How she loved him― even. as he sat there, looking foolish and ashamed.

You’ve lost Henry. admit defeat. Oh, my dear foolish one, you must not
hesitate. Have you forgotten that all Paris watching you? Do you not know that
mob hysteria can turn to adoration for a hero, and that hero, de Chabot, stands
before you now? Do not betray yourself. Blame Diane. Hate Diane. But in the
presence of your people do not forget your honour, your nobility
.

But the King was silent.

There was a hissing whisper in the crowd. What meant this? The victor was there. It was a surprise, it was true, but who does not like to be surprised? Why did the King not speak. De Chabot, his head held high, had gone back to his foe who to rise and throw himself in an access of hatred on the man who had ruined his future.

‘Do not move, de Vivonne, or I shall kill you,’ said Chabot.

‘Kill me and have done with it!’ cried the wretched man.

And once again de Chabot presented himself to and asked that his honour be restored to him. But still Henry, bewildered and ashamed, did not speak.

Montmorency rose and knelt before the King. Diane’s trembling hand was

plucking at the King’s sleeve. Henry
must
see reason. He could not so demean himself before those thousands of watching eyes. In a few moments, the

popularity of years could be lost.

Montmorency entreated. The victor must have his dues, Diane whispered.

‘You have done your duty, de Chabot,’ said Henry coldly, ‘and your honour ought to be restored to you.’

Henry then rose abruptly. The trumpets rang out; and he with Diane and the Queen and his immediate followers walked out of the pavilion.

Catherine was delighted, for surely a King could rarely felt so discomfited.

If he would but remember who had led him to this!

She went to her apartments, and as she sat there, she heard her women

chattering.

What were they saying? What was the crowd saying― all those people who

had lain about in the fields all night had come to see a man killed and they had seen a King forget his honour.

But later she laughed to have thought it mattered what the people said; it was what they did that was of more moment. They broke into de Vivonne’s tent, and had a good time with the victuals he had prepared to celebrate his conquest.

They feasted and drank and made merry. They stole the rich plate which he had borrowed.

If there was no death for the crowd, there was plenty of fun instead. Perhaps Henry’s feeble conduct was not so important as Catherine had thought it.

Perhaps, for all her scheming, she had come no nearer to winning her husband from Diane.

I cannot endure it,
she sobbed to herself during her lonely nights.
If I cannot
do it this way, I will find some other.

A few days later, de Vivonne died. He might have lived if he had wished,

but he had torn the bandages from his wounds and would not let the doctors attend him. Hardly anyone seemed to notice his passing

The de Chabot and de Vivonne affair was finished. But the Queen developed a new interest in the study of poisons; and in her private bureau there were many locked drawers containing books and recipes as well as potions and powders.

———————

In November another girl was born. They called her Claude, after Henry’s

mother.

Henry was paying his nocturnal visits to Catherine again. They must get

themselves more sons. Little Francis, at four-years-old was a sickly child.

Catherine watched over him anxiously whenever Diane allowed her to.

Henry had been crowned at Rheims that summer. Catherine had not been

crowned Queen so far; but there was no fresh insult in this, since it was the custom of France that the Queen was not crowned at the King’s impressive

coronation. Her day was to follow.

During the fêtes which had accompanied the coronation of the King,

Catherine had thought of how she could rid herself of Diane. There must be some slow and subtle poison, she told Cosmo and Lorenzo Ruggieri. She could not endure very much more of this humiliation which Diane imposed upon her.

She
must
rid herself of her enemy. Did they not know that at Saint-Germain she had watched the woman and her own husband together?

The brothers shook their heads. Most respectfully and fervently, they

advised her to have the hole in the floor sealed, and to cease to think of the relationship between the King and Diane. They could not help her; they
dared
not help her. Why, even if Diane died from natural causes, the Queen would be suspected of poisoning her! Moreover, all those been known to advise the Queen would be imprisoned and tortured for confessions.

Catherine understood. Why, if Diane died, these two brothers would set

about escaping from France with all speed.

She must not continue to think of removing Diane
that
way. She listened to them and agreed she had no alternative to take their advice because they were right; but all the same she continued to consider the murder of Diane.

Diane did not spare the Queen. Often she entertained the royal party at

Chenonceaux; then she would delight in showing Catherine how she was

beautifying the place. It needed great strength of mind not to slip some quick poison into the goblet.

Diane went from triumph to triumph. Chenonceaux was by no means the

only gift the King bestowed on her. She was rich in jewels and estates; and her triumphs were mounting.

She now began to arrange the marriage of the heir to the throne.

The family of de Guise was linked to her by marriage, for her eldest

daughter had married one of the de Guise― so Diane sought to assist in the elevation of this dashing and ambitious family.

It was characteristic of Diane that, when she had made up her mind that

something should be done, she would beg an audience of the King and Queen and discuss such matter with them, gaining that approval which the King would never deny her, and which Catherine had no power to give.

She did this when they were visiting Chenonceaux, as she wished to lay

before them her plans for the little Dauphin’s marriage.

She was received by the King and Queen, although, Catherine noted

sardonically, it was as though she received
them
.

‘Your Majesties are gracious to listen to me,’ she said. ‘It is future of our beloved Dauphin. Who could be a better match for him than little Mary Stuart, the Queen of Scotland?’

Catherine said: ‘The Queen of Scotland! Her mother was a Frenchwoman!’

‘Your Gracious Majesty can have no objection to that?’ asked Diane, her

lips curling.

‘A Frenchwoman, continued Catherine quietly, ‘a sister to the de Guise

brothers. It may be that his Grace the King feels this family are a little too ambitious. A child of their house to come to France as its future Queen might make them feel of greater importance than they do already.’

‘Queens come from strange places,’ said Diane angrily.

Henry spoke: ‘Let us consider this matter. It will be necessary to find a bride for the boy― sooner or later.’

‘Francis is a baby yet,’ said Catherine.

‘The alliances of kings and queens are made while they are in their cradles,’

said Diane.

Catherine bit her lip to keep back the flow of words. So this was a way of getting more power. Diane and the de Guises wished to rule France. Now they were beginning to do so through the King’s mistress; later those ambitious de Guises would do so through their niece.

‘The reports of the little girl,’ said Diane, ignoring Catherine and speaking to the King, ‘are that she is both clever and charming. Think, Sire, what a fine thing that marriage would be for France. Think what she would bring to us!’

‘Scotland!’ said Catherine. ‘A poor country, by all accounts!’

‘Your Majesty speaks truth there,’ laughed Diane sweetly. ‘It
is
a poor country. All the same it would not be an unpleasant thing to see it attached to the realm of France. But there is another matter which is of the greatest interest.

Sire, have I your consent to speak of it?’

‘My dear friend,’ said the King, ‘I beg you to speak. I know your wisdom of old and I readily give you all my attention.’

Catherine noticed how his eyes adored her. She felt an impulse to burst into weeping, to beg Diane to give him up, and to beg him to tell her what she herself could do to gain his love.

She hastily suppressed such folly.

‘That little girl has a claim to the throne of England,’ said Diane, ‘and her claim is not a light one.’

‘How so?’ cried Catherine, longing to contradict her enemy. ‘There is a

young King on the throne of England,:

Diane laughed. ‘That young King, Majesty, is a puny fellow. Small of

stature, wan of complexion; I hear he spits blood, and his hair is already falling out.’

Catherine knew it was useless to fight against them. Henry’s eyes were

shining; he was in favour of this Scottish marriage because Diane had suggested it, if for no other reason.

‘And when he is dead,’ continued Diane, ‘who shall sit on England’s

throne? There are two women. Mary. Elizabeth. And both these women have

been declared illegitimate at different times,
and
by their own father! Now little Mary Stuart, though not so close to the throne, was at least born in holy wedlock. You understand me?’

‘I am inclined to think that it will be an excellent match for little Francis,’

said Henry.

‘Yes,’ said Catherine slowly, ‘an excellent match.’

Diane gave her that smile of condescending approval which Catherine

loathed more than anything. But, thought Catherine, she is right. For France it will be good. For France, there will be Scotland and possibly England. It is foolish to allow a personal grudge to spoil what would be good for France.

France will be more important than ever; but so will the de Guises!

And so, negotiations for the Scottish marriage were started.

———————

When Francis heard that he was to have a wife he was delighted. He could

scarcely wait to see her. He put away many of his most precious possessions. ‘I am keeping these for Mary,’ he told Catherine.

Elizabeth was envious. ‘
Maman,
’ she wanted to know, ‘cannot I have a wife from Scotland?’

Catherine hugged her daughter. ‘Nay, my love; but when the time is ripe, a handsome husband will be found for you.’

Catherine spent as much time as she could manage in the nursery. This

possible because just at present there were other matters to occupy Diane. But while Catherine was with her children, superintending their education, working hard to win their affection, she was not insensible to what was happening throughout France.

The wars of religion had taken a new and bloodier turn. John Calvin was

preaching hell fire from Geneva, and crowds were flocking to his side; many in France were supporting him the time of King Francis there had been men ready to risk their lives by tampering with the fine decorations of the church which to them seemed idolatrous. Now there was a fresh outburst of such desecrations; and Henry, supported by Diane‚ was a stauncher Catholic than Francis had been with Anne
d’Etampes
at his elbow to help the cause of the Reformers.

Catherine shrugged her shoulders over these differences; it seemed to her that life had taught her that there should be only one religion― self-advancement. She wanted power for herself as long as she lived; she wanted Valois-Medici Kings on the throne of France forever. These religious factions―