Madame Serpent (42 page)

rose-water and vinegar.

Paris had changed from a city of joy to one of mourning while its people

stood about near Les Tournelles waiting for news. But though the doctors

dressed the wound and were even able to remove some splinters, though they purged the King with rhubarb and camomile, and bled him, still they could not save his life.

The days passed and with them passed the King’s agony; for he remained in a stupor from which none could rouse him.

———————

The Queen was desolate, pacing up and down her apartments, having the

children brought to her, embracing them all in turn, sending them away that she might weep alone.

Oh my darling,
she thought.
I have lost you all these years to her; now am I
to lose you to death?

How cruel was life! She had watched Diane grow older, and she had

believed her own day must come; but now death was threatening to take him, and she knew it would succeed, for such things were revealed to her. She lay on her bed and thought of him as she had first seen him, a shy and sullen boy, preparing to hate her; she thought of his coming to her, at Diane’s command, of the years of suppressed passion, of the hope that had waxed and waned through the long tormented years.

And what of Diane?

Catherine laughed suddenly and bitterly as she clenched and unclenched her long white fingers.

Ah, Madame,
she thought,
you were everything to him. Now you have lost
everything.

Reports were constantly brought to her by people who thought to cheer her.

‘The King is a little better. He seems to have fallen into a quietness.’

Better? She knew, with that curious instinct of hers, that he could not

recover.

She sent an imperious message to Diane. The crown-jewels were to be

returned to her at once; and with them all the presents that Henry had given her.

‘Hold nothing back,’ ran the Queen’s revealing message, ‘for I have noted well each one.’

When this message was taken to Diane, she lifted her grief-stricken face to the messenger and smiled bitterly. She was realizing now that she had never really known the Queen. There were a few at court who secretly spoke of

Catherine as Madame Serpent; Diane could now believe that those people

understood Henry’s widow better than she had done.

‘Is the King dead, then, that I am treated thus?’ she asked.

‘No, Madame,’ she was told, ‘but it is believed he can only linger a little longer.’

Diane stood up and answered imperiously: ‘So long as an inch of life

remains to him I desire my enemies to know that I fear them not, and that, as long as he is alive, I shall not obey them. But, when he is dead, I do not wish to survive him, all all the bitternesses which they may be able to inflict upon me will be only sweets in comparison with my loss. And whether my King be alive or dead, I do not fear my enemies.’

When these words were repeated to her, Catherine knew that once more her

enemy had the better of her. In love, she had acted carelessly again.

She rocked herself to and fro in her misery. Never to see him again. Never to watch him jealously as he bent his head to listen to Diane. There could never be another man for Catherine. Love was dead with Henry, and her passion would be buried in the tomb with him.

Mary Stuart, weeping for her father-in-law, could not keep the shine of

expectancy out of her eyes. In a few days she would be the Queen of France.

Young Francis, who had loved his father dearly, was being so courted now by the de Guises, was being so prepared for kingship by his clever little Mary, that he too felt excitement mingling with his sorrow.

It will be the de Guises who will rule France now, not the Queen-Mother!

thought Catherine in the midst of her grief and the realization was brought home to her that she desired power almost as much as she had desired her husband.
I
do not forget that this I owe to Mary Stuart!

She fell to fresh weeping.

Henry, come back to me. Give me a chance. Diane grows old, and I am not
so old. I have never known the true love of a man, and if you leave me now I
never shall.

Word went through the palace: ‘The Queen is prostrate in her grief.’

———————

The body of the King was embalmed and laid in a leaden coffin. With great solemnity and lamentation, it was borne to Notre Dame, and from there to Saint-Denis, with a great company of all the highest in the land.

The Cardinal of Lorraine officiated; he it was who pronounced the funeral oration as the coffin was lowered into the vault.

Montmorency broke his baton and threw its fragments over the coffin,

whereupon the four officials did likewise. It was a touching scene.

And when it was done, the ceremonial cry rang out:
‘Le Roi est mort. Vive le
Roi François!’

Then the trumpets sounded. The ceremony was over. King Henry was in his

grave, and sickly, pock-marked Francis was the King of France.

———————

The walls and floors of Catherine’s apartments were covered in black. Her bed and her altar were also in the same sombre covering. Only two wax tapers burned, and she herself was wrapped from head to foot in a black veil which covered her plain black gown.

She was truly prostrate with grief. It had come upon her so suddenly. She had had some premonition of evil, it was true, but she had not believed it could be the death of Henry.

She had loved him completely; and now there was nothing left to her but

revenge.

Diane!
Lex talionis!
An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth.

For nearly thirty years, Madame, I have suffered humiliation. I have

watched you through a hole in the floor with a man for whom I longed. I have
seen the citizens of Lyons kiss your hand before mine. I have heard you called
the Queen of France when that title was mine. Madame, that is now changed.

Your day is done, and out of misery and sorrow is mine born.

She started up from her black-covered bed and went to her bureau; she

unlocked the secret drawer.

Let her death be long and lingering. Let there be much pain for there must be long agony to compensate for the years of misery.

‘He was beginning to like me,’ she whispered. ‘I had pleased him at the time of Saint-Quentin. He appeared at my
cercle
. In time I would have won him from the ageing widow. And now I have lost all― and nothing is left to me but

revenge.’

Diane had said that she did not fear her enemies, that any bitterness that might be inflicted on her would be sweet coma pared with her loss. Perhaps the greater punishment would be to let her live, for if she died suddenly and of poison, people would say: ‘The Queen-Mother has done this.’

Ah, had she planned cautiously in those early days of her passion, she might have won her husband long ere this. But her love had weakened her. Now that she had lost her love, she could plan with caution.

She flung herself on to her bed and wept. Her women thought her grief

would drive her mad, so they sent in one who they thought could comfort her.

Little Henry stared at her with wondering eyes; she held out her arms and he ran into them. She took his face in her hand and kissed him. Then she smiled slowly, reminding herself that she had someone left to love.

She had this boy― this other Henry― and she had France. She had the hope

of gaining power, as once she had had hope of gaining Henry’s love.

Diane had ruled France through Catherine’s husband, should not Catherine

rule France through her sons?

Tears began to flow down her pallid cheeks, and the little boy took a

perfumed handkerchief from his belt and kneeled on her lap to wipe them away.

———————

The Vidame de Chartres had an arrogant air; yet he was tender in his

manner to the Queen-Mother.

Catherine went about the court in her deep mourning― sad, yet sly, seeming wrapped in melancholy, yet missing nothing.

She had restrained herself over this matter of Diane. She had turned from her poison-closet, realizing that the woman who had been the shining light of the court for so long could be more wretched in exile than in death. Let her return her gifts and jewels; let her make a present of the Château de Chenoneaux to the Queen, in exchange for which the Queen would magnanimously give her the Château de Chaumont, which she had always considered to be unlucky, and then exile her to Anet. The Queen-Mother must not forget that Diane was

related to the Guises and that, although through the death of the King she could no longer be of great use to them, they would not wish to see her poisoned.

Moreover, this family which feigned to show great respect for Catherine, who, on account of Francis’ age, was practically Regent, would not hesitate to accuse her if their once-powerful relative died suddenly and mysteriously.

Catherine found solace in her grief by making plans for a glorious future.

She looked about her, wondering how she could use people for her own

advancement; she was working now for power, not for love; and thus she could work more calmly.

Her greatest enemies were the Guises, for they were preparing now to rule the country through the young King and Queen.

She smiled on the gallant Vidame; she had thought that, since she had used him in an attempt to provoke Henry’s jealousy, he would no longer be of use to her; but this was not so. The young man was ambitious; he was a Bourbon, and the Bourbons were the natural enemies of the Guises.

Why should not the Queen-Mother secretly make plans with the House of

Bourbon to outwit the House of Guise? Once the Guises were removed from

power, nothing stood between the young King and Queen and the Queen-

Mother. As for Mary Stuart, she was a child; she could be managed to

Catherine’s satisfaction if her scheming uncles were removed.

She permitted the Vidame to visit her secretly, and told him something of her plans.

‘I wish you,’ she said, ‘to take letters from me to the Prince of Condé.’

The Vidame’s eyes were full of speculation then, for Condé was the head of the House of Bourbon, and he knew what this meant.

‘I will serve you with my life,’ he declared, kissing Catherine’s hand, ‘and, serving you, shall hope for some reward.’

Catherine answered: ‘Queens are not asked for rewards, Monsieur.’

‘Madame,’ he said, I do not ask you as a Queen, but as a woman.’

She smiled and her smile held some promise. She eagerly awaited his return with the answers to her letters.

But it was not the Vidame who came to her.

A page was brought into her presence to tell her that the
Duc de Guise
was asking to be admitted immediately; she gave permission that he should be sent to her.

The candles in their sconces flickered as the door opened and shut behind the man. There he stood― arrogant, virile, with a smile on his hideously scarred face.

‘I crave your Majesty’s pardon for the intrusion,’ he said. ‘But― there is treason abroad.’

She studied him calmly, her face blank.

‘The Vidame de Chartres has been arrested.’

‘Is that so? Why is this?’

‘Treasonable documents have been found on his person, Madame.’

‘What documents?’

‘Letters to the Prince of Condé.’

‘A plot?’ said Catherine.

‘It is feared so, Madame. He is to be sent to the Bastille.’

‘I gave no orders that this should be done,’ she answered haughtily.

Le Balafré
bowed low. ‘Madame, it was thought to save you trouble. I have the order for his arrest here. It is signed by the King.’

She nodded.

She was defeated. She knew that her battle with the Guises would be as long and as arduous as her battle with Diane. Power was no easier to win than love.

———————

Heavily cloaked, cunningly disguised, Catherine hurried through the streets of Paris to the sombre building of the Bastille.

It was dusk, and she had chosen this hour; for it was imperative that she be not recognized. She shuddered as she looked up at the dark towers and the ramparts with their cannon.

A cloaked figure that had seemed part of the thick wall moved towards her, and she knew she was recognized, by the reverent tone of the man’s voice.

‘Madame, all is ready.’

He led the way through a small door into a dark corridor, up a flight of

stairs, along more corridors. Catherine smelt the odour indigenous to prisons―

damp, age, slime, sweat, blood, death.

Below her were hideous dungeons where men fought for their lives with the rats that shared their cells; close to her were the oubliettes where men and women lay forgotten, and the calottes where human beings were incarcerated to endure extreme cold in winter and suffocating heat in summer, and where it was not possible to stand upright; somewhere in this terrible place was the
Salle de
la Question
where men and women suffered the water torture or the horrors of the Boot. But the Vidame de Chartres was not housed in
oubliette
nor
calotte
; his sojourn in the Bastille had been a comparatively comfortable one, for he had powerful friends; moreover, he had not hesitated to point out that the Queen-Mother herself was a particularly dear friend.

Tomorrow the Vidame was to be released; it was for this reason that

Catherine had arranged to visit him.

Her guide had halted before a heavy door; this he unlocked; beyond it was another door which he also unlocked.

‘Enter, Madame,’ he said. ‘I will wait outside. It will be well if you do not stay more than fifteen minutes. There may be a jailer here after that, and your presence would be difficult to explain.’

‘I understand,’ said Catherine.

The Vidame rose as she entered his cell. He came swiftly towards her and, taking her hand, kissed it fervently.