CHAPTER XIV
DIANE DE POITIERS
The Constable de Montmorency was still with Diane de Poitiers, and was addressing her in a loud voice, as rough and imperious with her as she had shown herself sweet and gentle with him.
"Well, after all, she is your daughter, isn't she?" he was saying; "and you have the same rights and the same authority over her as the king has. Demand that this marriage take place!"
"But you must remember, my good friend, that having hitherto shown her very little of a mother's affection I can hardly hope to exert a mother's authority over her, and to chastise where I have never caressed. We are, as you know, Madame d'Angoulême and myself, on very cool terms with each other; and in spite of her advances at first, we have only met at very long intervals. Besides, she has succeeded in gaining a very great personal influence over the king's mind; and in truth, I should find it hard to say which of us two is the more powerful at this moment. What you ask me to do, my friend, is very difficult, not to say impossible. Lay aside all thought of this marriage, and let us replace it by a still more brilliant alliance. The king has betrothed his little Jeanne to Charles de Mayenne; we will induce him to bestow little Marguerite's hand on your son."
"My son sleeps in a bed and not in a cradle," replied the constable; "and how, I should like to know, could a young girl, just learning to talk, add to the fortunes of my family? Madame de Castro, on the other hand, has, as you have just reminded me most opportunely, a vast personal influence over the king; and that is why I wish her for my daughter-in-law. Mon Dieu! it is a most extraordinary thing that when a gentleman who bears the name of the foremost noble in Christendom stoops to wed a bastard, he should meet with so many obstructions in carrying out the mésalliance. Madame, you are no more the king's favorite for nothing than I am your lover for nothing. In spite of Madame de Castro, in spite of this fop who adores her, in spite of the king himself, I insist that this marriage shall take place,—I insist upon it."
"Oh, very well, my friend," replied Diane de Poitiers, meekly, "I agree to do the possible and impossible to help you to attain your ends. What more do you want me to say? But at least tell me that you will be kinder to me, and will not rage and storm at me so, cruel one!"
And with her lovely red lips the beautiful duchess lightly touched old Anne's rough grizzled beard, while he grumblingly submitted to the caress.
For such was this singular passion, inexplicable except on the theory of extraordinary depravity, which was nourished by the idolized favorite of a handsome young monarch for an old graybeard who abused her. Montmorency's rough brutality made amends to her for Henri's love-making; and she took more delight in being ill-treated by the one than in being petted and caressed by the other. Prodigious caprice of the feminine heart! Anne de Montmorency was neither clever nor brilliant; and he was, on very good grounds, reputed to be covetous and stingy. The inhuman punishments he had inflicted upon the rebellious population of Bordeaux had of themselves attached a sort of hateful notoriety to his name. He was brave, it is true; but that quality is common in France, and he had up to this time hardly ever been fortunate in the battles in which he had taken part. At the victories of Ravenna and Marignan, where he had held no command, he had not made himself conspicuous above the common herd; at Bicocque, where he was colonel of the Swiss Guards, he had let his regiment be almost cut to pieces; and at Pavia he was taken prisoner. His military celebrity had not since been increased, and St. Laurent had made a pitiable ending to it. Without the favor of Henri II., inspired, no doubt, by Diane de Poitiers, he would not have risen above the second place in the king's council any more than in the army; and yet Diane loved him, coddled him, and obeyed him in everything, being at once the favorite of a manly, handsome young monarch and the slave of a ridiculous old veteran.
Just at this moment there was a discreet knock at the door; and a page, entering at Madame de Valentinois's summons, announced that Vicomte d'Exmès earnestly begged to be allowed a very brief audience of the duchess on a most serious matter.
"The lover himself!" cried the constable. "What can he want of you, Diane? Can he possibly have come to ask you for your daughter's hand?"
"Shall I allow him to come in?" meekly asked the favorite.
"Of course, of course; this incident may help us. But let him wait a moment. Just one word more between ourselves."
Diane de Poitiers gave orders accordingly to the page, who left the room.
"If Vicomte d'Exmès comes to you, Diane," the constable went on, "it must be because some unexpected difficulties have arisen; and it must be a very desperate emergency to drive him to resort to so desperate a remedy. Now, listen carefully to what I say; and if you follow my instructions to the letter, I will answer for it that your hazardous interference with the king in this matter will be quite unnecessary. Diane, whatever the viscount asks at your hands, refuse it. If he asks what path he shall take, send him in the opposite direction to that in which he wishes to go. If he wants you to say 'yes,' say 'no;' but say 'yes' if he hopes for a negative answer. Be contemptuous with him, and haughty and ill-tempered, the worthy daughter of the fairy Mélusine, from whom you of the family of Poitiers are said to have descended. Do you understand me, Diane, and will you do as I say?"
"In every respect, my dear Constable."
"Then my fine fellow's threads will be considerably tangled, I fancy. The poor fool, thus to walk right into the jaws of the—" he started to say "she-wolf," but caught himself—"into the jaws of the waives. I leave him to you, Diane; and you must give me a good account of this handsome claimant. Till this evening!"
He condescended to kiss Diane's brow, and went out. Vicomte d'Exmès was ushered in by another door.
Gabriel saluted Diane most respectfully, while she responded with an impertinent nod. But Gabriel, buckling on his armor for this unequal combat of burning passion against frigid vanity, began calmly enough:—
"Madame," said he, "the step which I have ventured to take with reference to you is a bold one, no doubt, and may seem mad. But sometimes in one's life circumstances come to light of such serious moment as to lift us above the ordinary conventions and every day scruples. Now, I am involved in one of these terrible crises of my destiny, Madame. I, who speak to you, have come to put my life in your hands; and if you let it fall, it will be broken forever."
Madame de Valentinois made not the least sign of encouragement. With her body bent forward, resting her chin on her hand, and her elbow on her knee, she gazed at Gabriel with a look of wonder mingled with weariness.
"Madame," he resumed, trying to shake off the gloomy effect of this feigned indifference, "you either know or do not know that I love Madame de Castro. I love her, Madame, with a deep, ardent, overpowering love."
"What is that to me?" seemed to say Diane de Poitiers's careless smile.
"I speak to you of this love which fills my whole soul, Madame, to explain my saying that I ought to understand and excuse, yes, even admire, the blind fatalities and insatiable demands of an engrossing passion. So far from blaming it, as the common people do, or of pulling it to pieces like the philosophers, or of condemning it like the priests, I kneel before it and adore it as a blessing from the Most High. It makes the heart into which it enters purer and more noble and divine; and did not Jesus Himself consecrate it when He said to Mary Magdalene that she was blessed above all other women for having loved so well?"
Diane de Poitiers changed her position, and with eyes half closed stretched herself out carelessly on her couch.
"I wonder how much longer his sermon is going to last," she was thinking.
"Thus you see, Madame," continued Gabriel, "that love is in my eyes a holy thing, and more than that, it is omnipotent. If the husband of Madame de Castro were living still, I should love her just the same, and should not even try to overcome the irresistible impulse. It is only a false love which can be subdued; and true love no more flees from itself than it commands its own beginning. So, Madame, you yourself, chosen and beloved by the greatest king in the world,—you ought not to be, on that account, out of all danger of contracting a sincere passion; and if you had been unable to resist it, I should pity you and envy you, but I would not condemn you."
Still unbroken silence on the part of the Duchesse de Valentinois. Amused astonishment was the only emotion expressed upon her face. Gabriel went on with still more warmth, as if to melt this brazen heart with the flames that were seething in his own.
"A king falls in love with your adorable beauty, as may well be imagined. You are touched by his affection; but may it not be that your heart does not respond to it, much as it would like to do so? Alas! yes. But standing near the king, a handsome gentleman, gallant and devoted, sees you and loves you; and this more obscure but not less powerful passion meets a response in your heart, which has not opened to admit the thought of a king. But are you not a queen too, a queen of beauty, just as the king who loves you is king in power? Are you not as independent and free as he? Is it titles which win hearts? Who could prevent you from having for one day, for one hour even, in your kind and loving heart, preferred the subject to the master? It is not I, at all events, who would have so little sympathy with lofty sentiments as to esteem it a crime in Diane de Poitiers that being beloved of Henri II., she had loved the Comte de Montgommery."
Diane, at this home-thrust, made a sudden movement and half rose from her seat, opening her great bright eyes to their fullest extent. Too few persons at court knew her secret for her not to have felt a shock at these words of Gabriel.
"Have you any substantial proof of this love that you prate of?" she asked, not without a shade of anxiety in her tone.
"I have nothing but moral certainty of it, Madame," replied Gabriel; "but I have that."
"Ah!" said she, resuming her insolent pouting. "Well, then, it is all the same to me if I confess the truth to you. Yes, I did love the Comte de Montgommery. And what next?"
But next, Gabriel had no more positive knowledge, and could only stumble about in the darkness of conjecture. However, he continued:—
"You loved Jacques de Montgommery, Madame, and I venture to say that you still love his memory; for if he disappeared from the face of the earth, it was on your account and for your sake. Very well! it is in his name that I come to beg your indulgence, and to ask you a question which will seem to you, I say again, very presumptuous; but I also repeat that your reply, if you are good enough to reply, will arouse only gratitude and worship in my heart, for upon your reply my life hangs. Again I repeat that if you do not refuse to answer me, I will be henceforward at your service, body and soul; and the most firmly established power in the world may sometime be in need of a devoted heart and hand, Madame."
"Go on, Monsieur," said the duchess, "and let us get at this terrible question."
"I ought to ask it of you on my knees, Madame," said Gabriel, suiting the action to the word.
And then he resumed with beating heart and faltering voice,—
"Madame, it was in the course of the year 1538 that you loved the Comte de Montgommery, was it not?"
"Possibly," said Diane; "and then?"
"It was in January, 1539, that the Comte de Montgommery disappeared, and in May, 1539, that Madame Diane de Castro was born?"
"Well?" asked Diane.
"Well, Madame!" said Gabriel, so low that she could hardly hear him, "there lies the secret which at your feet I implore you to divulge to me,—the secret on which my fate depends, and which shall die with me, believe me, if you will deign to reveal it to me. On the crucifix which hangs above your head, I swear it, Madame; I will yield up my life rather than your confidence. And besides, you will always be able to prove me a liar, for your word would be believed before mine; and I ask you for no proof, but for your word alone. Madame, Madame, was Jacques de Montgommery the father of Diane de Castro?"
"Oho!" said Diane, with a contemptuous laugh, "that is rather a bold question; and you were quite right to precede it with such a lengthy preamble. But never fear, Monsieur, I bear you no ill-will for it. You have interested me like a riddle, and now you interest me still more; for what is it to you, pray, Monsieur d'Exmès, whether Madame d'Angoulême be the child of the king or the count? The king is supposed to be her father, and that should satisfy your ambition, if you are ambitious. Why do you draw me into it; and what claim have you to thus question me about the past to no purpose? You have a reason, no doubt; but what is the reason?"
"I have a reason indeed, Madame," said Gabriel; "but I conjure you not to ask it of me for mercy's sake!"
"Oh, yes," said Diane, "you want to know my secrets and to keep yours to yourself. That would be a very advantageous thing for you, no doubt!"
Gabriel detached the ivory crucifix which surmounted the carved oak prie-Dieu behind Diane's couch.
"By your everlasting salvation, Madame," said he, "swear to keep silent as to what I tell you, and to make no use of it to my disadvantage!"
"Such an oath as that!" said Diane.
"Yes, Madame, for I know you to be a zealous and devout Catholic: and if you swear by your everlasting salvation, I will believe you."
"And suppose I decline to swear?"
"I shall hold my peace, Madame, and you will have refused to save my life."
"Do you know, Monsieur," replied Diane, "that you have strangely aroused my woman's curiosity'? Yes, the mystery with which you so tragically surround yourself attracts me and tempts me, I confess. You have triumphed over my imagination to that extent, I tell you frankly; and I did not suppose that any one could so pique my curiosity. If I swear, it is, I give you fair warning, so that I may learn more about you. From curiosity, pure and simple, I agree to do it."
"And I too, Madame," said Gabriel, "I implore you thus, so that I may learn more; but my curiosity is that of the criminal awaiting his death-sentence. Bitter and fearful curiosity, as you see! Will you take this oath, Madame?"
"Say you the words, and I will say them after you, Monsieur."
And Diane said, after Gabriel, the following words:
"By my salvation, in this life and the next, I swear to reveal to no one on earth the secret which you are about to impart to me, and never to make any use of it to injure you, and to act in all ways just as if I had never known it, and never should know it."
"Very well," said Gabriel, "and I thank you for this first proof of your condescension. Now, in two words, you shall know all: my name is Gabriel de Montgommery, and Jacques de Montgommery was my father!"
"Your father!" cried Diane, springing to her feet in a state of stupefied excitement.
"So that if Diane de Castro is the count's daughter," said Gabriel, "Diane de Castro, whom I love, or whom I thought that I loved to distraction, is my sister!"
"Ah, I see," replied Diane de Poitiers, recovering herself a bit.—"This will be the constable's salvation," she thought to herself.
"Now, Madame," continued Gabriel, pale but firm, "are you willing to do me the further favor of swearing, as before, upon this crucifix, that Madame de Castro is King Henri II.'s daughter? You do not reply? Oh, why do you not reply. Madame?"
"Because I cannot take that oath, Monsieur."
"Ah, mon Dieu, mon Dieu! Diane is my father's child, then?" cried Gabriel, tottering.
"I did not say that! I will never assent to that!" cried Madame de Valentinois; "Diane de Castro is the king's daughter."
"Oh, really, Madame? Oh, how kind you are!" said Gabriel. "But, pardon me! Your own interest may induce you to say so. So swear it, Madame, swear it! In the name of your child, who will bless you for it, oh, swear it!"
"I will not swear," said the duchess. "Why should I?"
"But, Madame," said Gabriel, "this very moment you took the same oath simply to gratify your vulgar curiosity, as you told me yourself; and now, when a man's very life is at stake, when by saying these few words, you might rescue two souls from the bottomless pit, you ask, 'Why should I say these words?'"
"But I will not swear, Monsieur," said Diane, coldly and decidedly.
"And if I should marry Madame de Castro notwithstanding, Madame, and if Madame de Castro is my sister, don't you think that the crime will rebound upon you?"
"No," replied Diane, "not when I have not taken my oath to it."
"Oh, horrible! horrible!" cried Gabriel. "But consider, Madame, that I can tell everywhere that you loved the Comte de Montgommery, and were false to the king, and that I, the count's son, am certain of it."
"Mere moral certainty, without proofs," said Diane, with a wicked smile, having resumed her air of impertinent and haughty indifference. "I will say that you lie, Monsieur; and you told me yourself that when you affirm and I deny, you will not be the one to be believed. Consider, too, that I can say to the king that you have presumed to make love to me, threatening to circulate slanders about me if I didn't yield to you. And then you will be lost, Monsieur Gabriel de Montgommery. But pardon me," said she, rising; "I must leave you, Monsieur. You have really entertained me exceedingly, and your story is a very singular one."
She struck a bell, to summon a servant.
"Oh, this is infamous!" cried Gabriel, beating his brow with his clinched fists. "Oh, why are you a woman, or why am I a man? But, nevertheless, take care, Madame! for you shall not play with my heart and my life with impunity; and God will punish you, and avenge me for what you have done,—for this infamy, I say it again!"
"Do you think so?" said Diane. And she accompanied her words with a dry, mocking little laugh which was peculiar to her.
At this moment, the page whom she had called raised the tapestry curtain. She gave Gabriel a mocking salute and left the room.
"Well, well!" said she to herself, "my good constable is decidedly in luck. Dame Fortune is like me,—she loves him. Why the devil do we love him?"
Gabriel followed her out, mad with rage and grief.