CHAPTER XIX
HOW HENRI II. BEGAN TO ENJOY HIS INHERITANCE
DURING HIS FATHER'S LIFE
The marriage of Diane and the Comte de Montgommery was appointed to take place in three months; and it was currently rumored in that scandal-mongering and licentious court that Diane de Poitiers, in her eager desire for revenge, had given earnest-money to her future husband.
The three months passed. The Comte de Montgommery was more infatuated than ever; but Diane postponed the performance of her promise from day to day, on one pretext or another.
A very short time after she had given this promise, she had noticed that the young Dauphin Henri was in the habit of feasting his eyes upon her when no one was by. Thereupon a new ambition awoke in the heart of the imperious Diane. The title of Comtesse de Montgommery was only of use to conceal a defeat, while the title of favorite of the dauphin would be almost a triumph. What! Madame d'Étampes, who was always prating contemptuously about Diane's age, was loved by the father only; that was nothing. She, Diane, would be loved by the son! For her a youthful passion; for her hope; for her the future! Madame d'Étampes had succeeded her; but she would succeed Madame d'Étampes. She would keep always before her, waiting patiently and calmly for her time to come, a constant, living menace. For Henri would some day be king; and Diane, always beautiful, would be queen once more. It would be in truth a notable triumph.
Henri's character made her still more certain of her game. He was only nineteen at this time, but had taken part in more than one war; for four years he had been married to Catherine de Médicis, but remained none the less an uncouth and muddle-headed boy. He was as awkward and embarrassed at the fêtes at the Louvre, and in the presence of the other sex, as he was accomplished and daring in horsemanship, in feats of arms, or at tilting,—in all directions, in short, where skill and address were requisite. Being dull intellectually, and slow-witted, he was an easy prey to anybody who cared to take him up. Anne de Montmorency, who was not on good terms with the king, devoted his attention to the dauphin, and had no difficulty in enforcing his views upon him, and bringing his tastes to conform to his own, which were those of a man of mature years. He led him hither and thither according to his will and caprice. Ultimately he succeeded in planting in that weak and yielding mind the wide-spreading roots of an all-powerful influence, and obtained such control over Henri that thenceforth seemingly nothing but the ascendency of some woman could disturb his power.
But he was horrified before long to see that his pupil was on the verge of falling in love. Henri abandoned the friends with whom the constable had shrewdly surrounded him. Henri became melancholy and dreamy where he had been shy before. Montmorency looked around, and thought that he could see that it was Diane de Poitiers who was enthroned in his fancy. This rough gendarme preferred that it should be Diane rather than another, for in his vulgar fashion he estimated the royal courtesan much more nearly at her true worth than did the chivalrous Montgommery. He based his plans upon the low motives which he attributed to her, judging her by himself; and with his mind once more at ease, he left the dauphin to hover sighing about the grande sénéchale.
It was indeed her beauty which aroused Henri's sluggish heart. She was roguish and provoking and lively; her finely-shaped head moved very prettily and quickly hither and thither; her glance shone with promise; and her whole person had a sort of magnetic attraction (they called it magic in those days) which easily led poor Henri astray. It seemed to him that this fair creature would unveil to him the secret of a new life. The siren was to him, strange and innocent savage that he was, as fascinating and dangerous as the hidden mysteries of a cavern.
Diane saw all this; but she still hesitated to incur the risk of this new future, through fear of the past in the shape of François I., and of Comte de Montgommery in the present.
But one day when the king, always courteous and attentive to the other sex, even to those with whom he was not in love, and to those whom he had ceased to love, was talking with Diane de Poitiers in the embrasure of a window, he noticed the dauphin watching them with a sly and jealous look.
François called him.
"Aha, Monsieur my son, what are you doing there? Come this way," he said.
But Henri, pale and ashamed, after hesitating a moment between his duty and his fear, instead of replying to his father's invitation, adopted the expedient of running away as if he had not heard him.
"Well, well, what a boorish, shy dog!" said the king. "Can you understand such bashfulness, Madame Diane? Have you, goddess of the forests, ever seen a fallow deer more terrified? Ah, what a wretched failing?"
"Is it your Majesty's pleasure that I should undertake to amend Monseigneur le Dauphin's ways?" asked Diane, smiling.
"Surely," said the king, "it would be hard to imagine a prettier teacher or a more delightful apprenticeship."
"Consider his education completed, then, Sire," replied Diane; "I will take charge of it."
She soon hunted up the fugitive.
The Comte de Montgommery, being on duty that day, was not at the Louvre.
"I frighten you terribly, Monseigneur, do I not?"
Diane began the conversation thus; and the conversation thus begun was continued.
How she concluded it; how she seemed not to notice the prince's blunders, but hung upon his lightest word; how he left her with the conviction that he should soon be clever and fascinating; and how he did gradually become clever and fascinating with her; how, in short, she became his mistress in every sense of the word, ordering him about, giving him lessons, and humoring him all at the same time,—it was the same old, untranslatable comedy over again, which will always be played, but never has been and never will be written.
And Montgommery? Oh, Montgommery loved Diane too well to suspect her, and had devoted himself to her too blindly to have any clearness of vision left. Everybody at court was already gossiping about Madame de Poitiers's latest love-affair, as to which the noble count was in a state of blissful ignorance which Diane took good care not to dispel. The structure she was building was too fragile as yet for her not to dread the least shock, or any outburst; so while her ambition led her to maintain her hold on the dauphin, prudence kept her from breaking with the count.