CHAPTER XIII
A NEW ORDER OF AFFAIRS
For the mistress, as well as for the favorite male dependant of a king, true death comes, not with death itself, but with disgrace.
Consequently the son of the Comte de Montgommery might feel that he had taken ample vengeance for his father's horrible entombment and death upon both the constable and Diane de Poitiers, if through his instrumentality those two guilty ones should fall from power to exile, and from lofty and brilliant position to obscurity.
It was this result that Gabriel was still awaiting in the gloomy and anxious solitude of his dwelling, where he had buried himself after the fatal blow of June 30. It was not his own punishment that he dreaded, if Montmorency and his accomplice should remain in power, but he loathed the thought of their chastisement being remitted. He therefore waited.
During the eleven days that elapsed before Henri's agony was relieved by death, the Constable de Montmorency had put forth every effort to retain his share of influence in the government. He had written to all the princes of the blood, urging them to take their seats in the council of the young king. Above all, he had impressed the consequence of this proceeding upon Antoine de Bourbon, King of Navarre, the next heir to the throne after the king's brothers. He had written him to make all haste, inasmuch as the least delay would enable strangers to assume a supremacy from which they could not afterward be easily dislodged. In fact, he had sent couriers here and there in all directions, urging some and imploring others, and had omitted nothing in his vigorous attempts to form a party capable of making head against that of the Guises.
Diane de Poitiers, despite her deep affliction, had done her best to second his efforts, for her fate now was indissolubly connected with that of her old lover.
With him in power she might still reign, to good effect at all events, although not openly.
When, on the 10th of July, 1559, the eldest son of Henri II. was proclaimed king by the herald-at-arms, under the name of François II., the young prince was only sixteen; and although he had in the eyes of the law attained his majority, his youth and inexperience, as well as his feeble health, would compel him, for several years at least, to relinquish the conduct of affairs to a minister who in his name would be far more powerful than himself.
Now who should be that minister,—say rather, that tutor,—the Duc de Guise or the constable; Catherine de Médicis or Antoine de Bourbon?
That was the question of absorbing interest on the day following the death of Henri II.
On that day François II. was to receive the deputies of parliament at three o'clock. The person whose name he should present to them as that of his minister might well be saluted by them as their real sovereign.
All energies were therefore bent in that direction; and on the morning of the 12th of July Catherine de Médicis and François de Lorraine both waited upon the young king, upon the pretext that they had come to offer him their condolence, but really to whisper their advice into his ear.
The widow of Henri II., with such an important end in view, had even broken through the etiquette which required that she should remain in seclusion for forty days.
Catherine de Médicis, although slighted and cast aside by her husband, had felt for the last twelve years the first symptoms of that vast and far-reaching ambition which governed the rest of her life.
But since she could not be regent over a king who had attained his majority, her only chance was to reign by the hand of a minister who was devoted to her interests.
The Constable de Montmorency would not meet the occasion; for he had under the late reign contributed in no slight degree to the substitution of the influence of Diane de Poitiers for that which Catherine might legitimately have exercised. The queen-mother had not forgiven his actions in that regard, and thought much more seriously about chastising him for his always harsh and often cruel treatment of her.
Antoine de Bourbon would have been a more docile instrument in her hands; but he was of the Reformed religion, and his wife, Jeanne d'Albret, had her own ambition to satisfy; and then, too, his title as a prince of the blood might arouse dangerous desires in him if conjoined with the real power of a minister.
The Duc de Guise remained; but would François de Lorraine acknowledge with good grace the queen-mother's right to exercise a sort of moral authority, or would he refuse to admit anybody to a share in his power?
The last point was one on which Catherine was very anxious to be enlightened; and so she welcomed with joy the prospect of an interview in the king's presence which chance had brought about between her and the duke on the morning in question.
She determined to find or to invent opportunities to test Le Balafré, and to ascertain his disposition toward her.
But the Duc de Guise was no less expert in politics than in war, and maintained a careful watch upon himself.
This prologue to the drama took place at the Louvre, in the royal apartment where François II. had been installed the day before; and the only dramatis personæ were the queen-mother, Le Balafré, the young king, and Mary Stuart.
François and his youthful queen contrasted with the cold and selfish ambitions of Catherine and the Duc de Guise were like two fascinating children, frankly and ingenuously in love with each other, and ready to bestow their confidence upon the first passer-by who should be adroit enough to win their hearts.
They were in sincere affliction for the death of the king their father; and Catherine found them very sad and cast down.
"My son," said she to François, "it is well for you to shed these tears to the memory of him whom you, above all others, should regret. You know that I share your bitter grief. However, you must remember that you have other duties than those of a son to fulfil. You are also a father,—the father of your people. After you have paid this fitting tribute of sorrow to the past, turn your face to the future. Remember that you are king, my son,—I should say your Majesty, to use a form of address which will remind you of your duties and your rights at the same time."
"Alas!" said François, shaking his head, "it is a very heavy burden, Madame, this sceptre of France, for the hands of sixteen years to carry; and nothing warned me to expect that my inexperienced and light-minded youth would so soon be overwhelmed with such a weighty responsibility."
"Sire," Catherine replied, "accept with resignation and gratitude the office which God lays upon you; it will be for those who surround and love you to lighten your burden to the best of their ability, and to add their efforts to your own to assist you to bear it worthily."
"Madame, I thank you," murmured the young king, much embarrassed to know what reply to make to these advances.
Mechanically he glanced toward the Duc de Guise, as if to ask the advice of his wife's uncle.
At his very first step as king, even in his mother's presence, the poor youth, with the crown on his head, seemed instinctively to appreciate the pitfalls which lay in his path.
But the Duc de Guise said, with no sign of hesitation,—
"Yes, Sire; your Majesty is right,—thank the queen, thank her with all your heart, for her kind and encouraging words. But be not content with being grateful to her; tell her boldly that among those who love you and whom you love she occupies the foremost place, and that for that reason you ought to and do rely upon her invaluable maternal co-operation in the difficult task which you have been called upon so young to undertake."
"My uncle De Guise is a faithful interpreter of my thoughts, Madame," said the delighted young king to his mother; "and even if I do not repeat his words for fear that I may weaken their force, consider them, I pray, Madame and beloved mother, as if I had myself uttered them, and vouchsafe to promise me your priceless help in my weakness."
The queen-mother had already favored the Duc de Guise with a grateful and approving glance.
"Sire," she said to her son, "the little talent that I can boast of is at your service, and I shall be proud and happy every time that you care to consult me. But I am only a woman; and you need beside your throne a defender who knows how to wield a sword. The strong arm and manly vigor that are requisite your Majesty will doubtless discover among those whose alliance and relationship make you look naturally to them for support."
Thus Catherine lost no time in paying her debt to the Duc de Guise for his fair words.
A tacit bargain was thus made between them by a single glance; but let us say at once that it was not sincerely entered into on either side, and was not destined, as we shall see, to be of long duration.
The young king understood his mother, and encouraged by a glance from Mary, held out his hand timidly to Le Balafré.
With that grasp of the hand he conferred upon him the government of France.
However, Catherine de Médicis did not choose to allow her son to bind himself prematurely, nor until the Duc de Guise had given to herself certain pledges of his goodwill.
So she anticipated the king, who would probably have gone on to confirm his confidential impulse by some formal promise, and was the first to speak.
"In any event, Sire, before you have a minister, your mother has, not a favor to ask at your hands, but a demand to make."
"Say, then, a command, Madame," replied François. "Speak, I beg you."
"Well, then, my son," Catherine continued, "I refer to a woman who has done me much harm, but has injured France even more. It is not for us to censure the failings of one who is more than ever sacred in our eyes now. But unfortunately your father is no more, Sire; his will is no longer supreme in this château; and yet this woman, whom I will not call by name, dares still to remain here, and to inflict upon me the outrage of her presence even to the end. During the king's protracted unconsciousness, it was suggested to her that it was not decent for her to remain at the Louvre. 'Is the king dead?' she asked. 'No, he still breathes.' 'Very well! none but he has the right to give orders to me.' And she had the brazen impudence to remain."
The Duc de Guise interrupted the queen-mother at this point, and hastened to say,—
"Pardon me, Madame, but I think that I know his Majesty's intentions with regard to her of whom you are speaking."
Without other preamble, he struck a bell, and a valet appeared.
"Let Madame de Poitiers be informed," said he, "that the king wishes to speak with her at once."
The valet bowed, and withdrew to carry out the order. The young monarch gave no sign whatever of surprise or dissatisfaction at seeing his authority thus taken from his hands without a word from him. The fact is that he was overjoyed at anything that tended to lessen his responsibility, and release him from the necessity of giving orders or acting as king.
However, Le Balafré thought best to give to his proceeding the sanction of royal approbation.
"I trust I do not presume too far, Sire," he continued, "in feeling confident of your Majesty's wishes touching this matter?"
"No, surely not, my dear uncle," François replied eagerly. "Go on, pray. I know beforehand that whatever you do will be well done."
"And what you say is well said, darling," whispered Mary Stuart, softly, in her husband's ear.
François blushed with pride and pleasure. For a word or a glance of approbation from his adored Mary he would, in very truth, have bartered and abandoned all the kingdoms on earth.
The queen-mother awaited with impatient curiosity the course which the Duc de Guise proposed to adopt.
She thought best, however, to add, as much to break the silence as to better signify her own purpose,—
"She whom you have sent for, Sire, may well, in my opinion, leave the Louvre in the possession of the only legitimate queen of the late king, as well as the charming queen of the present one;" here she bowed graciously to Mary Stuart. "Has not this beautiful and wealthy lady her superb royal Château d'Anet, where she can seek shelter and consolation?—a much more royal and superb establishment, certainly, than my modest dwelling of Chaumont-sur-Loire."
The Duc de Guise said nothing, but did not fail to note down that hint in his mind.
We must avow that he hated Diane de Poitiers no less bitterly than Catherine de Médicis did. For it was Madame de Valentinois who up to that time, to please the constable, had used all her influence to hinder and frustrate Le Balafré's fortune and his schemes; and she doubtless would have succeeded in relegating him forever into obscurity if Gabriel's lance had not shattered the enchantress's power when it struck down Henri II. in the prime of life.
But François de Lorraine's day of vengeance had come at last, and he knew how to hate as well as to love.
At this moment the usher announced in a loud voice,—
"Madame le Duchesse de Valentinois."
Diane de Poitiers entered, evidently in much anxiety, but with her head still erect as of yore.