: ' " ' LIBRARY CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO EX-LIBRIS LOUISE ARNER BOYD * u By Frances Elliot Old Court Life in France 2 vols. 8. Old Court Life in Spain 2 vols. . OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE BY FRANCES ELLIOT AUTHOR OF " DIARY OF AN IDLE WOMAN IN ITALY : " PICTURE OF OLD ROME," ETC. ILLUSTRATED VOLUME I. G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK AND LONDON Cbc Knickerbocker press COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Entered at Stationers' Hall, London By G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Made in the United State* of America Ube '[Rnidierboclicr press, flew JJorh TO MY NIECE THE COUNTESS OF MINTO THIS WORK IS INSCRIBED PREFACE TO THE FIFTH EDITION. I CANNOT express the satisfaction I feel at find- ing myself once more addressing the great American public, which from the first has re- ceived my works with such flattering favour. I have taken special pleasure in the production of this new edition of Old Court Life in France, which was first published in America some twenty years ago, and which is, I trust, now entering into a new lease of life. That the same cordial welcome may follow the present edition, which was accorded to the first, is my anxious hope. A new generation has appeared, which may, I trust, find itself interested in the stirring scenes I have delineated with so much care, that they might be strictly historical, as well as locally correct. To write this book was, for me (with my knowl- edge of French history) a labour of love. It takes me back to the happiest period of my life, passed on the banks of the historic Loire: to Blois, Am- boise, Chambord, and, a little further off, to the lovely plaisances of Chenonceaux and Azay le Rideau, the woods of magnificent Versailles, and Saint Cloud (now a desolation), on to the walls of vi Preface. the palatial Louvre, the house-tree of the great Kings and Queens of France never can all these annals be fitly told ! Never can they be exhausted ! To be the guide to these romantic events for the American public is indeed an honour. To lead where they will follow, with, I trust, something of my own enthusiasm, is worth all the careful labour the work has cost me. With these words I take my leave of the unknown friends across the sea, who have so kindly appre- ciated me for many years. Although I have never visited America, this sympathy bridges space, and draws me to them with inexpressible cordiality and confidence, in which sentiment I shall ever remain, leaving my work to speak to them for me. FRANCES ELLIOT. June, 1893. PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION IN REPLY TO CERTAIN CRITICS. TO relate the " Court life " of France from Francis I. to Louis XIV. it is necessary to relate, also, the history of the royal favourites. They ruled both court and state, if they did not preside at the council. The caprice of these ladies was, actually, " the Pivot on which French history turned." Louis XIII. was an exception. Under him Cardi- dinal Richelieu reigned. Richelieu's "zeal" for France led him unfortunately to butcher all his po- litical and personal opponents. He ruled France, axe in hand. It was an easy way to absolute power. Cardinal Mazarin found France in a state of an- archy. The throne was threatened with far more serious dangers than under Richelieu. To feudal chiefs were joined royal princes. The great Cond led the Spanish troops against his countrymen. Yet no political murder stains the name of the gentle Italian. He triumphed by statescraf t, and married the Infanta to Louis XIV. Cardinal de Retz possessed much of the genius of Richelieu. No cruelty, however, attaches to his memory. But De Retz was on the wrong side, the side of rebellion. He was false to his king and to France. Great as were his gifts, he fell before the persevering loyalty of Mazarin. viii Preface. The personal morality of either of these states- men ill bears investigation. Marion de 1'Orme was the mistress and the spy of Richelieu ; Mazarin it is to be hoped was privately married to the Queen Regent Anne of Austria. Cardinal de Retz had, as a contemporary remarks, " a bevy of mistresses." We have the authority of Charlotte de Baviere, second wife of Phillippe Due d'Orleans, brother of Louis XIV., in her Autobiographical Fragments, " that her predecessor, Henrietta of England, was poisoned." No legal investigation was ever made as to the cause of her sudden death. There is no proof "that Louis XIV. disbelieved she was poisoned." The number of the victims of the St. Bartholo- mew-massacre is stated by Sully to have been 70,- ooo. (Memoirs, book I., page 37.) Sully and other authorities state " that Charles IX., at his death, manifested by his transports and his tears the sor- row he felt for what he had done." Further, " that when dying he sent for Henry of Navarre, in whom alone he found faith and honour." (Sully, book I., page 42.) That Sorbin, confessor to Charles IX., should have denied this is perfectly natural. Henry of Navarre would stink in the confessor's nostrils as a pestilent heretic. As to the credibility of Sorbin (a bigot and a controversialist), I would refer to the Memoires de Pe"tat de France sous Charles IX., vol. 3, page 267. According to the Confession de Saucy, Sorbin de St. Foy " was made a Bishop for having placed Charles IX. among the Martyrs." FRANCES (MINTO) ELLIOT. August, 1873. PREFACE ALL my life I have been a student of French memoir-history. In this species of literature France is remarkably rich. There exist contempo- rary memoirs and chronicles, from a very early period down to the present time, in which are pre- served not only admirable outlooks over general events, but details of language, character, dress, and manners, not to be found elsewhere. I was bold enough to fancy that somewhat yet remained to tell ; say of the caprices and eccentricities of Louis XIII., of the homeliness of Henri Quatre, of the feminine tenderness of Gabrielle d'Estr^es, of the lofty piety and unquestioning confidence of Louise de Lafayette, of the romantic vicissitudes of Mademoiselle de Montpensier; and that some pic- tures might be made of these old French personages for English readers in a way that should 'pourtray the substance and spirit of history, without affect- ing to maintain its form and dress. In all I have written I have sought carefully to work into my dialogue each word and sentence re- corded of the individual, every available trait or peculiarity of character to be found in contempo- rary memoirs, every tradition that has come down to us. ix x Preface. To be true to life has been my object. Keeping close to the background of history, I have endeav- oured to group the figures of my foreground as they grouped themselves in actual life. I have framed them in the frames in which they really lived. FRANCES ELLIOT. FARLEY HILL COURT, Christmas, 1872. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGK I FRANCIS I i II CHARLES DE BOURBON 6 III BROTHER AND SISTER . . . . . . 12 IV THE QUALITY OF MERCY 20 V ALL LOST SAVE HONOUR 28 VI BROKEN FAITH .33 VII LA DUCHESSE D'ETAMPES 4 2 VIII LAST DAYS 49 IX CATHERINE DE' MEDICI 55 X A FATAL JOUST 58 XI THE WIDOWED QUEEN 63 XII MARY STUART AND HER HUSBAND ... 67 XIII A TRAITOR 74 XIV THE COUNCIL OF STATE 80 XV CATHERINE'S VENGEANCE 86 XVI THE ASTROLOGER'S CHAMBER .... 94 XVII AT CHENONCEAU 101 XVIII A DUTIFUL DAUGHTER 113 XIX BEFORE THE STORM 122 XX ST. BARTHOLOMEW 129 XXI THE END OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI . . .139 XXII THE LAST OF THE VALOIS 146 XXIII DON JUAN 158 XXIV CHARMANTE GABRIELLE 17* VOL. i. xi xii Contents. CHAPTKK PACK XXV ITALIAN ART 186 XXVI BIRON'S TREASON 198 XXVII A COURT MARRIAGE 207 XXVIII THE PREDICTION FULFILLED . . . .215 XXIX Louis XIII 227 XXX THE ORIEL WINDOW 235 XXXI AN OMINOUS INTERVIEW 244 XXXII LOVE AND TREASON 254 XXXIII THE CARDINAL DUPED 263 XXXIV THE MAID OF HONOUR 271 XXXV AT VAL DE GRACE 283 XXXVI THE QUEEN BEFORE THE Council . . .291 XXXVII LOUISE DE LAFAYETTE 302 NOTES -317 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE THE CHATEAU OP CHENONCEAU . . . Frontispiece From the painting by Debat Ponson. (With permission of Ad. Braun et Cie.) PORTION OF THE ROOF OF THE CHATEAU OF CHAMBORD . 2 CHATEAU OF AZAY LE RIDEAU 6 FRANCIS 1 10 From the painting by Titian. DOOR OF THE CHAPEL, CHATEAU OF AMBOISE . . . 16 HENRY, DUKE OF MONTMORENCI, MARSHAL OF FRANCE . 24 From a portrait by Balthasar Moncornet. THE CHEVALIER BAYARD 40 After A. de Neuville. (By permission of Estes & Lauriat.) QUEEN ELINOR 44 CHATEAU OF AMBOISE 48 DUCHESSE D'TAMPES 52 CHATEAU DE CHAMBORD 5 SPIRAL STAIRCASE, CHATEAU OF BLOIS 78 (By permission of Neurdein, Paris.) COUCY 86 THE GARDENS OF THE TUILERIES, PARIS .... 90 A GATK OF THE LOUVRK, AFTER ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S DAT 102 CHARLES IX 106 From the painting by Clouet. HENRI DE GUISE 122 From a drawing in the Louvre. (By permission of A. Giraudon, Paris.) VOL. i. xiii xiv Illustrations PAGE NOTRE-DAME, PARIS 126 ADMIRAL GASPARD DE COLIGNY 132 From a drawing by Frai^ois Clouet. (By permission of A. Giraudon, Paris.) CATHERINE DE MEDICIS 140 CHATEAU DE BLOIS 150 HENRY IV 158 From a contemporary painting in the Museum at Versailles. DIANA DE POITIERS, BY JEAN GOUJON 164 From the Chateau of Anet, now in the Louvre. (By permission of Levy, Paris.) THE CASCADE OF ST. CLOUD 174 From an engraving by Rigaud. GENERAL VIEW OF FONTAINEBLEAU 190 From an old print. MARIE DE MEDICIS 204 From a steel engraving. COUCY INTERIOR, SHOWING THICKNESS OF WALLS . . 218 Louis XIII., KING OF FRANCE AND NAVARRE . . . 232 From an old print. CARDINAL RICHELIEU 270 CHATEAU OF NANTES 280 AUTHORITIES Memoires de Brantome. Memoires de son Temps, Du Bellay. Histoire de Henri Due de Bouillon. Memoires de Conde. Dictionnaire de Bayle, "'Due de Guise" Histoire des Guerres Civiles de la France, par Davila. Memoires pour servir a 1'Histoire de France, par Champollion. Memoires de Coligni. Novaes, Storia dei Pontefici. Memoires de Marguerite de Valois. Journal de Henri III. Memoires de Sully. Histoire de Henri IV., par Mathieu. Histoire des Amours de Henri IV. L'Intrigue du Cabinet sous Henri IV. et Louis XIII. Memoires pour 1'Histoire du Cardinal de Richelieu. Memoires du Cardinal de Richelieu. Histoire de la Mere et du Fils, par Mezeray. Memoires du Marechal de Bassompierre. Observations de Bassompierre. Memoires de feu Monsieur (Gaston) Due d'Orleans. Memoires de Cinq-Mars. Memoires de Montresor. La Cour de Marie de* Medici, par un Cadet de Gascogne. Lettres de Madame de Sevigne". Memoires de Mademoiselle de Montpensier. Memoires du Due de Lauzun. VOL. I. XV xvi Authorities. Memoires de Madame de Motteville. Memoires de M. d'Artagnan. Memoires du Cardinal de Retz. Memoires de La Porte. Memoires de Mazarin. CEuvres Completes de Saint-Simon. Memoires de la Duchesse de la Valliere. Memoires de la Marquise de Montespan. Memoires de la Marquise de Maintenon. Amours des Rois de France. Dulaure, Histoire de Paris. Histoire de la Touraine, dans la Bibliotheque Publique i Tours. Capefigue, Ouvragas Divers. OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE OLD COURT LIFE IN FRANCE. CHAPTER I. FRANCIS I. WE are in the sixteenth century. Europe is young in artistic life. The minds of men are moved by the discussions, councils, protests, and contentions of the Reformation. The printing press is spreading knowledge into every corner of the globe. At this period, three highly educated and un- scrupulous young men divide the power of Europe. They are Henry VIII. of England, Charles V. of Austria, and Francis I. of France. Each is magnifi- cent in taste ; each is desirous of power and conquest. Each acts as a spur to the others both in peace and in war. They introduce the cultivated tastes, the refined habits, the freedom of thought of modern life, and from the period in which they flourish modern history dates. Of these three monarchs Francis is the boldest, cleverest, and most profligate. The elegance, refine- ment, and luxury of his court are unrivalled ; and this luxury strikes the senses from its contrast with the frugal habits of the ascetic Louis XI. and the homely Louis XII. 2 Old Court Life in France. His reign educated Europe. If ambition led him towards Italy, it was as much to capture the arts of that classic land and to bear them back in triumph to France, as to acquire the actual territory. Francis introduced the French Renaissance, that subtle union of elaborate ornamentation with purity of design which was the renovation of art. When and how he acquired such exact appreciation of the beau- tiful is unexplained. That he possessed judgment and taste is proved by the monuments he left be- hind, and by his patronage of the greatest masters of their several arts. The wealth of beauty and colour, the flowing lines of almost divine expression in the works of the Italian painters of the Cinque-cento, delighted the sensuous soul of Francis. Wherever he lived he gathered treasures of their art around him. Such a nature as his had no sympathy with the meritorious but precise elaboration of the contemporary Dutch school, led by the Van Eycks and Holbein. It was Leonardo da Vinci, the head of the Milanese school, who blended power and tenderness, that Francis delighted to honour. He brought Cellini, Primaticcio, and Leonardo from Italy, and never wearied of their company. He established the aged Leonardo at the Chateau de Clos, near his own castle of Amboise, where the painter is said to have died in the arms of his royal patron. As an architect, Francis left his mark beyond any other sovereign of Europe. He transformed the gloomy fortress-home embattled, turreted, and moated into the elaborately decorated, manorial chateau. The bare and foot-trodden space without, 1 * Old Court Life in France. reign educat .ition led him towards Italy, it v ! ie arts of that classic land and ; imph to France, as to acquii introduced the Fren- union of elaborate c i which was the reno how he acquired such exact app; tiful is unexplained. That he p<- and taste is proved by the monument hind, and by his patronage of the greatest a their several arts. The wealth of beauty and colour, the flowing lines of almost divine expression in the works of the i painters of the Cinque-cento, delighted the of Francis. Wherever he lived he art around him. Such a nature potion of the fta##X)f'ie Chateau of but precise elaboration^ th cot Oarnbord school, led by the Van Y .-. Leonardo da Vinci, the h. c school, who blended power and tetuic- toss, that Francis delighted to honour. Hebroiv i, Primaticcio, and Leonardo from Italy, and never wearied of their company. He established the aged Leonardo at the Chateau de Clos, near his own castle of Anv where the painter is said to have died in th his royal patron. As an architect, Francis left hi-. .;, ; any other sovereign oC Europe \\? *: ^?jo.-med the gk>omy fortress-he-: twrreted, and moated into tl>r C; decorated, -manorial chateau. The bare ,u:*J i<>G.fr.*rociden space without, Francis I. 3 enclosed with walls of defence, was changed into green lawns and overarching bowers breaking the vista toward the royal forest, the flowing river, and the open campagne. Francis had a mania for building. Like Louis XIV., who in the century following built among the sandhills of Versailles, Francis insisted on creating a fairy palace amid the flat and dusty plains of Sologne. Here the Renaissance was to achieve its triumph. At Chambord, near Blois, were massed every device, decoration, and eccentricity of his favourite style. So identified is this place with its creator, that even his intriguing life peeps out in the double staircase under the central tower representing a gigantic fleur-de- lys in stone where those who ascend are invisible to those who descend ; in the doors, concealed in sliding panels behind the arras ; and in many double walls and secret stairs. Azay le Rideau, built on a beautifully wooded island on the river Indre, though less known than Chambord, was and is an exquisite specimen of the Renaissance. It owes the fascination of its graceful outlines and peculiar ornamentation to the master- hand which has graven his crowned F and Sala- mander on its quaint fagades. The Louvre and Fontainebleau are also signed by these monograms. He, and his son Henry II., made these piles the historic monuments we now behold. Such was Francis, the artist. As a soldier, he followed in the steps of Bayard, " Sans peur et sans reproche." He perfected that poetic code of honour which reconciles the wildest courage with generosity towards an enemy. A knight-errant in love of danger 4 Old Court Life in France. and adventure, Francis comes to us as the perfect type of the chivalrous Frenchman ; ready to do battle on any provocation either as king or gentleman, either at the head of his army, in the tournament, or in the duello. He loved all that was gay, bright, and beautiful. He delighted in the repose of peace, yet no monarch ever plunged his country into more ruinous and causeless wars. Though capable of the tenderest and purest affection, no man was ever more heartless and cruel in principle and conduct. Francis, Due de Valois,* was educated at home by his mother, Madame Louise de Savoie, Duchesse d'Angouleme, Regent of France, together with his brilliant sister, Marguerite, " the pearl of the Valois," poetess, story-teller, artist, and politician. Each of these royal ladies was tenderly attached to the clever, handsome youth, and together formed what they chose to call " a trinity of love." The old Castle of Amboise, in Touraine, the favourite abode of Louis XII., continued to be their home after his death. Here, too, the hand of Francis is to be traced in sculptured windows and architectural facades, in noble halls and broad galleries, and in the stately terraced gardens overlooking the Loire which flows beneath its walls. Here, under the formal lime alleys and flowering groves, or in the shadow of the still fortified bastions, the brother and sister sat or wandered side by side, on many a summer day ; read and talked of poetry and troubadours, of romance and chivalry, of Arthur, Roland, and Charlemagne, of spells and witcheries, and of Merlin the enchanter whose magic failed before a woman's glance. * See Note I. Francis I. 5 Printing at that time having become general, litera- ture of all kinds circulated in every direction, stirring men's minds with fresh tides of knowledge. Mar- guerite de Valois, who was called " the tenth Muse," dwelt upon poetry and fiction, and already meditated her Boccaccio-like stories, afterwards to be published under the title of the Heptameron. Francis gloated over such adventures as were detailed in the roundelay of the " Four Sons of Aymon," a ballad of that day, devoured the history of Amadis de Gaul, and tried his hand in twisting many a love- rhyme, after the fashion of the " Romaunt of the Rose." In such an idyllic life of love, of solitude, and of thought, full of the humanising courtesies of family life, was formed the paradoxical character of Francis, who above all men possessed what the French describe as " the reverse of his qualities." His fierce passions still slumbered, his imagination was filled with poetry, his heart beat high with the endearing love of a brother and a son. His reckless courage vented itself in the chase, among the royal forests of Amboise and of Chanteloup, that darkened the adjacent hills, or in a tustle with the boorish citizens, or travelling mer- chants, in the town below. Thus he grew into manhood, his stately yet con- descending manners, handsome person, and romantic courage gaining him devoted adherents. Yet when we remember that Francis served as the type for Hugo's play of Le Roi s amuse we pause and shudder. 6 Old Court Life in France. CHAPTER II. CHARLES DE BOURBON. THE Court is at Amboise. Francis is only twenty, and still solicits the advice of his mother, Louise de Savoie, regent during his minority. Marguerite, now married to the Due d'Alen^on, has also consider- able influence over him. Both these princesses, who are with him at Amboise, insist on the claims of their kinsman, Charles de Montpensier, Due de Bourbon, in right of his wife, Suzanne, only daughter and heiress of Pierre, the last duke, to be appointed Constable of France. It is an office next in power to the sovereign, and has not been revived since the treasonable conspiracy of the Comte de St. Pol, in the reign of Louis XI. Bourbon is only twenty-six, but he is already a hero. He has braved death again and again in the battle-field with dauntless valour. In person he is tall and handsome. In manners, he is frank, bold, and prepossessing ; but when offended, his proud nature easily turns to vindictive and almost savage revenge. Invested with the double dignity of General of the royal forces and Constable of France, he comes to Amboise to salute the King and the princesses, who are both strangely interested in his career, and to take the last commands from Francis, who does not now propose accompanying his army into Italy. There is a restless, mobile expression on Bourbon's dark yet comely face, that tells of strong passions ill suppressed. A man capable of ardent and devoted Charles de Bourbon. 7 love, and of bitter hate ; his marriage with his cousin Suzanne, lately dead, had been altogether a political alliance to bring him royal kindred, wealth, and power. Suzanne had failed to interest his heart. It is said that another passion has long engaged him. Francis may have some hint as to who the lady is, and may resent Bourbon's presumption. At all events, the Constable is no favourite with the King. He dislikes his fanfaronnade and haughty address. He loves not either to see a subject of his own age so powerful and so magnificent ; it trenches too much on his own prerogatives of success. Besides, as lads, Bourbon and Francis had quarrelled at a game of maille. The King had challenged Bourbon but had never fought him, and Bourbon resented this refusal as an affront to his honour. The Constable, mounted on a splendid charger, with housings of black velvet, and attended by a brilliant suite, gallops into the courtyard. His fine person is set off by a rich surcoat, worn over a suit of gilded armour. He wears a red and white panache in his helmet, and his sword and dagger are thickly incrusted with diamonds. At the top of the grand staircase are posted one hundred archers, royal pages conduct the Constable through the range of state apartments. The King receives Bourbon in the great gallery hung with tapestry. He is seated on a chair of state, ornamented with elaborate carving, on which the arms of France are in high relief. This chair is placed on a raised floor, or dais, covered with a carpet. Beside him stands the grand master of the ceremonies, who introduces the Constable to the 8 Old Court Life in France. King. Francis, who inclines his head and raises his cap for an instant, is courteous but cold. Marguerite d'Alengon is present ; like Bourbon, she is unhappily mated. The Due d'Alengon is, physically and men- tally, her inferior. When the Constable salutes the King, Marguerite stands apart. Conscious that her brother's eyes read her thoughts, she blushes deeply and averts her face. Bourbon advances to the spot where she is seated in the recess of an oriel window. He bows low before her ; Marguerite rises, and offers him her hand. Their eyes meet. There is no dis- guise in the passionate glance of the Constable ; Marguerite, confused and embarrassed, turns away. " Has your highness no word of kindness for your kinsman ? "says the Constable, in a low voice. "You know, cousin, your interests are ever dear to me," replies she, in the same tone ; then, curtsey- ing deeply to the King, she takes the arm of her husband, M. d'Alengon, who was killing flies at the window, and leaves the gallery. " Diable ! " says Francis to his confidant, Claude de Guise, in an undertone ; " My sister is scarcely civil to the Constable. Did you observe, she hardly answered him ? All the better. It will teach Bourbon humility, and not to look too high for a mate." "Yet her highness pleaded eagerly with your Majesty for his advancement." " Yes, yes ; that was to please our mother. Suzanne de Bourbon was her cousin, and the Regent promised her before her death to support her husband's claims." Meanwhile, the Constable receives, with a some- what reserved and haughty civility, the compliments Charles de Bourbon. 9 of the Court. He is conscious of an antagonistic atmosphere. It is well known that the King loves him not ; and whom the King loves not neither does the courtier. A page then approaches, and invites the Constable, in the name of Queen Claude, to join her afternoon circle. Meanwhile, he is charged to conduct the Constable to an audience with the Regent-mother, who awaits him in her apartments. The King had been cool and the Princess silent and reserved : not so the Regent Louise de Savoie, who advances to meet the Constable with unmistak- able eagerness. " I congratulate you, my cousin," she says, holding out both her hands to him, which he receives kneel- ing, " on the dignity with which my son has invested you. I may add, that I was not altogether idle in the matter." "Your highness will, I hope, be justified in the favour you have shown me," replies the Constable, coldly. " Be seated, my cousin," continues Louise. " I have desired to see you alone that I might fully explain with what grief I find myself obliged, by the express orders of my son, to dispute with a kinsman I so much esteem as yourself" she pauses a mo- ment, the Constable bows gravely "the inheritance of my poor cousin, your wife, Madame Suzanne de Bourbon. Suzanne was dear to me, and you also, Constable, have a high place in my regard." Louise ceases. She looks significantly at the Constable, as if waiting for him to answer ; but he does not reply, and again bows. io Old Court Life in France. " I am placed," continues the Regent, the colour gathering on her cheek, "in a most painful alter- native. The Chancellor has insisted on the legality of my claims claims on the inheritance of your late wife, daughter of Pierre, Due de Bourbon, my cousin. I will not trouble you with details. My son urges the suit. My own feelings plead strongly against proceeding any further in the matter." She hesitates and stops. " Your highness is of course aware that the loss of this suit would be absolute ruin to me? "says Bourbon, looking hard at Louise. "J fear it would be most disastrous to your for- tunes. That they are dear to me, judge you are by my interest made Constable of France, second only in power to my son." " I have already expressed my gratitude, madame." " But, Constable," continues Louise de Savoie, speaking with much animation, " why have you in- sisted on your claims why not have trusted to the gratitude of the King towards a brave and zealous subject? Why not have counted on myself, who have both power and will, as I have shown, to protect you ?" " The generosity of the King and your highness's favour, which I accept with gratitude, have nothing to do with the legal rights of my late wife's inheri- tance. I desire not, madame, to be beholden in such matters even to your highness or to his Majesty." " Well, Constable, well, as you will ; you are, I know, of a proud and noble nature. But I have desired earnestly," and the Regent rises and places herself on another chair nearer the Constable, " to FRANCIS I. FROM THE PAINTING BY TITIAN. Charles de Bourbon. 1 1 ascertain from your own lips if this suit cannot be settled a r amiable. There are many means of accommodating a lawsuit, Duke. Madame Anne, wife of two kings of France, saved Brittany from cruel wars in a manner worthy of imitation." " Truly," replies Bourbon, with a sigh ; " but I know not what princess of the blood would enable me to accommodate your highness's suit in so agreeable a manner." " Have you not yourself formed some opinion on the subject?" asks Louise, looking at the Constable with undisguised tenderness. " No, madame, I have not. Since the hand of your beautiful daughter, Madame Marguerite, is engaged, I know no one." " But " and she hesitates, and again turns her eyes upon him, which the Constable does not ob- serve, as he is adjusting the hilt of his dagger " but you forget, Duke, that I am a widow." As she speaks she places her hand upon that of the Constable, and gazes into his face. Bourbon starts violently and looks up. Louise de Savoie, still holding his hand, meets his gaze with an unmistak- able expression. She is forty years old, but vain and intriguing. There is a pause. Then the Con- stable rises and drops the hand which had rested so softly upon his own. His handsome face darkens into a look of disgust. A flush of rage sends the blood tingling to the cheeks of Louise. "Your highness mistakes me," says Bourbon. " The respect I owe to his Majesty, the disparity of our years, my own feelings, all render such an union impossible. Your highness does me great honour, 1 2 Old Court Life in France. but I do not at present intend to contract any other alliance. If his Majesty goes to law with me, why I will fight him, madame, that is all." " Enough," answers Louise, in a hoarse voice, " I understand." The Constable makes a profound obeisance and retires. This interview was the first act in that long and intricate drama by which the spite of a mortified woman drove the Due de Bourbon the greatest general of his age, under whom the arms of France never knew defeat to become a traitor to his king and to France. CHAPTER III. BROTHER AND SISTER. YEARS have passed ; Francis, with his wife, Queen Claude, daughter of Louis XII. and Anne of Brittany, is at Chambord, in the Touraine. Claude, but for the Salic law, would have been Queen of France. In her childhood, she was affianced to Charles, son of Philip the Fair, afterwards Charles V. of Germany, the great rival of Francis. Francis had never loved her, the union had been political ; yet Claude is gentle and devoted, and he says of her, " that her soul is as a rose without a thorn." This queen the darling of her parents can neither bear the indiffer- ence nor the infidelity of her brilliant husband, and dies of her neglected love at the early age of twenty- five. Brother and Sister. 1 3 Marguerite d'Alen^on, the Duke her husband, and the Court, are assembled for hunting in the forests of Sologne. Chambord, then but a gloomy mediseval fortress lying on low swampy lands on the banks of the river Casson, is barely large enough to accom- modate the royal party. Already Francis meditates many changes; the course of the river Loire, some fifteen miles distant, is to be turned in order to bathe the walls of a sumptuous palace, not yet fully conceived in the brain of the royal architect. It is spring ; Francis is seated in the broad em- brasure of an oriel window, in an oak-panelled saloon which looks towards the surrounding forest. He eagerly watches the gathering clouds that veil the sun and threaten to prevent the boar-hunt projected for that morning. Beside him, in the window, sits his sister Marguerite. She wears a black velvet riding- habit, faced with gold ; her luxuriant hair is gathered into a net under a plumed hat on which a diamond aigrette glistens. At the farther end of the room Queen Claude is seated on a high-backed chair, richly carved, in the midst of her ladies. She is embroider- ing an altar-cloth ; her face is pale and very plaintive. She is young, and though not beautiful, there is an angelic expression in her large grey eyes, a dimpling sweetness about her mouth, that indicate a nature worthy to have won the love of any man, not such a libertine as Francis. Her dress is plain and rich, of grey satin trimmed with ermine ; a jewelled coif is upon her head. She bends over her work, now and then raising her wistful eyes with an anxious look towards the King. The Queen's habits are sedentary, and the issue of the hunting party is of no personal 14 Old Court Life in France. interest to her ; she always remains at home with her children and ladies. Many attendant lords, attired for hunting, are waiting his Majesty's pleasure in the adjoining gallery. " Marguerite," says the King, turning to the Du- chesse d'Alengon, as the sun reappears out of a bank of cloud, " the weather mends ; in a quarter of an hour we shall start. Meanwhile, dear sister, sit beside me. Morbleu, how well that riding-dress becomes you ! You are very handsome, and worthy to be called the Rose of the Valois. There are few royal ladies in our Court to compare to you " ; and Francis glances significantly at his gentle Queen, busy over her embroidery, as if to say "Would that she resembled you ! " Marguerite, proud of her brother's praise, reddens with pleasure and reseats herself at his side. " By- and-by I shall knock down this sombre old fortress," continues Francis, looking out of the window at the gloomy facade, " and transform it into a hunting chateau. The situation pleases me, and the sur- rounding forest is full of game." " My brother," says Marguerite, interrupting him and speaking in an earnest voice, for her eyes have not followed the direction of the King's, which are fixed on the prospect ; she seems not to have heard his remarks, and her bright look has changed into an anxious expression ; " my brother, tell me, have you decided upon the absolute ruin of Bourbon ? Think how his haughty spirit must chafe under the repeated marks of your displeasure." They are both silent. Marguerite's eyes are riveted upon the King. Francis is embarrassed. He averts his face from the sup- Brother and Sister. 1 5 pliant look cast upon him by his sister, and again turns to the window, as if to watch the rapidly pass- ing clouds. " My sister," he says at length, " Bourbon is not a loyal subject ; he is unworthy of your regard." " Sire, I cannot believe it. Bourbon is no traitor ! But, my brother, if he were, have you not tried him sorely ? Have you not driven him from you by an intolerable sense of injury? Oh, Francis, remember he is our kinsman, your most zealous servant ; did he not save your life at Marignano ? Who among your generals is cool, daring, valiant, wise as Bour- bon ? Has he not borne our flag triumphantly through Italy ? Have the French troops under him ever known defeat ? Yet, my brother, you have now publicly disgraced him." Her voice trembles with emotion ; she is very pale, and her eyes fill with tears. " By the mass, Marguerite, no living soul, save our mother, would dare to address me thus ! " ex- claims the King, turning towards her. He is much moved. Then, examining her countenance, he adds, " You are strangely agitated, my sister. What con- cern have you with the Constable ? Believe me, I have made Bourbon too powerful." " Not now, not now, Francis, when you have, at the request of a woman of Madame de Chateau- briand too taken from him the government of Milan ; when he is superseded in his command ; when our mother is pressing on him a ruinous suit, with your sanction." At the name of Madame de Chateaubriand Mar- guerite's whole countenance darkens with anger, the King's face grows crimson. 1 6 Old Court Life in France. " My sister, you plead Bourbon's cause warmly too warmly, methinks," and Francis turns his head aside to conceal his confusion. " Not only has your Majesty taken from him the government of Milan, "continues Marguerite, bitterly, unheeding the King's interruption, " but he has been replaced by Lautrec, brother of Madame de Chateau- briand, an inexperienced soldier, unfitted for such an important post. Oh, my brother, you are driving Bourbon to despair. So great a general cannot hang up his victorious sword." " By my faith, sister, you press me hard," replies the King, recovering the gentle tone with which he always addressed her ; " I will communicate with my council ; what you have said shall be duly considered. Meanwhile, if Bourbon inspires you with such inter. est, as it seems he does, tell him to humble his pride and submit himself to us, his sovereign and his master. If he do, he shall be greater than ever, I promise you." As he speaks, he glances at Mar- guerite, whose eyes fa^ to the ground. " But see, my sister, the sun is shining ; and there is some one already mounting in the courtyard. Give the signal for departure, Comte de Saint- Vallier," says the King in a louder voice, turning towards two gentle- men standing at an opposite window in the gallery. The King has to repeat his command before the Comte de Saint- Vallier hears him. " Saint-Vallier, you are in deej/ converse with De Pomprant. Is it love or war?" " Neither, Sire," replies the Captain of the Royal Archers, looking embarrassed. " M. de Pompe'rant, are you going with us to- ,J? 1 6 Old Court i " My sister, you ple,< A-armly too warmly, methini is his head aside to conceal h " Not only has _-. him the government of Mihr bitterly, unheeding the K has been aced by 'hateau- briand, an inex; h ar important post. Oh, n Bourbon to despair. So great a gene up his victorious sword." " By my faith, sister, you press me hard," replies the King, recovering the gentle tone with which he always addressed her ; " I will communicate with my council ; what you have said shall be duly considered. Meanwhile, if Bourbon inspires you with such inter. . as it seems he does, tell him to humble hi* 9## 9ncJ^^top8lmQ^I^,QfisAV^i? his master. If he do, he shall be greater than ever, I promise you." As he speaks, he glances at Mar- guerite, whose eyes fa*/ to the ground. " But see, my sister, t' shining ; and there is some one already mo the courtyard. Give the signal for departr te de Saint- Vallier," says the King in a 1 ice, turning towards two gentle- men stand! ^ opposite window in the gallery. The King -epeat his command before the Comte de Jiier heirs him. " Saint- ValHer, you are in deq, convers< wfth De PompeYant. Is it love or war?" "Neither, Sire," replies *h- Captain of the Royal Archers, looking embarrassed. " M de Pompe>ant, are you going with us to- Brother and Sister. 1 7 day to hunt the boar?" says the King, advancing towards them. " Sire," replies De Pompe>ant, bowing profoundly, " your Majesty does me great honour ; but, with your leave, I will not accompany the hunt. Urgent business calls me from Chambord." " Ah, coquin, it is an assignation ; confess it," and a wicked gleam lights up the King's eyes. " No, Sire," says De Pomperant. " I go to join the Constable de Bourbon, who is indisposed." " Ah ! to join the Constable ! " Francis pauses and looks at him. " I know he is your friend," con. tinues he, suddenly becoming very grave. " Where is he?" " At his fortress of Chantelle, Sire." " At Chantelle ! a fortified place, and without my permission. Truly, Monsieur de PompeYant, your friend is a daring subject. What if I will not trust you in his company, and command your attendance on our person here at Chambord?" " Then, Sire, I should obey," replies De Pompe- rant ; " but let your gracious Majesty remember the Due de Bourbon is ill ; he is a broken and ruined man, deprived of your favour. Chantelle is more a chateau than a fortress." " Go, De Pomperant ; I did but jest. Tell Bour, bon, on the word of a king, that he has warm friends near my person ; that if the Regent-mother gains her suit against him, I will restore tenfold to him in money, lands, and honour. Adieu, Monsieur de Pomperant. You are dismissed. Bon voyage." Now, the truth was that De Pomperant had come to Chambord upon a secret mission from Bourbon, 1 8 Old Court Life in France. who wished to assure himself of those gentlemen of the Court upon whom he could rely in case of rebel- lion. The Comte de Saint-Vallier had just, while standing at the window, pledged his word to stand by Bourbon for life or death. The King is now mounting his horse in the court- yard, a noble bay with glittering harness. He gives the signal of departure, which is echoed through the woodland recesses by the bugles of the huntsmen. A lovely lady attired in white has joined the royal retinue in the courtyard. She rides on in front be- side the King, who, the better to converse with her, has placed his hand upon her horse's neck. This is Franchise, Comtesse de Chateaubriand, the favourite of the hour at whose request Bourbon had been superseded in the government of Milan by her brother Lautrec. Behind this pair rides Marguerite d'Alen^on with her husband, the Comte de Guise, Montmorenci, Bonnivet, and other nobles. A large cavalcade of courtiers follows. Since her conversation with her brother, Marguerite looks thoughtful and anxious. She is so absent that she does not even hear the prattle of her husband, who is content to talk and cares not for reply. On reaching the dense thickets of the forest she suddenly reins up her horse, and, falling back a little, beckons the Comte de Saint- Vallier to her side. " M. le Comte," she says in a loud voice, so as to be overheard by her husband and the other gentle- men riding in advance, " tell me when is the Court to be graced by the presence of your incomparable Brother and Sister. 19 daughter, Madame Diane, Grande Seneschale of Normandy?" "Madame," replies Saint-Vallier, "her husband, Monseigneur de Breze, is much occupied in his dis- tant government. Diane is young, much younger than her husband. The Court, madame, is danger- ously full of temptations to the young." " We lose a bright jewel by her absence," says Marguerite, abstractedly. " M. le Comte," she con- tinues in a low voice, speaking quickly, and motion- ing to him with her hand to approach nearer, " I have something private to say to you. Ride close by my side. You are a friend of the Constable de Bourbon ? " she asks eagerly. "Yes, madame, I am." " You are, perhaps, his confidant ? Speak freely to me ; I feel deeply the misfortunes of the Duke. I would aid him if I could. Is there any foundation for the suspicion with which my brother regards him ? You will not deceive me, Monsieur de Poitiers?" Saint-Vallier does not answer at once. ' The Constable de Bourbon will never, I trust, betray his Majesty," replies he at last, with hesitation. "Alas! my poor cousin ! Is that all the assurance you can give me, Monsieur de Saint-Vallier? Oh! he is incapable of treason," exclaims Marguerite with enthusiasm ; " I would venture my life he is incapable of treason ! " A courier passes them at this moment, riding with hot speed. He nears the King, who is now far on in front, and who, hearing the sound of the horse's hoofs, stops and listens. The messenger hands the 2O Old Court Life in France. King a despatch. Francis hastily breaks the seal. It is from Lautrec, the new governor of Milan. Bourbon is in open rebellion. Bourbon in open rebellion ! This intelligence ne- cessitates the instant presence of the King at Paris. CHAPTER IV. THE QUALITY OF MERCY. FRANCIS is at the Louvre, surrounded by his most devoted friends and councillors, Chabannes, La Tr6mouille, Bonnivet, Montmorenci, Crequi, Cosse", De Guise, and the two Du Bellays. The Louvre is still the isolated stronghold, castle, palace, and prison, surrounded by moat, walls, and bastions, built by Philippe Auguste on the grassy margin of the Seine. In the centre of the inner court is a round tower, also moated, and defended by ramparts, ill-famed in feudal annals for its oubliettes and dungeons, under which the river flows. Four gates, with posterns and towers, open from the Louvre ; that one opposite the Seine is the strongest. The southern gate which is low and narrow, with statues on either hand of Charles V. and his wife, Jeanne de Bourbon faces the Church of Saint-Germain TAuxerrois.* Beyond are gardens and orchards, and a house called Fromenteau, where lions are kept for the King's amusement. These are the days of stately manners, intellectual * See Note 2. The Quality of Mercy. 2 1 culture, and increasing knowledge. Personal honour, as from man to man, is a religion, of which Bayard is the high priest ; treachery to woman, a virtue in- culcated by the King. The idle, vapid life of later courts is unknown under a monarch who, however addicted to pleasure, cultivates all kinds of knowl- edge, whose inquiring intellect seeks to master all science, to whom indolence is impossible. His very meals are chosen moments in which he converses with authors, poets, and artists, or dictates letters to Erasmus and the learned Greek Lascaris. Such industry and dignity, such grace and condescension, gather around him the great spirits of the age. He delights in their company. It is the King's boast that he has introduced into France the study of the Greek language, Botany, and Natural History. He buys, at enormous prices, pictures, pottery, enamels, statues, and manuscripts. As in his fervid youth at Amboise, he loves poetry and poets. Clement Marot is his chosen guest, and polishes the King's rhymes, of which some delicate and touching stanzas (those on Agnes Sorel,* espe- cially) have come down to us. Even that witty heretic, Rabelais, found both an appreciative protector and intelligent friend in a sovereign superior to the prejudices of his age. With learning, poetry, wit, and intellect, come luxury and boundless extravagance. Brantome speaks as with bated breath of the royal expenditure. These are the days of broad sombrero hats fringed with gold and looped up with priceless jewels and feathers ; of embroidered cloaks in costly stuffs heavy with gold * See Note 3. 2 2 Old Court Life in France, or silver embroidery hung over the shoulder ; of slashed hose and richly chased rapiers ; of garments of cloth-of-gold, embroidered with armorial bearings in jewels ; of satin justaucorps covered with rivieres of diamonds, emeralds, and oriental pearls ; of tor- sades and collars wherein gold is but the foil to price- less gems. The ladies wear Eastern silks and golden tissues, with trimmings of rare furs; wide sleeves and Spanish fardingales, sparkling coifs and jewelled nets, with glittering veils. They ride in ponderous coaches covered with carving and gilding, or on horses whose pedigrees are as undoubted as their own, covered with velvet housings and with silken nets woven with jewels, their manes plaited with gold and precious stones. But these illustrious ladies consider gloves a royal luxury, and are weak in respect of stockings. Foremost in every gorgeous mode is Francis. He wears rich Genoa velvets, and affects bright colours rose and sky-blue. A Spanish hat is on his head, turned up with a white plume, fastened to an aigrette of rubies, with a golden salamander his device, signi- fying, " I am nourished and I die in fire" (" Je me nourris et je meurs dans le feu "). How well we know his dissipated though distin- guished features, as portrayed by Titian ! His long nose, small eyes, broad cheeks, and cynical mouth. He moves with careless grace, as one who would sa y> " Q ue mimporte ? I am King of France ; nought comes amiss to me." Now he walks up and down the council-room in the Louvre which looks towards the river. His step is quick and agitated, his face wears an unusual The Quality of Mercy. 23 frown. He calls Bonnivet to him and addresses him in a low voice, while the other nobles stand back. "Am I to believe that Bourbon has not merely rebelled against me, but that the traitor has fled into Spain and made terms with Charles ? " " Your Majesty's information is precise." " What was the manner of his flight ? " " The Duke, Sire, waited at his fortress of Chan- telle until the arrival of Monsieur de Pomp6rant from your Majesty's Court at Chambord, feigning sickness and remaining shut up within his apartments. After Monsieur de Pompe'rant's arrival, a litter was ordered to await his pleasure, and De Pompe'rant, dressed in the clothes of the Duke and with his face concealed by a hood, was carried into the litter, which started for Moulins, travelling slowly. Meanwhile Bourbon, accompanied by a band of gentlemen, was galloping on the road to the frontier. He was last seen at Saint-Jean de Luz, in the Pyrenees." " By our Lady ! " exclaims Francis, " such treason is a blot upon knighthood. Bourbon, a man whom we had made as great as ourselves ! " " The Duke, Sire, left a message for your Majesty." " A message ! Where ? and who bore it ? " " De Pomprant, Sire, who has already been ar- rested at Moulins. The Duke begged your Majesty to take back the sword which you had given him, and prayed you to send for the badge which he left hanging at the head of his bed at Chantelle." " Diable ! does the villain dare to point his jests at his sovereign ? " and Francis flushes to the roots of his hair with passion. " I wish I had him face to face in a fair field " and he lays his land on the hilt 24 Old Court Life in France. of his sword ; " but no," he adds in a calmer voice, " a traitor's blood would but soil my weapon. Let him carry his perfidy into Spain 'twill suit the Emperor; I am well rid of him. Are there many accomplices, Bonnivet ? " "About two hundred, Sire." " Is it possible ! Do we know them ? " " The Comte de Saint- Vallier, Sire, is the principal accomplice." " What ! Saint- Vallier, the Captain of our Archers I That strikes us nearly. This conspiracy, my lords,' says Francis, advancing to where Guise, La Tr6- mouille, Montmorenci, and the others stand some- what apart during his conversation with Bonnivet, " is much more serious than I imagined. I must re- main in France to wait the issue of events. You, Bon- nivet, must take command of the Italian campaign." Bonnivet kneels and kisses the hand of Francis. " I am sorry for Jean de Poitiers," continues Fran- cis, turning to Guise. " Are the proofs against him certain ? " " Sire, Saint- Vallier accompanied the Constable to the frontier." " I am sorry," repeats the King, and he passes his hand thoughtfully over his brow and muses. " Jean de Poitiers, my ci-devant Captain of the Guards, is the father of a charming lady ; Madame Diane, the Seneschale of Normandy, is an angel, though her husband, De Breze hum why, he is a monster. Vulcan and Venus the old story, eh, my lords ? " There is a general laugh. A page enters and announces a lady humbly crav- HENRY, DUKE OF MONTMORENCI, MARSHAL OF FRANCE. FROM A PORTRAIT Br BALTAZAR MONCORNET. The Quality of Mercy. 25 ing to speak with his Majesty. The King smiles, his wicked eyes glisten. " Who ? what ? Do I know her ? " " Sire, the lady is deeply veiled ; she desires to speak with your Majesty alone." " But, by St. Denis do I know her?" " I think, Sire, it is the wife of the Grand Seneschal of Normandy Madame Diane de Breze." There is a pause, some whispering, and a low laugh is heard. The King looks around displeased. "I am not surprised," says he. "When I heard of the father's danger I expected the daughter's inter- cession. Let the lady enter." With a wave of his hand he dismisses the Court, and seats himself on a chair of state under a rich canopy embroidered in gold with the arms of France. Diane enters. She is dressed in long black robes which sweep the floor. Her head is covered with a thick lace veil which she raises as she approaches the King. She weeps, but her tears do not mar her beauty, which is absolutely radiant. She is exqui- sitely fair and wonderfully fresh, with golden hair and dark eyebrows a most winsome lady. She throws herself at the King's feet. She clasps her hands. Her sobs drown her voice. " Pardon, Sire, pardon my father ! " she at length falters. The King stoops forward, and raises her to the estrade on which he stands. He looks tenderly into her soft blue eyes, his hands are locked in hers. " Your father, madame, my old and trusted servant, is guilty of treason." " Alas ! Sire, I fear so ; but he is old, too old for punishment. He has been hitherto a true subject of your Majesty." 26 Old Court Life in France. " He is blessed, madame, with a most surpassing daughter." Francis pauses and looks steadfastly at her with eyes of ardent admiration. " But I fear I must confirm the sentence of my judges, madame ; your father is certain to be found guilty of treason." " Oh ! Sire, mercy, mercy ! grant me my father's life, I implore you " ; and again Diane falls prostrate at the King's feet, and looks supplicatingly into his face. Again the King raises her. " Well, madame, you are aware that you desire the pardon of a traitor ; on what ground do you ask for his life?" " Sire, I ask it for the sake of mercy ; mercy is the privilege of kings, " and her soft eyes seek those of Francis and rest upon them. " I have come so far, too, from Normandy, to invoke it my poor father ! " and she sobs again. " Your Majesty will not send me back refused, broken-hearted ? " Still her eyes are fixed upon the King. " Mercy, Madame Diane, is, doubtless, a royal prerogative. I am an anointed king," and he lets go her hands, and draws himself up proudly, " and T may use it ; but the prerogative of a woman is beauty. Beauty, Madame Diane, " adds Francis, with a glance at the lovely woman still kneeling at his feet, " is more potent than a king's word." There is silence for a few moments. Diane's eyes are now bent upon the ground, her bosom heaves. Francis contemplates her with delight. "Will you, fair lady, deign to exercise your prerogative ? " " Truly, Sire, I know not what your Majesty would say," replies Diane, looking down and blushing. The Quality of Mercy. 27 Something in his eyes gives her hope, for she starts violently, rises, and clasping her hands together exclaims, " How, Sire ! do I read your meaning aright? can I, by my humble service to your Majesty " Yes, fair lady, you can. Your presence at my Court, where your adorable beauty shall receive due homage, will be my hostage for your father's loyalty. Madame Diane, I declare that the Comte de Saint- Vallier is PARDONED. Though he had rent the crown from off our head, your father is pardoned. And I add, madame, that it was the charm of his daughter that rendered a refusal impossible." Madame Diane's face shines like April sunshine through rain-drops ; a smile parts her lips, and her glistening eyes dance with joy ; she is more lovely than ever. " Thanks, thanks, Sire ! " And again she would have knelt, but the King again takes her hands, and looks into her face so earnestly that she again blushes. Did that look of the King fascinate her ? or did the sudden joy of saving her father move her heart with love ? Who can tell ? It is certain, however, that from this time Diane left Normandy, and became one of the brightest ornaments of that beauty-loving Court. Diane was a woman of mascu- line understanding, concealed under the gentlest and most fascinating manners ; but she was also mer- cenary, intriguing, and domineering. Of her beauty we may judge for ourselves, as many portraits of her are extant, especially one of great excellence by Leonardo da Vinci, in the long gallery at Chenonceau. 28 Old Court Life in France. Diane was soon forsaken, but the ready-witted lady consoled herself by laying siege to the heart of the son of Francis, Prince Henry, afterwards Henry II. Henry surrendered at discretion. Nothing can more mark the freedom of the times than this liaison. Yet both these ladies Diane de Poitiers and her successor in the favour of the King, the Duchesse d'Etampes were constantly in the society of two most virtuous queens Claude, and Elinor of Spain, the successive wives of Francis. CHAPTER V. ALL LOST SAVE HONOUR. THE next scene is in Italy. The French army lies encamped on the broad plains of Lombardy, backed by snowy lines of Alpine fastnesses. Bonnivet, in command of the French, presump- tuous and inexperienced, has been hitherto defeated in every battle. Bourbon, fighting on the side of Spain, is, as before, victorious. Francis, stung by the repeated defeat of his troops, has now joined the army, and commands in person. Milan, where the plague rages, has opened its gates to him ; but Pavia, distant about twenty miles, is occupied by the Spaniards in force. Antonio de Leyva is governor. Thither the French advance in order to besiege the city. All Lost Save Honour. 29 The open country is defended by the Spanish forces under Bourbon. Francis, maddened by the presence of his cousin, rushes onward. Montmorenci and Bonnivet, flatterers both, assure him that victory is certain by means of a coup de main. It is night ; the days are short, for it is February. The winter moon lights up the rich meadow lands divided by the broad Ticino and broken by the deep ditches and sluggish streams which surround the city. Tower, campanile, dome, and turret, with here and there the grim facade of a mediaeval palace, stand out in the darkness. Yonder among the meadows are the French, dark- ening the surrounding plain. Francis knows that the Constable is advancing to support the garrison of Pavia, and he desires to carry the city by assault before his arrival. Ever too rash, and now excited by a passionate sense of injury, Francis, with D'Alen- c,on, De la Trmouille, De Foix, and Bonnivet, leads the attack at the head of his cavalry. Now he is under the very walls. Despite the dim moonlight, no one can mistake him. He wears a suit of steel armour inlaid with gold ; a crimson surcoat, embroid- ered with gilt " F's " ; a helmet encircled by a jew- elled crown, out of which rises a yellow plume and golden salamander. For an instant success seems certain ; the scaling-ladders thick with soldiers are already planted against the lowest walls, and the garrison retreats under cover of the bastions. A sudden panic seizes the troops beneath, who are to support the assault. In the treacherous moonlight they have fallen into confusion among the deep, slimy ditches ; many are drifted away in the current 30 Old Court Life in France. of the great river. A murderous cannonade from the city walls now opens on the assailants and on the cavalry. Francis falls back. The older generals conjure him to retreat and raise the siege before the arrival of Bourbon, but, backed by Bonnivet and Montmorenci, he will not hear of it. The battle rages during the night. The morning light discovers the Spaniards commanded by Bourbon and Pescara, with the whole strength of their army, close under the walls. Again the King leads a fresh assault a forlorn hope, rather. He fights desperately ; the yel- low plumes of his helmet wave hither and thither as his horse dashes wildly from side to side amidst the smoke, in the thickest of the battle. See, for an in- stant he falters, he is wounded and bleeding. He recovers, however, and again clapping spurs to his horse, scatters his surrounding foes ; six have already fallen by his hand. Look ! his charger is pierced by a ball and falls with his rider. After a desperate struggle the King extricates himself ; now on foot, he still fights furiously. Alas ! it is in vain. Every moment his enemies thicken around him, pressing closer and closer. His gallant followers drop one by one under the unerring aim of the Basque marksmen. La Tremouille has fallen. De Foix lies a corpse at his feet. Bonnivet in despair expiates his evil counsel by death.* Every shot takes from him one of the pillars of his throne. Francis flings himself wildly on the points of the Spanish pikes. The Royal Guards fall like summer grass before the sickle ; but where the King stands, still dealing desperate blows, the bodies of the slain form a rampart of protection * See Note 4. All Lost Save Honour. 3 1 around him. His very enemies stand back amazed at such furious courage. While he struggles for his life hand to hand with D'Avila and D'Ovietta, plume- less, soiled, and bloody, a loud cry rises from a thousand voices " It is the King LET HIM SUR- RENDER Capture the King!" There is a dead silence ; the Spanish troops fall back. A circle is formed round the now almost fainting Francis, who lies upon the blood-stained earth. De Pomprant advances. He kneels before the master whom he has betrayed, he implores him to yield to Bourbon. At that hated name the King starts into fresh fury ; he grasps his sword, he struggles to his feet. " Never," cries he in a hoarse voice ; " never will I surrender to that traitor ! Rather let me die by the hand of a common marksman. Go back, Monsieur de Pompe>ant, and call to me the Vice-King of Naples." Lannoy advances, kneels, and kisses his hand. " Your Majesty is my prisoner," he cries aloud, and a ringing shout is echoed from the Spanish troops. Francis gives him his sword. Lannoy receives it kneeling, and replaces it by his own. The King's helmet is then removed ; a velvet cap is given to him, which he places on his head. The Spanish and Italian troopers and the deadly musketeers silently creep round him where he lies on the grass, supported by cushions, one to tear a feather from his broken plume, another to cut a morsel from his surcoat as a relic. This involuntary homage from his enemies is evidently agreeable to Francis. As his surcoat rapidly disappears under the knives of his opponents, he smiles, and graciously acknowledges the rough 32 Old Court Life in France. advances of those same soldiers who a moment before thirsted for his blood. Other generals with Pescara advance and surround him. He courteously ac- knowledges their respectful salutations. "Spare my poor soldiers, spare my Frenchmen, generals," says he. These unselfish words bring tears into Pescara's eyes. "Your Majesty shall be obeyed," replies he. " I thank you," replies Francis with a faltering voice. A pony is now brought to bear him into Pavia. Francis becomes greatly agitated. As they raise him up and assist him to mount, he turns to his escort of generals " Marquis," says he, turning to Pescara, " and you, my lord governor, if my calamity touches yourhearts, as it would seem to do, I beseech you not to lead me into Pavia. I would not be exposed to the affront of entering as a prisoner a city I should have taken by assault. Carry me, I pray you, to some shelter without the walls." "Your Majesty's wishes are our law," replies Pescara, saluting him. " We will bear you to the monastery of Saint-Paul, without the gate towards Milan." To Saint-Paul the King was carried. It was from thence he wrote the historic letter to his mother, Louise de Savoie, Regent of France, in which he tells her, " all is lost save honour" Broken Faith. 33 CHAPTER VI. BROKEN FAITH. WE are at Madrid. Francis has been lured hither by incredible treachery, under the idea that he will meet Charles V., and be at once set at liberty. He is confined in one of the rooms of the Alcazar, then used as a state prison. A massive oaken door, clamped and barred with iron, opens from the court from whence a flight of steps leads into two small chambers which occupy one of the towers. The inner room has narrow windows, closely barred. The light is dim. There is just room for a table, two chairs, and a bed. It is a cage rather than a prison. On a chair, near an open window, sits the King. He is emaciated and pale ; his cheeks are hollow, his lips are white, his eyes are sunk in his head, his dress is neglected. His glossy hair, plentifully streaked with grey, covers the hand upon which he wearily leans his head. He gazes vacantly at the setting sun opposite a globe of fire rapidly sinking below the low dark plain which bounds his view. There are boundless plains in front of him, and on his left a range of tawny hills. A roadway runs beneath the tower, where the Imperial Guards are encamped. The gay fanfare of the trumpets sounding the retreat, the waving banners, the prancing horses, the brilliant accoutrements, the glancing armour of the imperial troops, mock him where he sits. Around him is Madrid. Palace, tower, and garden rise out of a sea of buildings burnt by southern sunshine. 34 Old Court Life in France. The church-bells ring out the Ave Maria The fading light darkens into night. Still the King sits beside the open window, lost in thought. No one comes to disturb him. Now and then some broken words escape his lips : " Save France my poor soldiers brave De Foix noble Bonnivet see, he is tossed on the Spanish pikes. Alas ! would I were dead. My sister my little lads the Dauphin Henry Orleans I shall never see you more. Oh, God ! I am bound in chains of iron France liberty Glory gone gone for ever! " His head sinks on his breast ; tears stream from his eyes. He falls back fainting in his chair, and is borne to his bed. Francis has never seen Charles, who is at his capi- tal, Toledo. The Emperor does not even excuse his absence. This cold and cautious policy, this death in life, is agony to the ardent temperament of Fran- cis. His health breaks down. A settled melancholy, a morbid listlessness overwhelms him. He is seized with fever ; he rapidly becomes delirious. His royal gaoler, Charles, will not believe in his danger ; he still refuses to see him. False himself, he believes Francis to be shamming. The Spanish ministers are dis- tracted by their master's obstinacy, for if the French King dies at Madrid of broken heart, all is lost, and a bloody war with France inevitable. At the moment when the Angel of Death hovers over the Alcazar, a sound of wheels is heard below. A litter, drawn by reeking mules and covered with mud, dashes into the street. The leather curtains are drawn aside, and Marguerite d'Alengon, pale and shrunk with anxiety and fatigue, attended by two ladies, having travelled from Paris day and night, Broken Faith. 35 descends. Breathless with excitement, she passes quickly up the narrow stairs, through the ante-room, and enters the King's chamber. Alas ! what a sight awaits her. Francis lies insensible on his bed. The room is darkened, save where a temporary altar has been erected, opposite his bed, on which lights are burning. A Bishop officiates. The low voices of priests, chanting as they move about the altar, alone break a death-like silence. Marguerite, overcome by emotion, clasps her hands and sinks on her knees beside her brother. Her sobs and cries disturb the solemn ordinance. She is led almost fainting away. Then the Bishop approaches the King, bearing the bread of life, and, at that moment, Francis becomes suddenly conscious. He opens his eyes, and in a feeble voice prays that he may be permitted to receive it. So humbly, yet so joyfully, does he communi- cate that all present are deeply moved. In spite, however, of the presence of Marguerite in Madrid, the King relapses. He again falls into a death-like trance. Then, and then only, does the Emperor yield to the reproaches of the Duchesse d'Alengon and the entreaties of his ministers. He takes horse from Toledo and rides to Madrid almost without drawing rein, until he stops at the heavy door in the Alcazar. He mounts the stairs and enters the chamber. Francis, now restored to consciousness, prompted by a too generous nature, opens his arms to embrace him. " Your Majesty has come to see your prisoner die," says he in a feeble voice, faintly smiling. " No," replies Charles, with characteristic caution and Spanish courtesy, bowing profoundly and kissing 36 Old Court Life in France. him on either cheek ; " no, your Majesty will not die, you are no longer my prisoner ; you are my friend and brother. I come to set you free." "Ah, Sire," murmurs Francis in a voice scarcely audible, "death will accomplish that before your Majesty ; but if I live and indeed I do not believe I shall, I am so overcome by weakness let me implore you to allow me to treat for my release in person with your Majesty ; for this end I came hither to Madrid." At this moment the conversation is interrupted by the entrance of a page, who announces to the Em- peror that the Duchesse d'Alenc.on has arrived and awaits his Majesty's pleasure. Glad of an excuse to terminate a most embarrassing interview with his too confiding prisoner, Charles, who has been seated on the bed, rises hastily " Permit me, my brother," says he, " to leave you, in order to descend and receive your august sister in person. In the meantime recover your health. Reckon upon my willingness to serve you. Some other time we will meet ; then we can treat more in detail of these matters, when your Majesty is stronger and better able to converse." Charles takes an affectionate leave of Francis, de- scends the narrow stairs, and with much ceremony receives the Duchess. " I rejoice, madame," says he, " to offer you in person the homage of all Spain, and my own hearty thanks for the courage and devotion you have shown in the service of the King, my brother. He is a prisoner no longer. The conditions of release shall forthwith be prepared by my ministers." Broken Faith. 37 " Is the King fully aware what those conditions are, Sire ? " Marguerite coldly asks. Charles was silent. " I fear our mother, Madame Louise, Regent of France," continues the Duchesse d'Alengon, " may find it difficult to accept your conditions, even though it be to liberate the Sovereign of France, her own beloved son." " Madame," replies Charles evasively, ' I will not permit this occasion, when I have the happiness of first saluting you within my realm, to be occupied with state affairs. Rely on my desire to set my brother free. Meanwhile the King will, I hope, re- cover his strength. Pressing business now calls me back to Toledo. Adieu ! most illustrious princess, to whom I offer all that Madrid contains for your service. Permit me to kiss your hands. Salute my brother, the King, from me. Once more, royal lady, adieu ! " Marguerite curtseys to the ground. The Emperor, with his head uncovered, mounts his horse, again salutes her, and attended by his retinue puts spurs to his steed and rides from the Alcazar on his re, turn to Toledo. Marguerite fully understands the treachery of his words. Her heart swelling with in- dignation, she slowly ascends to the King's chamber. "Has the Emperor departed already?" Francis eagerly asks her. " Yes, my brother ; pressing business, he says, calls him back to Toledo," replies Marguerite bitterly, speaking very slowly. " What ! gone so soon, before giving me an oppor- tunity of discussing with him the terms of my free- 38 Old Court Life in France. dom. Surely, my sister, this is strange," says Francis, turning eagerly towards the Duchess, and then sinking back pale and exhausted on his pil- lows. Marguerite seats herself beside him, takes his hand tenderly within both her own, and gazes at him in silence. " But, my sister, did my brother, the Emperor, say nothing to you of his speedy return ? " " Nothing," answers Marguerite, drily. " Yet he assured me, with his own lips, that I was already free, and that the conditions of release would be prepared immediately." " Dear brother," says the Duchess, " has your im- prisonment at Madrid, and the conduct of the Em- peror to you this long time past, inclined you to believe what he says?" " I, a king myself, should be grieved to doubt a brother sovereign's word." " Francis," says Marguerite, speaking with great earnestness and fixing her eyes on him, " what you say convinces me that you are weakened by illness. Your naturally acute intellect is dulled by the confusion of recent delirium. If you were in full possession of your senses you would not speak as you do. My brother, take heed of my words you will never be free." " How," exclaims the King, starting up, " never be free? What do you mean?" " Calm yourself, my brother. You are, I fear, too weak to hear what I have to say." " No, no ! my sister ; suspense to me is worse than death. Speak to me, Marguerite ; speak to me, my sister." Broken Faith. 39 " Then, Sire, let me ask you, when you speak of release, when the Emperor tells you you are free, are you aware of the conditions he imposes on you ? " " Not accurately," replies Francis. " Certain terms were proposed, before my illness, that I should sur- render whole provinces in France, renounce my rights in the Milanese, pay an enormous ransom, leave my sons hostages at Madrid ; but these were the proposals of the Spanish council. The Emperor, speaking personally to a brother sovereign, would never press anything on me unbecoming my royal condition ; therefore it is that I desire to treat with himself alone." "Alas ! my brother, you are too generous ; you are deceived. Much negotiation has passed during yout illness, and since my arrival. Conditions have been proposed by Spain to the Regent, that she your mother supported by the parliament of your coun- try, devoted to your person, has refused. Listen to me, brands. Charles seeks to dismember France. As long as it remains a kingdom, he intends that you shall never leave Madrid." " Marguerite, my sister, proceed, I entreat you ! " breaks in Francis, trembling with excitement. " Burgundy is to be ceded ; you are to renounce all interest in Flanders and in the Milanese. You are to pay a ransom that will beggar the kingdom. You are to marry Elinor, Queen Dowager of Portu- gal, sister to Charles, and you are to leave your sons, the Dauphin and the Due d'Orlans, hostages in Spain for the fulfilment of these demands." Francis turns very white, and sinks back speech- less on the pillows that support him. He stretches 4O Old Court Life in France. out his arm to his sister and fondly clasps her neck. " Marguerite, if it is so, you say well, I shall never leave Madrid. My sister, let me die ten thousanc deaths rather than betray the honour of France." "Speak not of death, dearest brother!" exclaims Marguerite, her face suddenly flushing with excite- ment. " I have come to make you live. I, Margu*v rite d'Alen^on, your sister, am come to lead you back to your army and to France ; to the France that mourns for you ; to the army that is now dispersed and insubordinate ; to the mother who weeps for her beloved son." Marguerite's voice falters ; she sobs aloud, and rising from her chair, she presses her brother in her arms. Francis feebly returns her embrace, tenderly kisses her, and signs to her to proceed. "Think you," continues Marguerite more calmly, and reseating herself, but still holding the King's hand " think you that councils in which Bour- bon has a voice " At this name the King shud- ders and clenches his fist upon the bed-clothes. " Think you that a sovereign who has treacherously lured you to Madrid will have any mercy on you ? No, my brother ; unless you agree to unworthy con- ditions, imposed by a treacherous monarch who abuses his power over you, here you will languish until you die ! Now mark my words, dear brother. Treaties made under duresse, by force majeure, are legally void. You will dissemble, my generous King for the sake of France, you will dissemble. You must fight this crafty emperor with his own weapons." " What ! my sister, be false to my word I, a belted knight, invested by the hands of Bayard on the field THE CHEVALIER BAYARD. AFTER A. DE NEUVILLE. (By permission of Estes & Lauriat.) Broken Faith. 41 j>f Marignano, stoop to a lie? Marguerite, you are mad ! " " Oh, Francis, hear me ! " cries Marguerite passion- ately, " hear me ; on my knees I conjure you to live, for yourself, for us, for France." She casts herself on the floor beside him. She wrings his hands, she kisses his feet, her tears falling thickly. " Francis, you must, you shall consent. By-and-by you will bless me for this tender violence. You are not fit to meddle in this matter. Leave to me the care of your honour ; is it not my own ? I come from the Regent, from the council, from all France. Believe me, brother, if you are perjured, all Europe will applaud the perjury. Marguerite, whose whole frame quivers with agita- tion, speaks no more. There is a lengthened pause. The flush of fever is on the King's face. " My sister," murmurs Francis, struggling with a broken voice to express himself, " you have con- quered. Into your hands I commit my honour and the future of France. Leave me a while to rest, for I am faint." Treaties made under duresse by force majeure are legally void. The Emperor must be decoyed into the belief that terms are accepted by Francis, which are to be broken the instant his foot touches French soil. It is with the utmost difficulty that the chival- rous monarch can be brought to lend himself to this deceit. But the prayers of his sister, the deplorable condition of his kingdom deprived of his presence for nearly five years, the terror of returning illness, and the thorough conviction that Charles is as per- fidious as he is ambitious, at length prevail. Francis 42 Old Court Life in France. ostensibly accepts the Emperor's terms, and Queen Claude being dead, he affiances himself to Charles's sister, Elinor, Queen Dowager of Portugal. Francis was perjured, but France was saved. CHAPTER VII. LA DUCHESSE D'ETAMPES. RIDING with all speed from Madrid for he fears the Emperor's perfidy Francis has reached the frontier of Spain, on the banks of the river Bidassoa. His boys the Dauphin and the Due d'Orle"ans, who are to replace him at Madrid as hostages await him there. They rush into their father's arms and fondly cling to him, weeping bitterly at this cruel meeting for a moment after years of separation. Francis, with ready sympathy, mingles his tears with theirs. He embraces and blesses them. But, wild with the excitement of liberty and insecure while on Spanish soil, he cannot spare time for details. He hands the poor lads over to the Spanish commissioners. Too impatient to await the arrival of the ferry-boat, which is pulling across the river, he steps into the waters of the Bidassoa to meet it. On the opposite bank, among the low scrub wood, a splendid retinue awaits him. He springs into the saddle, waves his cap in the air, and with a joyous shout exclaims, " Now I am a king ! Now I am free ! " The political vicissitudes of Francis's reign are as nothing to the chaos of his private life ; only as a La Duchesse cT Etampes. 43 lover he was never defeated. No humiliating Pavia arrests his successful course. At Bayonne he finds a brilliant Court ; his mother the Regent, and his sis- ter Marguerite, await his arrival. After " Les em- brasseurs d'usage," as Du Bellay quaintly expresses it, the King's eye wanders over the parterre of young beauties assembled in their suite, " la petite bande' des dames de la Cour." Then Francis first beholds Anne de Pisselieu, afterwards Duchesse d'Etampes. No one can compare to her in the tyranny of youth, beauty, and talent. A mere girl, she already knows everything, and is moreover astute, witty, and false. In spite of the efforts of Diane de Poitiers to attract the King (she having come to Bayonne in attend- ance on the Regent-mother), Anne de Pisselieu pre- vails. The King is hers. He delights in her joyous sallies. Anne laughs at every one and everything, specially at the pretensions of Madame Diane, whom she calls " an old hag." She declares that she her- self was born on Diane's wedding-day ! Who can resist so bewitching a creature? Not Francis certainly. So the Court divides itself into two factions in love, politics, and religion. One party, headed by the Duchesse d'Etampes a Protes- tant, and mistress of the reigning monarch ; a second by Madame Diane de Poitiers a Catholic, who, after many efforts, finding the King inaccessible, devotes herself to his son, Prince Henry, a mere boy, at least twenty years younger than herself, and waits his reign. Oddly enough, it is the older woman who waits, and the younger one who rules. The Regent-mother looks on approvingly. Morals, especially royal morals, do not exist. Madame Louise 44 Old Court Life in France. de Savoie is ambitious. She would not see the new Spanish Queen a comely princess, as she hears from her daughter Marguerite possess too much influence over the King. It might injure her own power. The poor Spanish Queen ! No fear that her influence will injure any one ! The King never loves her, and never forgives her being forced upon him as a clause in the ignominious treaty of Madrid. Besides, she is thirty-two years old and a widow ; grave, dignified, and learned, but withal a lady of agreeable person, though of mature and well-developed charms. Elinor admired and loved Francis when she saw him at Madrid, and all the world thought that the days were numbered in which Madame d'Etampes would be seen at Court. " But," says Du Bellay, either with perfect naivet6 or profound irony " it was im- possible for the King to offer to the virtuous Spanish princess any other sentiments than respect and grati- tude, the Duchesse d'Etampes being sole mistress of his heart ! " So the royal lady fares no better than Queen Claude, " with the roses in her soul," and only receives, like her, courtesy and indifference. The King returns to the Spanish frontier to re- ceive Queen Elinor and to embrace the sons, now released, to whom she has been a true mother during the time they have been hostages at Madrid. By-and-by the Queen's brother that mighty and perfidious sovereign, Charles V., Emperor of Ger- many passing to his estates in the Netherlands, " craves leave of his beloved brother, Francis, King of France, to traverse his kingdom on his way," so great is his dread of the sea voyage on account of sickness. QUEEN ELINOR. La Duchesse cTEtampes. 45 Some days before the Emperor's arrival Francis is at the Louvre. He has repaired and embellished it in honour of his guest, and has pulled down the central tower, or donjon, called " Philippine," which encumbered the inner court. By-and-by he will pull down all the mediaeval fortress, and, assisted by Les- cot, begin the palace known as the " Old Louvre." Francis is seated tete-a-tdte with the Duchesse d'Etampes. The room is small a species of boudoir or closet. It is hung with rare tapestry, represent, ing in glowing colours the Labours of Hercules. Venetian mirrors, in richly carved frames, fling back the light of a central chandelier, also of Venetian workmanship, cunningly wrought into gaudy flowers, diamonded pendants, and true lovers' knots. It is a blaze of brightness and colour. Rich velvet hang- ings, heavy with gold embroidery, cover the narrow windows and hang over the low doors. The King and the Duchess sit beside a table of inlaid marble, supported on a pedestal, marvellously gilt, of Italian workmanship, on which are laid fruits, wines, and confitures, served in golden vessels worked in the Cinque-cento style, after Cellini's patterns. Beside themselves, Triboulet, * the king's fool, alone is present. As Francis holds out his cup time after time to Triboulet, who replenishes it with Malvoi- sie, the scene composes itself into a perfect picture, such as Victor Hugo has imagined in Le Roi s 1 amuse ; so perfect, indeed, that Francis might have sung, " La donna mobile," as he now does in Verdi's opera of Rigoletto. " Sire," says the Duchess, her voice dropping into * See Note 5. 46 Old Court Life in France. a most delicious softness, "do you leave us te morrow ? " The King bows his head and kisses her jewelled fingers. "So you persist in going to meet your brother, the Emperor Charles, your loving brother of Spain, whom I hate because he was so cruel to you at Madrid." The Duchess looks up and smiles. Her eyes are beautiful, but hard and cruel. She wears an ermine mantle, for it is winter; her dress is of the richest green satin, embroidered with gold. On her head is a golden net, the meshes sprinkled with diamonds, from which her dark tresses escape in long ringlets over her shoulders. Francis turns towards her and pledges her in a cup of Malvoisie. The corners of his mouth are drawn up into a cynical smile, almost to his nostrils. He has now reached middle life, and his face at that time would have made no man's fortune. " Duchess," says he, " I must tear myself from you. I go to-morrow to Touraine. Before return- ing to Paris, I shall attend my brother the Emperor Charles at Loches, then at Amboise on the Loire. You will soon follow me with the Queen." " And, surely, when you have this heartless king, this cruel gaoler in your power, you will punish him and revenge yourself? If he, like a fool, comes into Touraine, make him revoke the treaty of Madrid, or shut him up in one of Louis XL's oubliettes at Am- boise or Loches." " I will persuade him, if I can, to liberate me from all the remaining conditions of the treaty," said the King, " but I will never force him." As he speaks. La Duchesse d'Etampes. 47 Triboulet, who has been shaking the silver bells on his parti-coloured dress with suppressed laughter, pulls out some ivory tablets to add something to a list he keeps of those whom he considers greater fools than himself. He calls it " his journal." The King looks at the tablets and sees the name of Charles V. " Ha ! ha ! by the mass ! how long has my brother of Spain figured there ? " asks he. " The day, Sire, that I heard he had put his foot on the French frontier." " What will you do when I let him depart freely?" " I shall," said Triboulet, " rub out his name and put yours in its place, Sire." " See, your Majesty, there is some one else who agrees with me," said the Duchess, laughing. " I know," replies Francis, " that my interests would almost force me to do as you desire, madame, but my honour is dearer to me than my interests. I am now at liberty, I had rather the treaty of Madrid should stand for ever than countenance an act unworthy of ' un roi chevalier.' ' Francis receives Charles V. at Amboise with ostentatious splendour. Aware of the repugnance of his royal guest to mount steps (the Spanish Em- peror was early troubled by those attacks of gout that caused him at length to abdicate and to die of premature old age, at the monastery of San Juste), Francis caused an inclined plane or slope to be con- structed in place of stairs within one of the round towers by which the Castle of Amboise, standing on a precipitous pile of rocks, is approached. Up 48 Old Court Life in France. this slope, which remains in excellent preservation, Charles ascends to the plateau on which the castle stands, seated in his ponderous coach, drawn by heavy horses, attended by guards and outriders. Elinor, his sister, the neglected Queen, as well as the favourite, Madame d'Etampes, are present at the fetes given in honour of the Emperor. There are no secrets at Court, and Charles soon conies to know that the mcdtresse en titre is his enemy. One evening, after a dance executed by Anne d'Etampes along with the ladies of the Court, in which she displayed the graces of her person, the Emperor approaches her. " Madame," he says, " it is only in France that I have seen such perfection of elegance and beauty. My brother, the King, would be the envy of all the sovereigns of Europe could they have witnessed what I have just seen. There is no ransom that I would accept for such a captive, had I the power of retaining her at Madrid." The Emperor's eyes melt with admiration as he gazes on her. The Duchess's countenance beams with delight at the Emperor's high-flown compliment. The King approaches the spot where they stand. " Know, my brother," says the King with a slight touch of irony in his tone, for he is displeased at the tender glances Charles is casting on his favourite, " know that this fair Duchess would have had me detain you here a prisoner until you had revoked the treaty of Madrid." The Emperor starts visibly and frowns. " It you consider the advice good, your Majesty had better Last Days. 49 follow it," he replies haughtily, turning away to ad- dress some nobles standing near. Some few days afterwards the Duchess gives a supper in her apartments, to which the Emperor and the Court are invited. After the reception, sinking on her knees, she presents his Majesty with rose-water in a gold embossed basin in which to wash his hands. Charles adroitly drops a large diamond ring into the basin. The Duchess stoops and places the vessel on the ground in order to pick up the jewel. " This ring, madame," he says, and he speaks low, and leans forward in order to catch her ear, " is too becoming to that fair hand for me to remove it. It has itself sought a new possessor," and he kisses her hand. " Keep it as a pledge of my admiration and my friendship." The Duchess rises and makes a deep obeisance. Not only did she keep the ring, but she became so decided a partisan of this "gaoler" that she is popu- larly accused of having betrayed Francis to the Em- peror; specially in the subsequent wars between England, France, and Spain. CHAPTER VIII. LAST DAYS. AMBOUILLET is now a station on the railway 1\ between Versailles, Chartres, and Le Mans. It is a sunny little town, sloping to the south, in a sheltered hollow, over which the slanting roofs and conical turrets of the palace rise out of stately elms OL. I. 4 50 Old Court Life in France. and spiked poplars. The principal facade of the chateau which consists of two wings at right angles to each other, having at each corner a circular turret, surmounted by a spire faces the mid-day sun. The ground lies low, and canals, extending in three di- rections, bordered by terraced walks and avenues, intersect the grassy lawns which lengthen into the tangled woodland of the surrounding forest. Op- posite the chateau, on an islet, is a grotto called " La Marmite de Rabelais." To the right, the three canals flow into a river, spanned by a low bridge, known as " the accursed bridge," from some now obscure tradition foreboding evil to those who pass over it. On every other side, the trunks of venerable trees, their overarching branches closing above like a cloister pillars of oak, elm, and ash wind away into grassy meads and shady dingles, intersected by long rides cut straight through the forest, proper for the stag-hunts which have been held in this ancient manor since the Middle Ages. The chateau itself has now been modernised, save where one ivy-crowned round tower (the donjon of the mediaeval fortress), in deep shadow, frowns an angry defiance to the stucco and whitewash of the flimsy modern facade. It is the month of March, in the year 1547. Fran- cis, attended by a small retinue, has arrived at the foot of this round tower. Coming from the south, he has crossed the river by " the accursed bridge." During the whole past year he has wandered from place to place, revisiting all his favourite haunts as though conscious that he is bidding them farewell. The restlessness of mortal disease is upon him. Last Days. 51 Though he flies from city to hamlet, from castle to palace, vainly seeking respite from pain, death haunts and follows him. His life is agony. He is greatly changed an internal fever consumes him. His eyes are haggard ; his face is thin, and his body emaciated. Only fifty-two years old, like his great rival the Em- peror Charles, he is prematurely aged. Now he is half lifted from his coach and slowly led up a wind- ing staircase to his apartments on the second floor by his friend James d'Angennes, to whose ancestors Rambouillet belonged. Francis comes from Cham- bord, where Marguerite, now Queen of Navarre by her second marriage, met him. Marguerite and her brother still cling to each other, but they are both aged and full of care. Her beauty is faded and her health is broken. Even she, though devoted as ever, cannot amuse Francis or dissipate the weight that oppresses his spirit. The old topics that were wont to delight him are irritably dismissed. He no longer cares for poetry, is wearied of politics, shrinks from society, and abuses women. It is at this time he writes with the point of a diamond, on the window of his closet at Chambord, these significent lines: "Souvent femme varie ; Mai habile qui s'y fie! " He can only talk to his sister on sorrowful sub- jects : of the death by plague of his favourite son Charles, who caught the infection when sleeping at Abbeville ; or of his old friend, Henry VIII. of Eng- land, who has also recently died. The death of the latter seems to affect Francis terribly. "Our lives," he says, " were very similar 52 Old Court Life in France. he was slightly older, but I shall not long survive him." Vainly does Marguerite combat these dismal forebodings. She laments in secret the sad change. Ever sympathetic with her brother, she, too, throws aside romance and poetry and composes " The Mir- ror of a Sinful Soul," to suit his altered humour. Alas ! what would Marguerite say if she knew what is carefully concealed from her? That the great surgeon Pare" Par6, who was afterwards to draw the spear-point from the cheek of the Balafr6 has pro- nounced that the King's malady is hopeless ! After a short sojourn together at Chambord, the brother and sister part never to meet again. Francis was to have passed the carnival at Limours, says Du Bellay ; now he commands the masked balls and the court ballets to be held at Saint-Germain en Laye. The King's fancy changes ; he will rouse himself ; he will shake off the horrible lethargy that is creeping over him ; he will dismiss sinister presen- timents. Disguised himself, he will dance among the maskers the excitement will revive him. But strong as is his will, high as is his courage, k he mortal disease within him is stronger still. Sud- denly he countermands all his orders. He will rather go to Rambouillet to visit his old friend, D'Angennes ; to meet Rabelais perhaps, who loves the old castle, and to hunt in the great woods. The quiet old manor, half hunting-lodge, half for- tress, buried in secluded woods just bursting into leaf, where the wild boar and the stag are plentiful, will suit him better than banquets, balls, games, and boisterous revelry. The once dauntless Francis is grown nervous and querulous, and is painfully con- OUCHESSE D'ETAMPES. Last Days. 53 scious of the slightest noise. After a rapid journey he crosses the ill-omened bridge and arrives at Rambouillet. No sooner has he been laid in his bed than again his mind changes. He must rise and go to Saint-Germain, more suitable than Rambouillet in accommodation for his present condition. But the intense anguish he suffers renders his project im- possible. Well, he will remain. He will rest one night here ; then, he will depart. In the morning, says the same historian, he awakes at daylight, feel- ing somewhat better. He commands a royal hunt for stags and boars. Once more he hears the bugle of the huntsmen, the baying of the hounds, the tramp of the impatient steeds. The fresh morning air gives him fictitious strength. He rises from his bed, dresses himself, descends, forces himself on horseback and rides forth, defying disease and pain. Alas ! he is soon brought back to the donjon tower and carried up the stairs speechless and in mortal agony to his bed. Fever and delirium ensue, but as the death shadows gather round him weakness clears his brain. " I am dying," says he, faintly, addressing D'An- gennes, who never leaves him for an instant ; "send for my son Henry." " Sire," replies the Count, " his highness is already here." " Let him come to me at once ; my breath fails me fast." The Prince enters and kneels beside the dying King. He weeps bitterly, takes his father's already cold hand in his own and kisses it. Francis feebly returns the pressure. He turns his sunken eyes to- 54 Old Court Life in France. wards his son and signs that he would speak. Henry, the better to catch his words, rises and bends over him. " My son, I have been a great sinner," falters the dying King, " my passions led me astray ; avoid this, Henry. If I have done well, follow that, not the evil." " Sire," replies the Prince, "we all love and honour your Majesty." " Cherish France, my son," continues the King ; " it is a noble nation. They refused me nothing in my adversity, nor will they you, if you rule them rightly. Lighten the taxes, my son, be good to my people." His voice grows fainter and less distinct, his face more ashen. The Prince, seeing his lips move, but hearing no sound, lays his ear close to his father's mouth. " Commend me to Catherine, your wife ; beware of the Guises ; they will strip you ; they are all traitors * ; cherish my people." He spoke no more. The Prince motions to D'Angennes, and the parish priest with his acolytes enters, bearing the Host. Speechless, but conscious, with a look of infinite devotion, Francis receives the sacraments. Then, turning his dying eyes towards his son, he feebly raises his hands to bless him. Henry, overcome by the sight of his dying father, sinks prostrate beside the bed. D'Angennes stands at the head, supporting his dying master in his arms; while he wipes the moisture from his forehead, Francis expires. * See Note 6. Catherine de Medici. 55 CHAPTER IX. CATHERINE DE' MEDICI. f^ATHERINE de' Medici, widow of Henry II., V_> and mother of three kings regnant, rules France in their name. Her father, Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, second tyrant of Florence, died before she was born ; her mother, Madaleine de la Tour d'Auvergne (for Catherine had French blood in her veins), died when she was born ; so fatal was this Medici, even at her birth. The Duchessina, as Catherine was called, was reared by her aunt Clarice Sforza, within the mediae- val stronghold of the Medici at Florence now known as the Riccardi Palace. Although bereft of palisade and towers of defence, it is still a stately pile of Italian Gothic architecture, with pillared cortile, ornate front, and sculptured cornice, bidding a mute defiance to the encroachments of the modern build- ings of the Via Cavour, the Corso of the City of Flowers. Catherine was educated by the nuns of the " Mu- rate " (walled up), in their convent near the Porta Santa Croce. The teaching of these lonely enthusiasts strangely contrasted with the life she afterwards led in the Florentine Court a very hot-bed of vice, in- trigue, and ambition. There did this Medea of the Cinque-cento learn how to dissimulate and to betray. At fifteen she became, by the favour of her uncle, Pope Clement VII., the richest heiress in Europe. She was tall and finely formed, of a clear olive com- 56 Old Court Life in France. plexion (inherited from her French mother), with well-cut features, and large, prominent eyes, like all the Medici. Her manners were gracious, her coun- tenance expressive, but there was, even' in extreme youth, a fixed and cold expression on the statuesque face that belied these pleasant attributes. Many suitors sought her hand, but Clement VII., outraged at the brutality of the Spanish coalition against him under Charles V., which had resulted in the sack of Rome and his own imprisonment in the Castle of St. Angelo, was glad to spite his enemies by bestowing his wealthy niece on the Due d'Orlans, son of Francis I. As the heiress of the Medici came of a republican race of merchant princes, mere mushrooms beside the lofty antiquity of the Valois line, the Pope, to give greater lustre to the espousals, an- nounced that he would himself conduct his niece to her future husband. At Leghorn, Catherine embarked with her uncle in a sumptuous papal galley, attended by his tonsured Court. A flotilla of boats accom- panied the vice-regent of God upon earth, and his niece, the sparkling Duchessina. Fair winds and smooth seas soon wafted them to the French shore, where Francis and his sons awaited their arrival at Marseilles. Francis, says Brantome, was so charmed with the Medici bride, her intelligence and lively manners, that he romped with her the entire evening after her ar- rival. When Francis found that she danced admir- ably, that she shot with an arquebuse like a trooper, played at maille like a boy, and rode boldly and gracefully, his partiality to his new daughter-in-law knew no bounds. What was the opinion of the Catherine de Medici. 57 bridegroom Orleans, and what comparison he made between a bride of fifteen and a mistress of thirty- five, is not recorded. There was nearly twenty years difference in age between Prince Henry, Due d'Orlans, a mere boy, and Diane de Poitiers, yet her influence over him was still absolute. To the day of his death he wore her colours white and black upon his shield. Diane, secure in power, was rather proud of her age. She boasted to the new Duchess that she was never ill, that she rose at six o'clock in the morning, bathed in the coldest water, and rode two hours before breakfast. When Catherine first appeared at the Louvre as the bride of Prince Henry, she seemed but a clever, facile girl, ready to accept her humiliating position as subordinate in power, influence, and beauty to her husband's mistress, Diane de Poitiers, as well as to the Duchesse d'Etampes, the favourite of Francis. Placed among these two women and the lonely Span- ish Queen, Elinor of Portugal, for fourteen years she acquitted herself with the most perfect temper and discretion. Indeed, with strange self-command in one so young, she endeavoured to flatter both the favour- ites, but failing to propitiate either Diane or the Duchess, and not being able to attract her husband or to interest the sedate Spaniard, she devoted her- self wholly to charm her father-in-law, Francis. She became the constant and beloved companion of his various progresses and hunting-parties to Fontaine- bleau, Amboise, Chenonceau, and Loches. No court pageants these, on ambling pads over smooth lawns, among limber trees, with retinue of velvet-liveried menials on the watch for any possible casualty ; but 58 Old Court Life in France. hard and dangerous riding in search of boars, and wolves, and stags, over a rough country, among thick underwood, rocky hills, and precipitous uplands. Thus Catherine seemed ; but in her heart she de- spised the Duchess, abhorred Diane, and suffered all the mortification of a neglected wife. Diane did not moreover spare her feelings, but insolently and ostentatiously paraded her superior influence, espe- cially after Prince Henry came to the throne and created her Duchesse de Valentinois. Catherine, however, with marvellous self-command bore all meekly, brought the King ten children, and for fourteen years bided her time. And that time came sooner than either the wife or the mistress expected. CHAPTER X. A FATAL JOUST. IT is the wedding-day of the two princesses, Eliza- beth and Marguerite ; the first a daughter, the latter a sister, of Henry II. A tournament is to be held in the Rue Saint-Antoine, near the Palace des Tournelles, so called from its many towers.* King Henry and the elder princes, his sons, are to ride in the lists and to break a lance freely with all comers. Queen Catherine and the brides Elizabeth, the very youthful wife of the morose Philip II. of Spain, lately husband of Mary Tudor, known as Bloody Mary, now deceased ; Marguerite, wife of * See Note 7. A Fatal Joust. 59 the Duke of Savoy, and Marguerite de Valois, second daughter of Catherine, then but a child are seated in the centre of an open dais covered with dama- scened silk, and ornamented with feathers, tassels and gaudy streamers, which flutter in the summer breeze. Behind them are ranged the greatest ladies of the Court, among whom Diane de Poitiers, now Duchesse de Valentinois, occupies the place of honour. The ladies in waiting on the Queen and the great officers of state are ranged at the back. It is a lovely morning in the month of July. The summer sun lights up the gay dresses and fair faces of the Court into a glowing parterre of bright colours. At a signal from Queen Catherine bands of wind instruments burst into martial music ; the com- batants enter the arena and divide themselves into different squadrons. First rides the King at the head of his knights. His appearance is the signal for all to rise, as much out of respect to him as th better to observe his chivalrous bearing and mag, nificent accoutrements. He wears a suit of armour in which gold is the chief metal. His sword-handle and dagger are set with jewels, and from his shield and lance fly streamers of black and white the colours of Diane de Poitiers. He rides a Spanish barb, caparisoned with crimson velvet, that tosses his head and curvets proudly, as if conscious of its royal burden. Three times the King passes round the list within the barriers, preceded by pages and esquires bearing shields bound with ribbons, on which are engraven, in letters of gold or of gems, the initials of their masters' ladye-loves. The King is followed by squadrons of knights. All range them- 60 Old Court Life in France. selves near the open dais occupied by the queens and the princesses. A herald in a parti-coloured dress advances into the centre of the open space, and to the sound of trumpet proclaims that the lists are open. The barriers are then lowered by the pages and the esquires, and the tilting begins. Catherine looks on with a troubled countenance. Her eyes incessantly follow the King and watch his every movement. As knight after knight is un- horsed and rolls in the dust, and loud cries and shouts of laughter rise at each discomfiture above the tumult of the fight, the anxious expression on her face never changes. Now and then, when the King, excited by the mimic warfare, deals and re- ceives hard blows and vigorous lance thrusts, Cath- erine visibly trembles. Like the wife of Pilate, " she has suffered much because of a dream concerning him " a dream that has shown him to her, disfig- ured and dabbled with blood, lying dead in a strange chamber. In the early morning she had implored the King not to enter the lists, but Henry had laughed and had ridden forth wearing the colours of her rival. Now the long day is drawing to a close ; the sun is low on the horizon and the tournament is over. The King, who has fought like the son of Francis I., and broken the lances of the Dues de Ferrara, Guise, and Nemours, has retired from the lists into his tent to unarm. The young princes have dismounted and ascended into the dais beside their mother and the brides. Catherine breathes again ; the King is safe her dream but the coinage of her brain ! But A Fatal Joust. 61 hark ! the faint sound of a trumpet is heard, pro- ceeding from the extremity of the long street of Saint-Antoine. The Queen grows pale and bends her ear to listen. The sound comes nearer ; it be- comes more distinct at each fresh blast. Now it is at hand, and as the shrill and ill-omened notes strike her ear, a herald advances preceded by a trumpeter, and announces that a masked knight has arrived and challenges his Majesty to break a lance with him in honour of his lady. The masked knight, habited entirely in black armour, rides into the arena. Certain of the fatal event, the Queen rises abruptly from her seat. Her countenance expresses absolute terror. She beckons hastily to the Comte d'O, who is in attendance. " Go," says she in a low voice, speaking rapidly ; " go at once to the King. Tell him if he fights with this stranger he will die ! tell him so from me. Haste ! for the love of the Virgin, haste ! " No sooner has the Comte d'O left her, than, lean- ing over the dais, Catherine, with clasped hands and eager eyes, watches him as he crosses the enclosure. She sees him parley with the King, who is replacing his casque and arranging his armour. Henry laughs. The Queen turns to the young Comte de la Molle, who is near " Call up hither his Majesty to me instantly. Tell him he must come up to me here before he enters the lists. It is for life or death the life of the King. Go ! fly ! " This second messenger crosses to where Henry is just mounting on horseback. "Alas ! alas ! he does not heed my messenger. Let me go," cries the Queen in the most violent agitation ; " I will myself 62 Old Court Life in France. descend and speak with his Majesty." She rushes forward through the astonished courtiers to where a flight of steps leads below into the enclosure. As her foot is on the topmost stair, she sees the King gallop forth, fully equipped, in face of the masked knight. The Queen is ashy pale, her large eyes are fixed on the King, her white lips tremble. She stands motion- less, supported by the balustrade. Her daughters, the brides, and her ladies gather round her, full of wonder. By a great effort she masters her agitation, and slowly turns back into a retiring-room behind the dais, and seats herself on her chair of state. Then with solemn gesture she addresses herself to the princesses " Elizabeth, my daughter, and you, Marguerite, come hither. My sons, Francis and Charles, come to me all of you quickly." At her invitation they assemble around her in astonishment. "Alas ! my children, you are all orphans and I am a widow. I have seen it. It is true. Now, while I speak, the lance is pointed that will pierce the King. Your father must die, my children. I know it and I cannot save him." While they all press with pitying looks around her, trying to console yet unable to comprehend her meaning, she slowly rises. " Let us, my children," says she in a hollow voice, " pray for the King's soul." She casts herself on the ground and folds her hands in silent prayer. Her children kneel around her. There is a great silence. Then a loud cry is heard from below "The King is wounded ; the King is unhorsed ; the King bleeds ; en avant to the King ! " Catherine rises. She is calm now and perfectly com- The Widowed Queen. 63 posed. She approaches the wooden steps leading into the arena below. There she sees, stretched on the ground, the King insensible, his face bathed in blood, pierced in the eye by the lance of the masked knight, who has fled. Henry is mortally wounded, and is borne, as the Queen saw in her dream, into a strange chamber in the Palace des Tournelles, hard by. After some days of horrible agony he expires, aged forty-one. The masked knight struck but a random blow, and was held innocent of all malice. He was the Sieur de Montgomeri, ancestor of the present Earls of Eglinton. CHAPTER XL THE WIDOWED QUEEN. EVEN while the King lay dying, Catherine gave a taste of her vindictive character by ordering Diane de Poitiers instantly to quit the Louvre ; to de- liver up the crown jewels ; and to make over the pos- session of the Chateau of Chenonceau, in Touraine, to herself. Chenonceau was Catherine's " Naboth's vineyard." From a girl, when she had often visited it in company with her father-in-law, Francis, she had longed to possess this lovely woodland palace, beside the clear waters of the river Cher. To her inex- pressible disgust, her husband, when he became King, presented it to " the old hag," Diane, Duchesse de Valentinois. When Diane, sitting lonely at the Louvre, for Henry II. was dying at the Palace des Tournelles 64 Old Court Life in France. received the Queen's message, she turned indignantly to the messenger and angrily asked, "Is the King then dead ? " "No, madame, but his wound is pro- nounced mortal ; he cannot last out the day." " Tell the Queen," said Diane haughtily, " that her reign has not yet begun. I am mistress over her and the kingdom as long as the King lives. If he dies I care little how much she insults me. I shall be too wretched even to heed her." As Regent, Catherine's real character appeared. She revelled in power. Gifted with a masculine under- standing and a thorough aptitude for state business, she was also inscrutable, stern, and cruel. She be- lieved in no one, and had faith in nothing save the prediction of astrologers and the course of the stars, to which she gave unquestioning belief. As in the days of her girlhood, Catherine (always armed with a concealed dagger, its blade dipped in poison) traded on the weaknesses of those around her. She in- trigued when she could not command, and fascinated the victim she dared not attack. All who stood in the way of her ambition were "removed." None can tell how many she hurried to an untimely grave. The direful traditions of her race, the philters, the perfumes, the powders, swift and deadly poisons, were imported by her into France. Her cunning hands could infuse death into the fairest and the fresh- est flowers. She had poisons for gloves and handker- chiefs, for the folds of royal robes, for the edge of gemmed drinking cups, for rich and savory dishes. She stands accused of having poisoned the Queen cf Navarre, mother of Henry IV.,* in a pair of gloves ; * See Note 8. The Widowed Queen. 65 and, spite of the trial and execution of Sebastian Montecucolli, she was held guilty of having com- passed the death of her brother-in-law, the Dauphin, in a cup of water, thus opening the throne for her husband and herself. Within her brain, fertile in evil, was conceived the massacre of St. Bartholomew to exceed the hor- rors of the Sicilian Vespers under John of Procida the plan of which she discussed years before the event with Philip II. and his minister, the Duke of Alva, whom she met at Bayonne, when she visited there her daughter, Elizabeth of Spain. Catherine was true to no party and faithful to no creed. Dur- ing her long government she cajoled alike Catholics and Protestants. She balanced Guise against Coligni, and Conde against Navarre, as suited her immediate purpose. Provided the end she proposed was at- tained, she cared nothing for the means. Although attached to her children in infancy, before supreme power had come within her grasp, she did not hesi- tate to sacrifice them later to her political intrigues. For her youngest daughter the bewitching Mar- guerite, frail Queen of Navarre she cared not at all. Her autobiography is filled with details of her mother's falseness and unkindness. As to her sons, all save Francis, who died at eighteen were in- itiated early into vice. Their hands were soon red with blood. Long before they reached manhood they were steeped in debauchery and left the cares of government entirely to their mother. Her Court an oasis of delight and artistic repose, in an age of bloodshed (for Catherine was a true Medici, and loved artists and the art, splendour and expenditure) VOL. I. 5 66 Old Court Life in France. was as fatal as the gardens of Armida to virtue, truth, and honour. She surrounded herself with dis- sipated nobles, subservient courtiers, venal nymphs, and impure enchantresses, all ready to barter their souls and bodies in the service of their Queen. The names of the forty noble demoiselles by whom Cath- erine was always attended, are duly recorded by Brantome. " Know, my cousin," said the Queen, speaking to the Due de Guise, " that my maids of honour are the best allies of the royal cause." She imported ready-witted Italians, actors and singers, who played at a theatre within the Hotel Bourbon at Paris; saltimbanques and rope-dancers, who paraded the streets ; astrologers, like Ruggiero ; jewellers, like Zametti ; and bankers, like Gondi. These men were ready to sell themselves for any infamy ; to call on the stars for confirmation of their prophesies ; to tempt spendthrift princes with ample supply of ready cash ; to insinuate themselves into the confidence of unwary nobles ; all to serve their royal mistress as spies. A woman of such powerful mind, infinite resource, and unscrupulous will, overawed and oppressed her children. During the three successive reigns of her sons, Francis II., Charles IX., and Henry III., Cath- erine ruled with the iron hand of a mediaeval despot. Yet her cruelty, perfidy, and statescraft, were worse than useless. She lived to see the chivalric race of Valois degraded ; her favourite child Anjou, Henry III., driven like a dog from Paris, by Henri de Guise ; and son after son go down childless to a dishonoured grave. Mary Stuart and Her Husband. 67 CHAPTER XII. MARY STUART AND HER HUSBAND. FRANCIS II., aged sixteen, eldest son of Henry II. , is nominally King of France. He is gentle and affectionate (strange qualities for a son of Cath- erine), well principled, and not without understand- ing. Born with a feeble constitution and badly educated, he lacks vigour both of mind and body to grasp the reigns of government in a period so stormy a period when Guise is at variance with Conde, and the nation is distracted between Catholic and Protestant intrigues. Though yet a boy, Francis is married to Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland, daughter of James V. and Mary of Lorraine, and niece to the Due de Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine. Francis and Mary have known each other from earliest childhood. At the age of five the little Scottish Princess was sent to the Louvre to be edu- cated with her royal cousins. Even at that tender age she was the delight and wonder of the Court a little northern rosebud, transplanted into a southern climate, by-and-by to expand into a perfect flower. Her sweet temper, beauty, and winning manners gained all hearts. She was, moreover, says Brantome, quiet, discreet, and accomplished. Accomplished, indeed, as well as learned, for, at fourteen, the fasci- nating girl recited a Latin oration of her own com- position in the great gallery of the Louvre, before her future father-in-law, King Henry, and the whole Court, to the effect " that women ought to rival, if 68 Old Court Life in France. not to excel, men in learning." She spoke with such composure, her voice was so melodious, her gesture so graceful, and her person so lovely, that the King publicly embraced her, and swore a great oath that she alone was fit to marry with the Dauphin. Forth- with he betrothed her to his son Francis. This marriage between a youth and a girl yet in their teens was a dream of love, short, but without alloy. Catherine rules, and Francis and Mary Stuart, too young and careless to desire any life but a perpetual holiday in each others company, tremble at her frown and implicitly obey her. Now and then Mary's maternal uncles, the princes of Lorraine, Francis, the great Due de Guise (the same who took Calais and broke the English Queen's heart), and the Cardinal de Lorraine, the proudest and falsest prelate in the sacred college,* endeavour to traverse the designs of Catherine, and to inspire their beautiful niece with a taste for intrigue under their guidance, be it well understood. But all such attempts are useless. Mary loves poetry and music, revels in banquets and masques, hunts and games, and toys with her boy-husband, of whose society she never wearies. Nevertheless, the Queen-mother hates her, accuses her of acting the part of a spy for her uncles, the Guises, and, sneering, speaks of her as " une petite reinette qui fait tourner toutes les te"tes." The Court is at Amboise, that majestic castle planted on a pile of sombre rocks that cast gloomy shadows across the waters of the Loire, widened at this spot into the magnitude of a lake, the river * See Note 9. Mary Stuart and Her Husband. 69 being divided by an island and crossed by two bridges. Over these bridges they come, a glittering proces- sion, preceded by archers and attended by pages and men-at-arms. Francis rides in front ; he is tall, slight, and elegantly formed, and sits his horse with elegant grace. His grey, almond-shaped eyes sparkle as he turns them upon the young Queen riding at his side. Mary is seated on a dark palfrey. She is dressed in a white robe, fastened from the neck downwards with jewelled buttons. The robe itself is studded with gold embroidery and trimmed with ermine. A ruff of fine lace, and a chain of gold, from which hangs a medallion, are round her slender throat. Her hair is drawn back from her forehead, and a little pointed cap, set with jewels, to which ia attached a thin white veil falling behind, sets off the chiselled features, the matchless eyes, and exquisite complexion of her fair young face. - Catherine and the Due de Guise, the Cardinal de Lorraine and the Due de Nemours follow. Behind them the gay multitude of a luxurious Court fills up the causeway. Francis has a prepossessing face, but looks pale and ill. As they ride, side by side, Mary watches him with tender anxiety. Her sweet eyes rest on him as she speaks, and she caressingly places her hand upon his saddle-bow as they ascend the rocky steep leading to the castle. When they dismount, the Queen-mother her hard face set into a frown passes, without speaking a word, into her own apartments. The Due de Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine also retire with gloomy looks. Not a single word do either of them address 70 Old Court Life in France. to Francis or to Mary. The young sovereigns enter the royal chambers, a stately suite of apartments, the lofty windows of which, reaching from ceiling to floor, overlook the river. Folding doors open into a gallery wainscoted with oak richly gilt, with a carved ceiling richly emblazoned with coats-of-arms. The walls are covered with crimson brocade set in heavy frames of carved gold ; chandeliers of glittering pen- dants hang from open rafters formed of various- coloured wood arranged in mosaic patterns. Beyond is a retiring room, hung with choice tapestry of flowers and fruit on a violet ground, let into arabesque borders of white and gold. Inlaid tables of marble bear statues and tazzas of alabaster and enamel. Clustered candelabra of coloured Venetian glass hold perfumed candles, and the flowers of the spring are placed in cups and vases of rarest, pottery. Mary, with a wave of her hand, dismisses her at- tendants. Francis sinks into a chair beside an open window, utterly exhausted. He sighs, leans back his head, and closes his eyes. " Mon amour" says Mary, throwing her arms round him, and kissing his white lips, " you are very weary. Tell me why is the Queen-mother so grave and silent ? When I spoke she did not answer me. My uncles, too, frighten me with their black looks. Tell me, Francis, what have I done ? " "Done, sweetest? nothing," answered Francis, unclosing his eyes, and looking at her. " Our mother is busied with affairs of state, as are also your uncles. There is much to disquiet them." Francis draws her closer to him, laying his head upon her shoulder wearily, and again closing his eyes. " It is some con- Mary Stuart and Her Husband. 71 spiracy against her and your uncles the Guises mignonne" added he, whispering into her ear. " Conspiracy ! Holy Virgin, how dreadful ! Why did you not tell me this before we left Blois? " " I feared to frighten you, dear love, ere we were safe within the thick walls of this old fortress." Mary starts up and seizes his hand. " Tell me, tell me," she says, in an unsteady voice, " what is this conspiracy ? " "A plot of the Huguenots, in which Conde and the Coligni are concerned," replies Francis, roused by her vehemence into attention. " Did you not mark how suddenly our uncle, Francis of Guise, appeared at Blois, and that he was closeted with her Majesty for hours ? " Mary, her eyes extended to their utmost limit and fixed on his, bows her head in assent. " Did we not leave immediately after the interview for Amboise ? Did not that make you suspicious? " " No, Francis ; for you said that we came here to hold a joust and to hunt in the forest of Chanteloup. How could I doubt your word ? Oh ! this is horrible ! " " We came to Amboise, ma mie, because it is a stronghold, and Blois is an open town." " Do you know no more ? or will you still deceive me? " asks Mary eagerly, looking at him with tearful eyes. " My mother told me that the Due de Guise was informed by the Catholics of England (which tidings have been since confirmed), that the Huguenots are arming in force, that they are headed by Cond6, that they are plotting to imprison the Queen-mother and your uncles, and to carry you and me to Paris by force." 72 Old Court Life in France. " By force ? Would they lay hands on us ? Oh, Francis, are we safe in this castle ? " exclaims Mary, clasping her hands. " Will our guards defend us? Are the walls manned ? Is the town faithful ? Are there plenty of troops to guard the bridges?" As she speaks, Mary trembles so violently that she has slid from her chair and sinks upon the ground, clinging to Francis in an agony of fear. " Courage, my reinette ! rise up, and sit beside me," and Francis raises her in his arms and replaces her on her chair. " Here we are safe. This conspiracy is not directed against us, Mary. The people say my mother and the Guises rule, not I, the anointed King. The Huguenots want to carry us off to Paris for our good. Pardieu ! I know little of the plot myself as yet ; my mother refused to tell me. Anyhow, we are secure here at Amboise from Turk, Jew, or Huguenot, so cheer up, my lovely queen ! " As Mary looks up again further to question him, he stops her mouth with kisses. "Let us leave all to the Queen-mother. She is wise, and governs for us while we are young. She loves not to be questioned. Sweetest, I am weary, give me a cup of wine ; let me lie in your closet, and you shall sing me to sleep with your lute." " But, Francis," still urges Mary, gently disengag- ing herself from his arms as he leads her away, "surely my uncles must be in great danger; a con- spiracy perhaps means an assassination. I beseech you let me go and question them myself." " Nenni" answers Francis, drawing her to him. " You shall come with me. I will not part with you for a single instant. Ah ! mignonne, if you knew how Mary Stuart and Her Husband. 73 my head aches, you would ask me no more questions, or I shall faint." Mary's expressive face changes as the April sun- shine. Her eyes fill with tears of tenderness as she leads Francis to a small closet in a turret exclusively her own, a chinoiserie, quaint and bright as the plumage of a bird, and seats him, supported by a pile of pillows, on a couch luxurious for that period of stiff-backed chairs and wooden benches. " Talk to me," says Francis, smoothing her abun- dant hair, which hung in dark masses on her shoulders as she knelt at his feet, " or, better still, sing to me, I love to hear your soft voice ; only, no more poli- tics not a word of affairs of state, Mary. Sing to me those verses you showed to Ronsard, about the knight who leapt into a deep stream to pluck a flower for his love and was drowned by the spell of a jealous mermaid who watched him from among the flags." Mary rises and fetches her lute. All expression of fear has left her face. Reassured by Francis and occupied alone by him, she forgets not only the Hu- guenots and the conspiracy, but the whole world, beside the boy-husband, who bends lovingly over her as she tries the strings of her instrument. So let us leave them as they sit, two happy children, side by side, bathed in the brief sunshine of a changeful day in March, now singing, now talking of country fetes, especially of a carrousel to take place on the morrow in the courtyard of the castle, in which the Grand Prieur is to ride disguised as a gipsy woman and carry a monkey on his back for a child ! 74 Old Court Life in France. CHAPTER XIII. A TRAITOR. TH E Queen-mother sits alone ; a look of care over- shadows her face ; her prominent eyes are fixed and glassy. From her window she can gaze at an old familiar scene, the terrace and parterre bordered by lime walks, planted by Francis L, where she has romped in many a game of cache-cache with him. Presently she rises and summons an attendant from the antechamber. " Call hither to me Maitre Avenelle," says she to the dainty page who waits her command. Avenelle, a lawyer and a Huguenot, is the friend of Barri, Seigneur de la Renaudie, the nominal leader of the Huguenot plot ; of which the Due de Guise has been warned by the Catholics of England. Avenelle has, for a heavy bribe, been gained over in Paris by the Duke's secretary, Marmagne ; he has come to Amboise to betray his friends " of the religion " by revealing to the Queen-mother all he knows of this vast Huguenot conspiracy, secretly headed by the Prince de Cond6 and by Admiral Coligni. Avenelle enters and bows low before the Queen who is seated opposite to him at a writing-table. He is sallow and wasted-looking, with a grave face and an anxious eye ; a tremor passes over him as he sud- denly encounters the dark eyes of Catherine fixed upon him. "Have you seen the Due de Guise?" says she haughtily, shading her face with her hand the better A Traitor. 75 to observe him, as he stands before her, motionless, and pale with fear. " Yes, madame, ' replies he, again humbly bowing ; " I come now from his chamber, whither I was con- ducted by M. Marmagne, his secretary." " And you have confided to him all you know of this plot?" " I have, madame, all." " Is it entirely composed of Huguenots?" " It is, madame." " What are the numbers ? " " Perhaps two thousand, your Majesty." Catherine starts, the lines on her face deepen, and her eyes glitter with astonishment and rage. " Who is at the head of these rebels ? " she asks suddenly, after pausing a few moments. Avenelle trembles violently; the savage tone of her voice and her imperious manner show him his danger. His teeth chatter, and drops of moisture trickle down his forehead. So great is his alarm that, in spite of his efforts to reply, his voice fails him. Catherine, her eyes riveted on his, waves her hand with an impatient gesture. " Why do not you answer me, Maitre Avenelle ? If you are waiting to invent a lie with which to de- ceive me, believe me, such deceit is useless. The torture-chamber is at hand ; the screw will make you speak." " Oh, madame," gasps Avenelle, making a success- ful effort to recover his voice, " I had no intention to deceive your Majesty ; I am come to tell you all I know. It was a passing weakness that overcame me." 76 Old Court Life in France. " Who, then, I again ask," says the Queen, taking a pen in her hand in order to note his reply, " who is at the head of this plot ? " " Madame, it is secretly headed by that heretic, the Prince de Conde\ Coligni knows of it, as does also his brother d'Andelot, and the Cardinal de Cha- tillon. The nominal leader, Barri de la Renaudie, is but a subordinate acting under their orders." " Heretics do you call them ; are not you, then, yourself a Huguenot ? " " Madame, I was," replies Avenelle, obsequiously, with an effort to look fearless, for Catherine's glitter- ing eyes are still upon him ; " but his Highness, the Due de Guise, has induced me to recant my errors." "Ah ! " says Catherine, smiling sarcastically ; " I did not know our cousin of Guise troubled himself with the souls of his enemies. But this La Renaudie, was he not your friend ? Did he not lodge with you in Paris?" " He did lodge, for a brief space, in my house in Paris, madame ; but I have no friend that is not a loyal subject to your Majesty." Avenelle now speaks more boldly. Catherine eyes him from head to foot with a glance of infinite contempt. " I am glad to hear this for your own sake, Maitre Avenelle," she replies drily. " What is the precise purpose of this plot ? " " Madame, it is said by the Huguenots that your Majesty, not your son, his Majesty Francis II., governs, and that under your rule no justice will ever be done to those of ' the religion ' ; that your Majesty seeks counsel of the Due de Guise and of his brother, A Traitor. 77 the Cardinal de Lorraine, who are even more bitterly opposed than yourself to their interests. Therefore they have addressed themselves to the Prince de Cond6, who is believed to share their opinions both political and religious, for present redress. The con- spirators propose, madame, to place his Highness the Prince de Conde" on the throne as Regent, until such measures are taken as will insure their independence ; imprison your Majesty ; send the young King and Queen to some unfortified place such as Blois or Chenonceau and banish the noble Duke and his brother the Cardinal from France." While Avenelle, speaking rapidly, gives these details, Catherine sits unmoved. As he proceeds her eyes never leave him, and her hands, singularly small and delicate, are clenched upon her velvet robe. When he has done speaking a look of absolute fury passes over her face. There is a lengthened silence, during which her head sinks on her breast and she remains lost in thought. When she looks up all pas- sion has faded out of her face. She appears as im- passible as a statue, and speaks in a clear metallic voice which betrays no vestige of emotion. " Have these conspirators many adherents, Maitre Avenelle ? " " I fear so, madame. Nearly two thousand are gathering together, from various points, at Nantes. On the 1 5th of the present month of March they would have attacked Blois. Had your Majesty not received timely warning and retreated to this forti- fied castle, these rebellious gentlemen would have captured your sacred person and that of our Sover- eign and the young Queen. They would have kept 78 Old Court Life in France. you imprisoned until you had consented to abdicate the throne or to dismiss our great Catholic Princes of Lorraine, to whom and to your Majesty all evil influence is attributed." " Influence ? Yes, influence enough to punish trai- tors, heretics, and spies!" exclaims Catherine, and she darts a fierce look at Avenelle, who, though still pale as death, is now more composed, and meets her glance without flinching. He knows his life is in the balance, and he thinks he reads the Queen-mother rightly, that he may best ensure it by showing no cowardice. " Is this all you know, Maitre Avenelle? "says the Queen, coldly. " Yes, madame ; and I trust you will remember that I have been the means of saving your Majesty and the young King from imprisonment, perhaps from death." Catherine turns her terrible eyes full upon Ave- nelle. " Maitre Avenelle, I appreciate both your disinterestedness and your loyalty," replies she, with a bitter sneer. " You, sir, will be kept a prisoner in this castle until his Majesty's council have tested the truth of what you say. We may use such as you, but we mistrust them and we despise them. If you have spoken the truth, your life shall be spared, but you will leave France for ever. If you have lied, you will die." As these words fall from her lips and are echoed through the lofty chamber, she strikes on a sharp metal placed before her. Two guards im- mediately enter and remove Avenelle in custody. Catherine again strikes on the metal instrument, summons her attendant, and desires that Francis, SPIRAL STAIRCASE, CHATEAU OF BLOIS. (By permission of Neurdein, Paris.) A Traitor. 79 Due de Guise, and the Cardinal de Lorraine shall attend her. In this interview between the heads of the Catholic party their plan of action is decided. A council of state is to be at once called at Amboise, to which the Huguenot chiefs, the Prince of Cond6, the Admiral Coligni, his brother d'Andelot, the Cardinal de Chatillon, and others are to be invited to attend ; and a conciliatory edict in favour of the Calvinists, signed by the King, is to be proclaimed. Thus the Reformed party will be thrown com- pletely off their guard, and La Renaudie and the conspirators, emboldened by the apparent security and ignorance of the government, will gather about Amboise, the better to carry out their designs of capturing the King, the Queen, and the Queen- mother, and banishing or killing the Guises, her supposed evil counsellors. But another and secret condition is appended to this edict which would at once, if known, have awakened the suspicions and driven back from any approach to Amboise both the conspirators and the great chiefs of the Huguenot party. This secret condition is that Francis, Due de Guise, skall be forthwith nominated Lieutenant- General of the kingdom, and be invested with almost absolute power. 8o Old Court Life in France. CHAPTER -XIV. THE COUNCIL OF STATE. THE council assembles in a sombre chamber panelled with dark oak, crossed by open rafters a chamber that had remained unaltered since the days of Louis XI. A long table stands in the centre surrounded with leather chairs heavily carved, on which are seated the members of the council. Cond6, who is of royal blood, takes the highest place on the Calvinist side. He is somewhat below middle height and delicately formed. His complexion is fair, his face comely ; his dark eyes, sunk deep in his head, bright with the power of in- tellect, are both cunning and piercing. Nevertheless, it is a veiled face and betrays nothing. His dress is dark and simple, yet studiously calculated to display to the best advantage his supple and elegant figure. There is an air of authority about him that betrays itself unwittingly in every glance he casts around the room. He is a man born to command. Next to him is a man older, sturdier, rougher ; a powerfully built man, who sits erect and firm in his chair. His head is covered with long white hair ; he has overhanging eyebrows, a massive forehead, and a firmly-closed mouth. His weather-beaten face and sunken cheeks show that he has lived a life of exposure and privation a man thus to meet un- moved peril or death. He wears a homely suit of black woollen stuff much worn, and as he sits he leans forward, plunged in deep thought. This is The Council of State. 81 Admiral Coligni. Beside him is his brother D'Andelot, slighter and much younger : he is dressed with the same simplicity as the Admiral, but wants that look of iron resolve and fanatic zeal which at the first glance stamps Coligny as a hero. Chatillon has placed himself beside his brother prelate of Lor- raine. Each wears the scarlet robe of a cardinal, over which falls a deep edging of open guipure lace ; their broad red hats, tasselled with silken cords, lie on the table before them. Lorraine is thin and dark, with a treacherous eye and a prevailing expression of haughty unconcern. Chatillon is bland and mild, but withal shrewd and astute ; a smile rests upon his thin lips as his eyes travel round the table, peering into every face, while from time to time he whispers some observation to the Cardinal de Lorraine, the Minister of State, who effects not to hear him. A door opens within a carved recess or dais raised one step from the floor, and Francis and Mary ap- pear. The whole council rises and salutes the young King and Queen. They seat themselves under a purple velvet canopy embroidered in gold with fleurs-de-lys and the oriflamme. They are followed by Catherine and Francis Due de Guise, a man of majestic presence and lofty stature. He is spare, like the Cardinal, but his eager eye and sharply cut features, on which many a wrinkle has gathered, proclaim the man of action and the warrior, ardent in the path of glory, prompt, bold, and unscrupulous. At the sight of Coligni, Cond, and Chatillon he knits his brows, and a sinister expression passes over his face which deepens into a look of actual cruelty as he silently takes his place next to Catherine de' Medici. VOL. I. <> 82 Old Court Life in France. The young King and Queen sit motionless side by side, like two children who are permitted to witness a solemn ceremony upon the promise of silence and tranquillity. They are both curious and attentive. Not all Mary Stuart's questions have elicited further information from her uncles, and Francis, too feeble in health to be energetic, is satisfied with the knowl- edge that the Queen-mother occupies herself with affairs of state. The Queen-mother, with a curious smile upon her face, stands for a few moments on the estrade facing the council-chamber. She coldly receives the chiefs of the Reformed faith, but her welcome is studiously polite. With the same grave courtesy she greets the Guises, Nemours, and the other Catholic princes. All are now seated in a circle of which Francis and Mary, motionless under the canopy of state, form the centre. Catherine rises from her chair and in a guarded address speaks of danger to the Crown from the Huguenot party, darkly hinting at a treasonable plot in which some near the throne are implicated, and she calls on those lords favourable to the Reformed religion for advice and support in this emergency. As she speaks an evil light gathers in her eye, especially when she declares that she has at this time summoned her son's trusty counsellors of the Calvinist faith in order to consider an edict of pacifi- cation, calculated to conciliate all his Majesty's sub- jects, and to rally all his faithful servants round his throne. Her composed and serious countenance, the grave deliberation of her discourse, her frank yet stately The Council of State. 83 avowal of peril to the State and desire for counsel in an hour of danger, are all so admirably simulated that those not aware of her perfidy are completely duped. Francis, her son, listens with wonder to his mother's words, believing, as he does, that she is both indignant and alarmed at the machinations of that very party she has called to Amboise and which she now proposes to propitiate. The Due de Guise, who perfectly understands her drift, secretly smiles at this fresh proof of the dis- simulation and astuteness of his cousin who caresses ere she grasps her prey. When she has ended he loudly applauds her conciliatory resolutions, and by so doing astonishes still more the unsuspicious Fran- cis, as well as his niece Mary whose wondering eyes are fixed on him. As to Coligni and the other Protestants, they fall blindfolded into the snare spread for them by Catherine, all save the Prince de Cond6, who, crafty and treacherous himself, is more suspicious of others. He has marked, too, the Queen-mother's words, " some near the throne," and thinks he knows to whom they are applied. However, he immediately rises and in a few well-chosen phrases declares him- self ready to defend the royal cause with his life. The Admiral next speaks, and in an eloquent har- angue he unsuspectingly dilates on his own views of the present administration, and reproves the ambi- tion of those princes who usurp the government of France. " There are two millions of Protestants in the kingdom," he says, " who look to the heads of their own faith for relief from the tyranny and 84 Old Court Life in France. injustice under which they have long languished. Two millions," repeats Coligni in a grave, sad voice, looking steadfastly round the circle, "who seek to live at peace, industrious, tranquil, loyal. But these two millions demand that they shall enjoy equal privileges with the least of his Majesty's Catholic sub- jects. This is now refused. They ask to be neither suspected, watched, nor wilfully persecuted. If any conspiracy exists, such as is known to her Majesty the Queen-mother and I accept her statement as true with the deepest sorrow it can only arise from the bitter feeling engendered by the disgrace of these Calvinistic subjects of this realm who are uniformly treated as aliens, and repulsed with cruel persistency from such places of trust and honour as their services have entitled them to enjoy. Let these heavy grievances be removed, let his Majesty reign for himself alone" and Coligni's eye rests on the Due de Guise and the Queen-mother "with equal favour over both parties, Catholic as well as Protestant. Let the conciliatory edict now before the council be made public, and I, Gaspard de Coligni, bind myself upon my plighted word as a noble and upon my conscience as a devout Calvinist, that the House of Valois will for ever live in the hearts of our people, and receive from them as entire a devotion as ever animated subject to his sovereign." A deep silence follows Coligni's address, and the Due de Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine exchange glances of indignation. Francis has become more and more mystified. Timid and inexperienced, he fears to betray his ab- The Council of State. 85 solute ignorance of state affairs, and perhaps incense his mother by indiscreet questions. But when the parchment, heavy with seals of state, is produced and borne to him by the Chancellor for signature, he can no longer conceal his astonishment that he should be called on to sign an edict giving both liberty and protection to those very persons whom the Queen- mother and his uncles had represented to him as his mortal enemies. He looks so long and earnestly at Catherine, that she, fearing that by one mistaken word he is about to destroy the whole fabric of her masterly dissimulation, rises quickly from the arm- chair in which she sits, and advancing quickly towards him with a commanding look and imperi- ous gesture, takes the pen from the hand of the Chancellor and presents it to him herself. " Sign, my son," says she, " this edict which has been framed by the unanimous advice of your coun- cil in favour of your loyal subjects. Fear not to sanction this royal act of mercy. Your Majesty is still too young to understand the far-seeing wisdom of the act. Take it on my word, Sire, take it now on my word. You will understand it better later." " Truly, madame," replies the King, " I call God to witness that I desire the good of all my subjects, Huguenot and Catholic." So saying he takes the pen and signs the edict. The council forthwith breaks up, and with what wondering curiosity on the part of the King and Mary, who dare ask no questions, cannot be told. 86 Old Court Life in France. M CHAPTER XV. CATHERINE'S VENGEANCE. EANWHILE the conspirators, emboldened by the news of the edict of Amboise, carried out their purpose exactly as the Queen-mother intended, with perfect confidence and little concealment. Catherine's object was to draw them towards Am- boise and there destroy them. Band after band, in small detachments the better to avoid suspicion, rode up from Nantes where they lay, to concentrate in force on the Loire and within Amboise itself. When sufficiently strong they proposed to carry off the King and Queen by a coup-de-main, make away with the Jesuitical Guises, banish the Queen-mother to some distant fortress, and place Cond6 on the throne as Regent. They came through the plains of Touraine, halting beside solitary farms, in the vineyards, under the willows and tufted underwood that border the rivers, and through the dark forests that lie on the hills behind Amboise. Band after band reached certain points, halted at the spots indicated to them, and met other detachments with whom they were to act ; but not one of them was heard of more. The walls of the castle of Amboise bristled with troops, and the open country towards Loches was full of soldiers. Trusty guards stationed on the double bridge across the Loire were instructed by the Due de Guise, who wielded absolute power and who had now gained minute knowledge of the plot, to take all Catherines Vengeance. 87 suspected persons prisoners, or if needful, slay them as they stood. Crowds of prisoners poured into Amboise, tied together and driven like cattle to the shambles. Those who were known were reserved for a further purpose, the rest the herd were either hanged or drowned. The Loire was full of floating corpses. Cond6, wary with the wariness of his race, ven- tured not again to Amboise. Coligni and his brother knew not how to oppose a power exercised in the royal name, but Jean Barri de la Renaudie, the osten- sible leader of the conspiracy and a bold adventurer, alarmed at the mysterious disappearance of party after party of his followers, set out in rash haste towards Am- boise. He too was watched for and expected among the wooded hills of the forest of Chateau Renaud. La Renaudie had encamped in the woods towards morning after advancing under cover of the night from Niort. Suddenly his detachment was approached by two or three horsemen, who, after reconnoitring for a few moments, retreated. These were evidently the advance guard of the royal forces. La Renaudie im- mediately broke up his camp and dashed on towards Amboise, concealed by the overhanging trees on the banks of a stream which flowed through a wild defile. In a hollow of the river, among beds of stone and sand, he was fallen upon by a regiment of royal troops who had tracked and finally caught him as in a trap. His own cousin Pardilliac commanded the attack, he recognised him by the flag. A deadly struggle ensued, in which both cousins fell. La Renaudie's corpse, carried in triumph to Amboise, was hung in chains over the bridge. 88 Old Court Life in France. Then Cond6, Coligni, and the other Calvinists came fully to understand what the edict of concilia- tion really meant. The Castle of Amboise during all this time had been strictly guarded ; every door was watched, every gallery was full of troops ; the garden and the walled plateau, within which stands the beautiful little votive chapel erected by Anne of Brittany, was like a camp. Silence, suspicion, and terror were on every face. Al- though the Queen-mother, with her crafty smiles and unruffled brow, affected entire ignorance and exhorted " la petite reinette," as she called Mary, to hunt in the adjoining forest, and to assemble the Court in the state rooms with the usual banquets and festivities, Mary, pale and anxious, remained shut up with Francis in her private apartments. " My uncle," said Francis to the Due de Guise whom he met leaving the Queen-mother's retiring-room, " I must know what all these precautions mean. Why are so many troops encamped about the castle, the guards doubled, and the gates closed ? Why do you avoid me and the Queen ? Uncle, I insist on knowing more." " It is nothing, Sire nothing," faltered the Duke, who, dissembler as he was, could scarcely conceal the confusion the King's questions caused him. "A tri- fling conspiracy has been discovered, a few rebels have been caught, your Majesty's leniency has been abused by some false Huguenots. These troops assembled about the castle are your Majesty's trusty guards brought here to ensure the maintenance of the terms of the edict." " But, uncle, the Queen and I hear the clash of arms and firing on the bridges as against an enemy. Catherines Vengeance. 89 I cannot sleep, so great is the tumult. What have I done that my people should mistrust me ? Huguenots and Catholics are alike my subjects. Are you sure, uncle, that it is not you and my mother that they hate ? I would that you would all go away for a while and let me rule alone, then my people would know me." When all the Huguenot conspirators, about two thousand in number, were either massacred or im- prisoned, Catherine threw off the mask. She called to her Francis and the young Queen. " My children," said she, " a plot has been discovered by which the Prince de Cond was to be made Regent. You and the Queen were to be shut up for life, or murdered perhaps. Such as remain unpunished of the enemies of the House of Valois are about to be executed on the southern esplanade of the castle. You are too young to be instructed in all these details, but, my son, when you signed that edict, I told you I would afterwards explain it now come and behold the rea- son. Mary, my reinette, do not turn so pale, you will need to learn to be both stern and brave to rule your rough subjects the Scotch." Catherine, erect and calm, led the way to the state apartments overlooking on either side the garden, ter- race, and river. Large mullioned windows had by the command of Francis I. taken the place of the narrow lights of the older fortress. He had changed the es- planade and southern terraced front within the walls and the balconied windows to the north overlooking the town, into that union of manoir and chateau which he first created. The boy-King and Queen followed tremblingly the steps of their mother, who strode on in front with go Old Court Life in France. triumphant alacrity. Without, on the pleasant terrace bordered by walls now bristling with guns and alive with guards and archers, on the pinnacles and fretted roof of the votive chapel, which stands to the right in a tuft of trees inside a bastion, the sun shone brightly, but the blue sky and the laughing face of nature seemed but to mock the hideous spectacle in front. Close under the windows of the central gallery, a scaffold was erected covered with black, on which stood an executioner masked, clothed in a red robe. Long lines of prisoners packed closely together, a dismal crowd, wan and emaciated by imprisonment in the loathsome holes of the mediaeval castle, stood by hundreds ranged against the outer walls and those of the chapel, guarded by archers and musketeers ; as if such despairing wretches, about to be butchered like cattle in the shambles, needed guarding ! The windows of the royal gallery were wide open, flags streamed from the architraves, and a loggia, or covered balcony, had been prepared, hung with crimson velvet, with seats for the royal princes. Within the gallery the whole Court stood ranged against the sculptured walls. Catherine entered first. With an imperious gesture she signed to Mary, who clung, white as death, to her husband, to take her place under a royal canopy placed in the centre of the window. Francis she drew into a chair beside herself, the Chancellor, the Due de Guise, his brother the Cardinal, and the Due de Nemours seated them- selves near. Their appearance was the signal to begin the slaughter. Prisoner after prisoner was dragged up beneath the loggia to the scaffold and hastily despatched. Cries of agony were drowned Catherines Vengeance. 91 in the screeching of fifes and the loud braying of trumpets. The mutilated bodies were flung on one side to be cast into the river, the heads borne away to be placed upon the bridge. Blood ran in streams and scented the fresh spring breezes. The execu- tioner wearily rested from his labour, and another masked figure, dressed like himself, in red from head to foot, took his place. Spellbound and speechless sat the young Queen. A look of horror was on her face. She had clutched the hand of Francis as she sat down, and ere a few minutes had passed, she had fainted. Catherine, who, wholly unmoved, was contemn plating the death of her enemies the Huguenots, turned with a terrible frown towards her son, handing him some strong essence with which to revive Mary. As her senses returned, even the basilisk eyes of her dreaded mother-in-law could not restrain her. One glance at the awful spectacle gave her courage ; she gave a wild scream, and rushing forward, flung her- self passionately at the feet of her uncle, Francis of Guise. " Uncle, dear uncle, stay this fearful massacre. Speak to the Queen, or I shall die. Oh ! why was I brought here to behold such a sight ? " " My niece," answered the Duke solemnly, raising her from the ground, and tenderly kissing her on the cheek, " have courage ; these are but a few pestilent heretics who would have dethroned you and your husband, the King, and set up a false religion. By their destruction we are doing good service to God and to the blessed Virgin. Such vermin deserve no pity. You ought to rejoice in their destruction." 92 Old Court Life in France. "Alas! my mother," said Francis, also rising, "I too am overcome at this horrible sight, I also would crave your highness's permission to retire ; the blood of my subjects, even of my enemies, is horrible to see. Let us go ! " " My son, I command you to stay ! " broke in Catherine, furious with passion, and imperiously raising her hand to stay him. " Due de Guise, sup- port your niece, the Queen of France. Teach her the duty of a sovereign." Again Francis, intimidated by his mother's violence, reseated himself along with the anhappy Mary, motionless beside him. Again the steel of the axe flashed in the sunshine, and horrible con- tortions writhed the bodies of the slain. It was too much. Mary, young, tender, compassionate afraid to plead for mercy as though committing a crime, again fainted, and was again recovered. The Queen- mother, to whom the savage scene was a spectacle of rapture, again commanded her to be reseated ; but Francis, now fully aroused by the sufferings of his wife, interposed. " My mother, I can no longer permit your Majesty to force the Queen to be present. You are perilling her health. Govern my kingdom and slay my subjects, but let me judge what is seemly for my wife." So, bearing her in his arms, with the assistance of her ladies, Francis withdrew. When the butchery was over, and the headless bodies were floating in the river or strung up on the branches of the trees or piled in heaps about the castle, Catherine retired. She commanded that the Catherine s Vengeance. 93 remains of the chief conspirators should be hung in chains from the iron balustrades of the stone balcony which protects the windows of the royal gallery and which still remains intact, on the north front of the castle, towards the river. The remainder were to be thrown into the Loire. This stone balcony borders now, as then, the whole length of the state apartments towards the river. A fall of some hundred feet down a sheer mass of grey rock on which the castle stands makes the head dizzy. Over this precipice the headless bodies dangled, swaying to and fro in the March wind, a hideous and revolting sight. No one could pass through any of the apartments of the castle without beholding it. But despised humanity in the shape of the murdered Huguenots asserted its claim on the attention of the Court, and the stench of these bodies hung to the balcony, and of those strung up on the trees, and the rotting corpses that dammed up the river, soon became so overwhelming, that even Catherine herself was forced to retreat, and accompany her son and the young Queen to Chenonceau. The shock and excitement were, how- ever, too much for the sickly Francis. Rapidly he pined and died ; no physician was found who could cure a nameless malady. Mary Stuart, a widow at eighteen, passionate and romantic, clung fondly to that " pleasant land " where she had spent such happy days with the gracious Francis. She had been created Duchesse de Touraine at her marriage, and craved earnestly to be allowed to enjoy that apanage rather than be banished to reign in a barren land, which she dreaded 94 Old Court Life in France. like a living tomb. But her ambitious uncles, the Due de Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine, who were to her as parents, obstinately insisted on her departure for Scotland. So she sailed from Calais ; and, from the deck of the ship that bore her across the seas, as the shores of France which she was never more to see gradually faded from her view, she sang to her lute that plaintive song, so identified with her memory : " Adieu, oh plaisant pays ! Adieu ! oh ma patrie, La plus cherie, qui a nourri Ma Belle enfance, Adieu ! " CHAPTER XVI. THE ASTROLOGER'S CHAMBER. WHEREVER Catherine chose to reside, either in Paris or in Touraine, an observatory for the stars was always at hand, and Cosmo Ruggiero, who had attended her from Italy, never left her. Cosmo was the Queen's familiar demon ; he was both astrolo- ger, alchemist, and philosopher. He fed the glowing furnaces with gold and silver, sometimes with dead men's bones ; concocted essences, powders, and per- fumes ; drew horoscopes, and modelled wax figures in the likeness of those who had incurred the Queen's enmity. These were supposed to suffer pangs from each stab inflicted on their images, and to waste away as their wax similitudes melted in the flames. Cosmo was also purveyor of poisons to her The Astrologer s Chamber. 95 Majesty, and dealt largely in herbs and roots fatal to life. His apartments and the observatory were always near those of the Queen and connected with them by a secret stair. We are at the Tuileries.* It stands on a plot of ground outside Paris where tiles were baked and rubbish shot given by Francis I. to his mother, Louise de Savoie. Charles IX., who has succeeded his brother Francis II. inhabits the Louvre, now entirely rebuilt by Francis I. The Queen-mother desired to live alone. She therefore commanded Philippe de Lorme to erect a new palace for her use, consisting of a central pavilion, with ample wings. Catherine is now middle-aged ; her complexion is darker, the expression of her face sterner and more impassive. She seldom relaxes into a smile except to deceive an enemy. In her own person she dis- likes and despises the luxury of dress, and princi- pally wears black since the death of her husband. But on fitting occasions of state she, too, robes her- self in royal apparel. She stands before us in along black dress, tightly fitting her shape. She has grown much stouter though she is still upright and majestic. Her active habits and her extraordinary capacity for mental labour are the same. A stiff ruff is round her neck and a black coif upon her head. Jewels she rarely uses. Her suite of rooms at the Tuileries, hung with sombre tapestry or panelled with dark wood, are studiously plain. She loves artists and the arts, but pictures and statues are not appropriate to the state business she habitually transacts. There is a certain consistent grandeur in her plain, un- * See Note 10. g6 Old Court Life in France. adorned entourage ; a sense of subdued power hidden yet apparent that makes those who approach her tremble. Her second son Charles, now King of France, is wholly under her influence. He was only ten years old when he ascended the throne at the death of his brother Francis, and his mother has carefully stamped out every good quality in his naturally frank and manly nature. Now he is rough and cruel, loves the sight of blood, and has become a perfect Nimrod. He blows the horn with such violence, so often and so loud, that he has injured his lungs. Charles knows much more about the bears, wolves, deer, and wild boars of France, than of his Christian subjects. The Princess Marguerite is now grown into a woman, " a noble mind in a most lovely person," says the flattering Brantome. Her mother encour- ages Marguerite's taste for intrigue, and throws her into the company of women, such as Madame de Sauve, the court Ninon de 1'Enclos of that day. Catherine contemplates her beauty, not with the pro- found affection of a mother, but as a useful bait to entrap those whom she desires to gain. When she was young herself the Queen never allowed any tender passion to stand in her way, but ruthlessly sacrificed all who were either useless or trouble- some. When the palace is quiet, and the sighing of the winter wind without, as it sweeps along the quays and ruffles the surface of the river, is only broken by the challenge of the sentinels on the bastion border- ing the Seine, Catherine rises from her chair. She passes over her black dress a long white mantle, puts The Astrologer s Chamber. 97 her feet into silken slippers, lights a scented bougie, takes from her girdle a golden key which is hid there along with a poisoned dagger in case of need draws aside the tapestry, unlocks a hidden door, and mounts a secret stair. Cosmo Ruggiero is seated on a folding stool in a small laboratory under the roof. He is reading an ancient manuscript. A lamp illuminates the page, and he is, or affects to be, so profoundly absorbed that he does not hear his terrible mistress enter. She glides like a ghost beside him and laying her hand on his shoulder rouses him. Ruggiero rises hastily and salutes her. Catherine draws a stool beside him, seats herself, and signs him to do so also. " Well, Cosmo ! always studying ; always at work in my service," says she, in a low metallic voice. " Yes, madame, I have no other pleasure than in your Majesty's service." " Yes, yes ! you serve the Queen for love, and science out of interest I understand. Disinterested- ness is the custom of our country, my friend." " Your Majesty mistakes ; I serve her as a loyal servant and countryman should." " La ! la ! " says Catherine, " we know each other, Cosmo, no professions. Is the poison ready I ordered of you, the subtle powder to sprinkle on gloves or flowers? It is possible I may want it shortly." Ruggiero rises and hands a small sealed packet, enclosed in satin, to the Queen, who places it in her bosom. " Madame," he says, " beware ! this poison is most powerful." VOL. I. J 98 Old Court Life in France. " So much the worse for those for whom it is destined," replied Catherine ; and a cruel smile lights up her face for a moment. " It will serve me the quicker. But to business, Cosmo. What say the stars ? Have you drawn the horoscopes ? " " Here, madame, are the horoscopes " ; and he draws from his belt a bundle of papers. " Here are the celestial signs within the House of Life of all the royal persons concerned, traced by the magic pencil from the dates you furnished me." Catherine glances at the papers. " Explain to me their import," says she, looking at him with grave attention. "Your present design, madame, to marry Madame Marguerite to the King of Navarre appears favour- able to the interests of France. A cloud now rests upon the usually brilliant star of the King of Navarre, but another night, madame, perhaps " This is all very vague, Ruggiero, I want an ab- solute prediction," says Catherine, fixing her black eyes full upon the soothsayer. " Among all these illustrious personages is there not one whose horo- scope is clear and defined ? " "Assuredly, madame; will your Majesty deign to interrogate me as to the future? I will unfold the purposes of the stars as I have read them." " You have spoken of the Princess. Does she love the young Due Henri de Guise?" " Madame, her highness affects the Duke ; but she is unstable in her affections." " The Queen of Navarre will she still forward this marriage ? " " It will cause her death." The Astrologer s Chamber. 99 "How?" " By poison." "Where?" " At Paris." " That is well," answers the Queen, and deep thought darkens her swarthy face. " Her son, the King of Navarre what of him ? " " He, madame, is safe for awhile, though he will shortly be exposed to extreme peril." " But is he destined to die violently ? " " Perhaps ; but long years hence. His hair will be gray before the poniard I see hovering over him strikes. But, as I have said to-night, there is a cloud upon his star. Long he will certainly escape steel, fire, illness, or accident ; he will bear a charmed life. Madame, the King of Navarre will be a proper hus- band for Madame Marguerite." " But how of that bold man, the Due de Guise, who dares without my leave to aspire to the hand of the Princess?" asked Catherine. " Henri de Guise, madame, will die a violent death, as will his father and Coligni. The Admiral will be stabbed in his own house. This is certain." The Queen smiles, and for a time is silent. " Tell me," at length she almost whispers, " have you discovered anything more about myself and my sons ? " " Madame, I tremble to reply," replies Ruggiero, hesitating. " Speak, I command you, Cosmo." Catherine rises, and lays her hand heavily upon his arm. Her eyes meet his. " If I must reveal the future of your Majesty and ioo Old Court Life in France. the royal princes, well, let it be done. Your Majesty can but kill me. I fear not death." " Fool, your life is safe ! " " You, madame, will live ; but the Princes, your sons " and he stops and again hesitates. " Speak ! " hisses Catherine between her set teeth. " Speak, or, pardieu ! I will force you," and she raises her hand aloft, as if to strike him. " Madame," replies Ruggiero, quite unmoved by her violence, rising from his stool, and moving tow- ards the wall, " you yourself shall see the future that awaits them." He withdraws a black curtain cover- ing an arched recess and revealed a magic mirror. " The kings your sons, madame, shall pass before you. Each shall reign as many years as he makes the cir- cuit of that dark chamber you see reflected on the polished steel. There is your eldest son, Francis. See how feebly he moves, how pale he looks. He never lived to be a man. Twice he slowly passes round, and he is gone. The next is Charles, ninth of that name. Thirteen times he turns around, and as he moves a mist of blood gathers about him. Look, it thickens it hides him. He shall reign thirteen years, and die a bloody death, having caused much blood to flow. Here is Henri, Due d'Anjou, who shall succeed him. A few circuits, and then behold a muffled figure a monk, springs on him from behind. He falls and vanishes." There is a pause. " What ! Cosmo," whispers Catherine, who stood supporting herself on the back of a high chair opposite the magic mirror. " Francis, Charles, Henry are gone, but do they leave no child ? " At Chenonceau. 101 " None, madame." "Where, then, is D'Alenc,on, my youngest boy? Let me see him." " Madame," falters Ruggiero, " his highness is not destined to reign. The successor of your sons is be- fore you " ; and on the magic glass rises up, clear and distinct, the image of the King of Navarre. With strong, firm steps he circles the mystic chamber of life twenty times. As he passes on the twenty-first round, a mist gathers round him ; he falls and vanishes. At the sight of Henry of Navarre, the Queen's composure utterly forsakes her. She trembles from head to foot and sinks into a chair. A sombre fire shoots from her eyes. " I will take care that shall never be ! " gasps she, unable to speak with rage. After a few moments she rose, took up her light,, and without one other word descended as she had come. CHAPTER XVII. AT CHENONCEAU. THE Chateau of Chenonceau, so greatly coveted by Catherine de* Medici in her youth, still re- mains to us. It lies in a rural district of the Touraine, far from cities and the traffic of great thoroughfares. Spared, from its isolated position, by the First Revo- lution, this monument of the Renaissance, half palace half chateau, is as beautiful as ever a picturesque IO2 Old Court Life in France. mass of pointed turrets, glistening spires, perpendicu- lar roofs, lofty pavilions, and pillared arches. It is partly built over the river Cher, at once its defence and its attraction. Henry II., as also his father, Francis, who specially loved this sunny plaisance and often visited it in company with his daughter-in-law, Catherine, and his mistress, the Duchesse d'Etampes, had both lavished unknown sums on its embellishment. Chenonceau is approached by a drawbridge over a moat fed by the river. On the southern side a stately bridge of five arches has been added by Diane de Poitiers in order to reach the opposite bank, where the high roofs and pointed turrets of the main build- ing are seen to great advantage, rising out of scattered woods of oak and ash, which are divided into leafy avenues leading into fair water-meadows beside the Cher. By Catherine's command this bridge has been recently covered and now forms a spacious wing of two stories, the first floor fitted as a banqueting hall, the walls broken by four embayed windows, opening on either side and looking up and down the stream. A fresh-breathing air comes from the river and the forest, a scent of moss and flowers extremely delicious. The cooing of the cushat doves, the cry of the cuckoo, the flutter of the breeze among the trees, and the hum of insects dancing in the sunbeams are the voices of this sylvan solitude. The blue sky blends into the green woods, and the white clouds, sailing over the tree-tops, make the shadows come and go among the arches of the bridge and the turrets of the chateau. \ 102 Court Lif< ma-:, of pointed turrets, g iicu- Ur roofs, lofty pavilions, an ; It is >uilt over the river (. nee fraction. a y -cen recently co\ a spacious wing of two stories. fitted as a banque' hall, the w.< !(^ur embayed w opening on 1 looking up and -i own the stream. A f comes from thf uv^r and the forest, a so noss and flr we n..!y delicious. ng of thecush'i 1 the cuckv rhebrocr-? oes, and the hum of .tanciiv is are the voices of t; m soii^i^ ;>iae sky blends into the green woods * te clouds, sailing over the tree-tops, mak?- ws come and go among the arches of the biiotft ir*! the turrets of the chateau. At Chenonceau. 103 A sudden flourish of trumpets breaks the silence. It is Catherine, in the early summer, coming, like Jezebel, to possess herself of her fair domain. She is habited in black and wears a velvet toque with an ostrich plume. A perfect horsewoman, she rides with a stately grace down the broad avenue leading from the high road, followed by her maids of honour a bevy of some forty beauties, the escadron volant de la reine, who serve her political intrigues by fasci- nating alike Huguenots and Catholics. To the right of the Queen-mother rides Madame Marguerite, her daughter by-and-by to become in- famous as Queen of Navarre, wife of Henry IV. now a laughter-loving girl, who makes her brown jennet prance, out of pure high spirits. She is tall, like all the Valois, and finely formed. Her skin is very fair and her eyes full of expression ; but there is a hard look on her delicately-featured face that belies her attractive appearance. On the other side of the Queen-mother is her son, the young King, Charles IX. He has a weak though most engaging countenance. Naturally brave and witty and extremely frank and free, the artifices of his mother's corrupt Court have made him what he now is cruel, violent, and suspicious. Catherine has con- vinced him that he is deceived by all the world except herself, and leads him at her will. He is to marry shortly the daughter of the Emperor Maximilian. Beside him is the vicious and elegant Due d'Anjou, his next brother, of whom Charles is extremely jealous. Already Henry has been victor at Jarnac, and almost rivals Henry of Navarre in the number of battles he fights. He is to be elected King of Poland during IO4 Old Court Life in France. his brother's life. Henry is handsomer than Charles, but baby-faced and effeminate. He wears rouge, and is as gay as a woman in his attire. Catherine's youngest son, D'Alengon, long-nosed, ill-favoured, and sullen, rides beside his sister. Behind the royal Princess, is Francis, Due de Guise, a man, as we have seen, of indomitable will and unflinching purpose ; fanatical in his devotion to the Catholic Church, and of unbounded ambition. He secretly cherishes the settled purpose of his house, destruction to the race of Valois. Ere long he will be assassinated at Orleans, by Poltrot, a Huguenot, a creature of Coligni, who firmly be- lieves he will ensure his salvation by this crime. Such is Christianity in the sixteenth century ! There are also two cardinals mounted on mules. Lor- raine, a true Guise, most haughty and unscrupulous of politicians and of churchmen ; and D'Este, newly arrived from Ferrara, insinuating, treacherous, and artistic. He has brought in his train from Italy the great poet Tasso, who follows his patron, and wears a garbadine and cap of dark satin. Tasso looks sad and careworn, spite of the high favour shown him by his countrywoman, the Queen- mother. Ronsard, the court poet, is beside Tasso, and Chatelard, who, madly enamoured of the widowed Queen, Mary Stuart, is about to follow her to Scotland, and to die of his presumptuous love ere long at Holyrood. As this brilliant procession passes down the broad avenue through pleasant lawns forming part of the park, at a fast trot, a rider is seen mounted on a powerful black horse, who neither entirely conceals At Chenonceau. 105 himself nor attempts to join the Court. As he passes in and out among the underwood skirting the adjoining forest, many eyes are bent upon him. The Queen-mother specially, turns in her saddle the better to observe him, and then questions her sons as to whether they recognise this solitary cavalier, whose face and figure are completely hidden by a broad Spanish hat and heavy riding-cloak. At the moment when the Queen-mother has turned her head to make these inquiries and is speaking earnestly to Francis of Guise, whom she has sum- moned to her side, the unknown rider crosses the path of the Princess Marguerite (who in frolicsome mood is making her horse leap over some ditches in the grass), and throws a rose before her. Marguerite looks up with a gleam of delight, their eyes meet for an instant ; she raises her hand, kisses it, and waves it towards him. The stranger bows to the saddle-bow, bounds into the thicket, and is seen no more. The royal party cross the drawbridge through two lines of attendants, picquers, retainers, pages, and running footmen, and dismount at the arched entrance from which a long stone passage leads to the great gallery, the staircase, and the various apartments. Leaving the young King and the Princes, his brothers, to the care of the chamberlains who conduct them to their various apartments, the Queen-mother turns to the left, followed by the Princess, who is somewhat alarmed lest her mother should have observed her recognition of the disguised cavalier. They pass through the guard-room a lofty chamber, with raftered ceilings and walls hung with tapestry, on which cuirasses, swords, lances, casques, shields, 106 Old Court Life in France. and banners are suspended, fashioned into various devices. Beyond is a saloon, and through a narrow door in a corner is a small writing-closet within a turret. Catherine, who knows the chateau well, has chosen this suite of rooms apart from the rest. She enters the closet alone, closes the door, seats herself beside the casement, and gazes at the broad river flowing beneath. Her eyes follow the current onwards to where the stream, by a graceful bend, loses itself among copses of willow and alder. She smiles a smile of triumph. All is now her own. Then she summons her chamberlain, and commands a masque on the river for the evening, to celebrate her arrival. None shall say that she, a Medici, neglects the splendid pageantry of courts. Besides, the hunting parties, banquets, and masques are too precious as political opportunities to be disregarded. Having dismissed her chamberlain, who with his white wand of office bows low before her, she calls for writing materials, bidding the Princess and a single lady-in-waiting, Charlotte de Presney, her favourite attendant, remain without in the saloon. This is a large apartment, used by Catherine as a sleeping-room, with a high vaulted ceiling of dark oak, heavily carved, the walls panelled with rare marbles, brought by the Queen's command from Italy. Busts on sculptured pedestals, ponderous chairs, carved cabinets and inlaid tables, stand around. In one corner there is a bedstead of walnut-wood with heavy hangings of purple velvet which are gathered into a diadem with the em- bossed initials " C. M.," and an antique silver toilet- CHARLES IX. FROM THE PAINTING BY CLOUCT. At Chenonceau. 107 table, with a mirror in Venetian glass set in a shroud of lace. The polished floor has no carpet, and there is not a chair that can be moved without an effort. A window, looking south to- wards the river and the woods, is open. The sum- mer breezes fill the room with fragrance. Under a ponderous mantelpiece of coloured marbles Mar- guerite seats herself on a narrow settee. Her large, sparkling eyes and animated face, her comely shape, and easy though stately bearing, invite, yet repel, approach. She still wears her riding-dress of em- erald velvet laced with gold, and a plumed cap lies beside her. Her luxuriant hair, escaped from a golden net, covers her shoulders. She is a perfect picture of youth and beauty, and as fresh as her namesake, the daisy. Charlotte de Presney, at least ten years older than the Princess, is an acknowledged belle. Her features are regular, her complexion brilliant, and her face full of intelligence ; but there is a cunning expression about her dimpling mouth that greatly mars her beauty. " Have you nothing for me, Charlotte ? " whispers the Princess, stretching out her little hand glistening with precious stones. " I know you have. Give it me. His eyes told me so when he passed meintheavenue." "Your highness must not ask me. Suppose her Majesty opens that door and sees me in the act of giving you a letter?" " Oh ! mtchante, why do you plague me ? I know you have something hidden ; give it me, or I will search you," and she jumps up and casts her soft arms round the lady-in-waiting. io8 Old Court Life in France. Charlotte disengages herself gently, and with her eyes fixed on the low door leading into the Queen's closet sighs deeply, and takes a letter from her bosom, bound with blue silk, and sealed with the arms of Guise. "Ah! my colours! Is he not charming, my lover?" mutters Marguerite, as her eager eyes de- vour the lines. " He says he has followed us, dis- guised, from Tours ; not even his father knows he has come, but believes him to be in Paris, in case he should be questioned by the Queen-mother, Char- lotte, do you think her Majesty recognised him in the avenue ? He was admirably disguised." "Your highness knows that nothing escapes the Queen's eye. The sudden appearance of a stranger in this lonely spot must have created observation." " Ah ! is he not adorable, Charlotte, to come like a real knight-errant to gaze at his lady-love ? How grand he looked my noble Guise, my warrior, my hero ! " and Marguerite leans back pensively on the settee, as though calling up his image before her. " Her Majesty will be very angry, madame, if she recognised him. I saw her questioning the Duke, his father, and pointing towards him as he disap- peared into the wood," answered Charlotte, with the slightest expression of bitterness in her well- modulated voice. " Henry has discovered," continues Marguerite, still so lost in reverie that she does not heed her re- mark, "that the Queen has a masque to-night on the river. He will be disguised, he tells me, as a Venetian nobleman, in a yellow brocaded robe, with a violet mantle, and a red mask. He will wear my At Chenonceau. 109 colours blue, heavenly blue, the symbol of hope and faith on his shoulder-knot. Our watchword is to be ' Eternal love.' " " Holy Virgin ! " exclaims Charlotte, with alarm, laying her hand on Marguerite's shoulder, "your highness will not dare to meet him ? " " Be silent, petite sotte" breaks in the Princess. " We are to meet on the southern bank of the river. Charlotte, you must help me ; I shall be sure to be watched, but I must escape from the Queen by some device. Change my dress, and then and then " and she turns her laughing eyes on the alarmed face of Charlotte, " under the shady woods, by the par- terre near the grotto, I shall meet him and, alone." " And what on earth am I to say to the Queen if she asks for your highness? " replies Charlotte, turn- ing away her face that the Princess might not see the tears that bedew her cheeks. " Anything, my good Charlotte ; you have a ready wit, or my mother would not favour you. I trust to your invention, it has been often exercised," and she looked archly at her. "Tell the Queen that I am fatigued, and have retired into the chateau until the banquet, when I will rejoin her Majesty. There is no fear, ma mie, especially as the Comte de Cler- mont is at Chenonceau. Her Majesty, stern and silent though she be, unbends to him and greatly affects his company," and she laughs softly and points towards the closed door. " I trust there is, indeed, no fear of discovery, Princess," returns Charlotte ; " for her Majesty would never forgive me." At which Marguerite laughs again. "Princess," says Charlotte, looking very grave, no Old Court Life in France. and seating herself on a stool at her feet, " tell me, truly, do you love the Due de Guise?" Charlotte's fine eyes are fixed intently on Marguerite as she asks this question. " Peste ! you know I do. He is as great a hero as Rinaldo in the Italian poet's romance of Orlando. Somewhat sedate, perhaps, for me, but so hand- some, spite of that scar. I even love that scar, Charlotte." " Does the Duke love you ? " again asks Charlotte, with a trembling voice. " Par exemple ! do you think the man lives who would not return my love?" and the young Princess colours, and tosses the masses of waving brown curls back from her brow, staring at her companion in un- feigned astonishment. " I was thinking," continues Charlotte, avoiding her gaze, and speaking in a peculiar voice, " I was thinking of that poor La Molle, left alone in Paris. How jealous he was ! You loved him well, madame, a week ago." " Bah ! that is ancient history we are at Chenon- ceau now. When I return to Paris it is possible I may console him. Poor La Molle ! one cannot be always constant. Charlotte," said the Princess, after a pause, looking inquisitively at her, " I believe you are in love with the Balafre' yourself." Charlotte colours, and, not daring to trust her voice in reply, shakes her head and bends her eyes on the ground. Marguerite, too much occupied with her own thoughts to take much heed of her friend's emotion, pats her fondly on the cheek, and proceeds At Chenonceau. 1 1 1 "You are dull, ma mie ; amuse yourself like me, now with one, then with another. Be constant to none. Regard your own interest and inclination only. But leave Guise alone ; he is my passion. His proud reserve pleases me. His stately devotion touches me. He is a king among men. I love to tor- ment the hero of Jarnac and Moncontour. He is jealous, too jealous of the very air I breathe ; but in time, that may become wearisome. I never thought of that," adds she, musing. "Your highness will marry soon," says Charlotte, rising and facing the Princess, " and then Guise must console himself " " With you, par exemple, belle des belles ? You need not blush so, Charlotte, I read your secret. But, ma mie, I mean to marry Henri de Guise my- self, even if my mother and the King, my brother, refuse their consent. They may beat me imprison me or banish me; I will still marry Henri de Guise." " Her Majesty will never consent to this alliance, madame." "You are jealous, Charlotte, or you would not say so. Why should I not marry him, when my sister- in-law, the young Queen of Scots, is of the House of Lorraine?" " Yes, madame, but the case is altogether differ- ent ; she is a Queen-regnant. The house of Lorraine is already too powerful." "Ah!" exclaims the volatile Marguerite, starting up, " I love freedom ; freedom in life, freedom in love. Charlotte, you say truly, I shall never be con- stant." 1 1 2 Old Court Life in France. " Then, alas, for your husband ! He must love you, and you will break his heart." " Husband ! I will have no husband but Henri de Guise. Guise or a convent. I should make an en- chanting nun ! " And she laughs a low merry laugh, springs to her feet, and turns a pirouette on the floor. " I think the dress would suit me. I would write Latin elegies on all my old lovers." " You will hear somewhat of that, madame, later from the Queen," Charlotte replies, with a trium- phant air. " A husband is chosen for you already." " Who ? Who is he ? " " You will learn from her Majesty very shortly." " Charlotte, if you do not tell me this instant, I will never forgive you ; " and Marguerite suddenly becomes grave and reseats herself. " Next time you want my help I won't move a finger." " I dare not tell you, madame." " Then I will tell Guise to-night you are in love with him," cries she, reddening with anger. " Oh, Princess," exclaims Charlotte, sinking at her feet, and seizing her hand; "you would not be so cruel!" " But I will, unless you tell me." At this moment, when Marguerite was dragging her friend beside her on the sofa, determined to ob- tain an avowal from her almost by force, the low door opens, and Catherine stands before them. A Dutiful Daughter. 113 CHAPTER XVIII. A DUTIFUL DAUGHTER. THE two girls were startled and visibly trembled ; but, recovering from their fright, rose and made their obeisance. For a moment Catherine gazed ear- nestly at them, as if divining the reason of their discomposure ; then beckoning to the Princess, she led her daughter into her writing-room, where she seated herself beside a table covered with despatches and papers. "My daughter," said the Queen, contemplating Marguerite with satisfaction, as the Princess stood before her, her cheeks flushed by the fright that Catherine's sudden entrance had occasioned. " I have commanded a masque to-night on the river, and a banquet in the water-gallery, to celebrate my return. You will attend me and be careful not to leave me, my child. Strangers have been seen among the woods. Did you not mark one as we approached riding near us ? " And Catherine gave a searching glance at Marguerite. " I have given strict orders that all strangers (Huguenots, probably, with evil designs upon his Majesty) shall be arrested and imprisoned." Again Catherine turned her piercing eyes upon Marguerite, who suddenly grew very pale. " My daughter, you seem indisposed, the heat has overcome you be seated." Marguerite sank into a chair near the door. She knew that her mother had recognised the Duke, and VOL. I. 8 H4 Old Court Life in France. that it would be infinitely difficult to keep her ap- pointment with him that evening. Neither mother nor daughter spoke for some moments. Catherine was studying the effect of her words on Marguerite, and Marguerite was endeavouring to master her agitation. When the Queen next addressed her, the Princess was still pale but perfectly composed. " My daughter, you passed much of your time be- fore you left the Louvre with the Comte la Molle. I know he is highly favoured by my son Anjou. Does his company amuse you ? " Marguerite's cheeks became scarlet. "Your Majesty has ever commanded me," replied she in a firm voice, " to converse with those young nobles whom you and my brother the King have called to the Court." " True, my child, you have done so, I acknowl- edge freely, and, by such gracious bearing you have, doubtless, forwarded his Majesty's interests." There was again silence. " Our cousin, the young Due Henri de Guise, is also much in your company," Catherine said at length, speaking very slowly and turning her eyes full upon Marguerite who, for an instant, returned her gaze boldly. " I warn you, Marguerite, that neither the King my son, nor I, will tolerate more alliances with the ambitious House of Lorraine. They stand too near the throne already." Marguerite during this speech did not look up, not daring to meet the steadfast glance of the Queen. " Surely," said she, speaking low, " your Majesty has been prejudiced against the Duke by my brother A Dutiful Daughter. 115 Charles. His Majesty hates him. He is jealous of him." " My child, speak with more respect of his Maj- esty." " Madame, the King has threatened to beat me if I dared to love the Due de Guise. But I am your Majesty's own child," and Marguerite turned to- wards Catherine caressingly. " I fear not threats." Catherine smiled and curiously observed her. " But your Majesty surely forgets," continued Marguerite, warmly, " that our cousin of Guise is the chief pillar of the throne, a hero who, at sixteen, vanquished Coligni at Poitiers ; and that at Massignac and Jar- nac, in company with my brother Anjou, he per- formed prodigies of valour." " My daughter, I forget nothing. You appear to have devoted much time to the study of the Duke our cousin's life. It is a brilliant page in our history. I have, however, other projects for you. You must support the throne by a royal marriage." " Oh, madame ! " exclaimed Marguerite, heaving a deep sigh, and clasping her hands as she looked imploringly at her mother, who proceeded to address her as though unconscious of this appeal. " Avoid Henri de Guise, Princess. I have already remonstrated with his father on his uninvited pres- ence here, of which he professes entire ignorance for he is here, and you know it, Marguerite " and she shot an angry glance at the embarrassed Prin- cess. " Avoid the Duke, I say, and let me see you attended less often by La Molle, or I must remove him from Court." " Madame ! " cried Marguerite, turning white, and 1 1 6 Old Court Life in France. looking greatly alarmed, well knowing what this removal meant ; " I will obey your commands. But whom, may I ask, do you propose for my husband ? Unless I can choose a husband for myself " and she hesitated, for the Queen bent her eyes sternly upon her and frowned " I do not care to marry at all," she added in a low voice. " Possibly you may not, my daughter. But his Majesty and the council have decided otherwise. Your hand must ultimately seal a treaty important to the King your brother, in order to reconcile conflicting creeds and to conciliate a powerful party." All this time Marguerite had stood speechless be- fore the Queen. At this last sentence, fatal to her hopes of marrying the Due de Guise, the leader of the Catholic party, her lips parted as if to speak, but she restrained herself and was silent. " The daughters of France," said Catherine, lifting her eyes to the ceiling, " do not consider personal feelings in marriage, but the good of the kingdom. My child, you are to marry very shortly the King of Navarre. I propose journeying myself to the Castle of N6rac to conclude a treaty with my sister, Queen Jeanne, his mother. Henri de Barn will demand your hand. He will be accepted when an alliance is concluded between the Queen of Navarre and myself." " But, my mother," answered Marguerite, stepping forward in her excitement, " he is a heretic. I am very Catholic. Surely your Majesty will not force me " You will convert him," replied Catherine. A Dutiful Daughter. 117 " But, madame, the Prince is not to my taste. He is rough and unpolished. He is a mountaineer a Bearnois." " My daughter, he will be your husband. Now, Marguerite, listen to me. This marriage is indipen- sable for reasons of state. The King, your brother, and I myself like the King of Navarre as little as you do. That little kingdom in the valleys of the Pyrenees is a thorn in our side which we must pluck out. Those pestilent and accursed heretics must be destroyed. We call them to our Court ; we lodge them in the Louvre not for love, Marguerite not for love. Have patience, my daughter. I cannot unfold to you the secrets of the council ; but it is possible that Henry of Navarre may not live long. Life is in the hands of God, and of the King." She added in a lower voice. " Console yourself. A day is coming that will purge France of Huguenots ; and if Henry do not accept the mass " "Madame," said Marguerite, archly (who had eagerly followed her mother's words), " I trust that the service of his Majesty will not require me to convert the King of Navarre? " " No, Princess," said Catherine, with a sinister smile. " My daughter," continued she, " your duti- ful obedience pleases me. The King may, in the event of your marriage, create new posts of honour about the King of Navarre while he lives. Monsieur la Molle, a most accomplished gentleman, shall be remembered. Au revoir, Princess. Send Charlotte de Presney to me. Go to your apartments, and prepare for the masque on the river I have com- manded to-night in honour of our arrival." n8 Old Court Life in France. So Marguerite, full of thought, curtseying low before her mother, kissed her hand, and retired to her apartments. As the sun sets and the twilight deepens, torch after torch lights up the river and the adjacent woods. Every window in the chateau is illumi- nated, and the great beacon-fires flash out from the turrets. The sound of a lute, the refrain of a song, a snatch from a hunting-chorus, are borne upon the breeze, as, one by one, painted barges shoot out from under the arches of the bridge along the cur- rent. As night advances the forest on both sides of the river is all ablaze. On the southern bank, where the parterre is divided from the woods by marble balus- trades, statues, and hedges of clipped yew, festoons of coloured lamps hang from tree to tree, and fade away into sylvan bowers deep among the tangled coppice. The fountains, cunningly lit from below, flash up in streams of liquid fire. Each tiny streamlet that crosses the mossy lawns is a thread of gold. Tents of satin and velvet, fringed with gold, border broad alleys and marble terraces of dazzling whiteness. The river, bright as at midday with the light of thousands of torches, is covered with gondolas and fantastic barques. Some are shaped like birds swans, parrots, and peacocks ; others resemble shells, and butterflies whose expanded wings of glittering stuff form the sails. All are filled with maskers habited in every device of quaint disguisement. Not a face or form is to be recognised. See how rapidly the fairy fleet cleaves the water, now dashing into deep shadows, now lingering in the torchlight that A Dutiful Daughter. 119 glances on the rich silks and grotesque features of the maskers. Yonder a whole boat's crew is en- tangled among the water lilies that thickly fringe the banks under the over-arching willows. Some disem- bark among the fountains, or mount the broad mar- ble steps leading to the arcades ; some descend to saunter far away into the illuminated woods. Others, tired of the woods, are re-embarking on the river. In the centre of the stream is a barge with a raised platform covered with velvet embroidered in gold, on which are placed the Queen's musicians, who wake the far-off echoes with joyous symphonies. Beyond, in the woods, are maskers who dance under silken hangings spread among the overhanging branches of giant oaks, or recline upon cushions piled upon rich carpets beside tables covered with choice wines, fruit, and confectionery. The merry laughter of these revellers mixes with strains of voluptuous music from flutes and flageolets, played by concealed musicians placed in pavilion orchestras hidden among the underwood, tempting onwards those who desire to wander into the dark and lonely recesses of the forest. Among the crowd which thickly gathers on the parterre, a tall man of imposing figure, habited in a Venetian dress of yellow satin and wrapped in a cloak of the same colour, paces up and down. He is alone and impatient. He wears a red mask ; con- spicuous on his right shoulder is a knot of blue and silver ribbons. As each boat approaches to dis- charge its gay freight upon the bank he eagerly advances and mixes with the company. Then, as though disappointed, he returns into the shadow I2O Old Court Life in France. thrown by the portico of a shell grotto. Wearied with waiting, he seats himself upon the turf. " She will not come ! " he says, and then sinks back against a tree and covers his face with his hands. The foun- tains throw up columns of fiery spray ; the soft music sighs in the distance ; crowds of fluttering maskers pace up and down the plots of smooth grass or linger on the terrace still he sits and waits. A soft hand touches him, and a sweet voice whis- pers, " Eternal love ! " It is the Princess, who, dis- guised in a black domino procured by Charlotte de Presney, has escaped from the Queen-mother and stands before him. For an instant she unmasks and turns her lustrous eyes upon him. Henri de Guise (for it is he) leaps to his feet. He kneels before her and kisses her hands. " Oh ! my Princess, what condescension ! " he murmurs, in a low voice. " I trembled lest I had been too bold. I feared that my letter had not reached you." A gay laugh answers his broken sentences. "My cousin, will you promise to take on your soul all the lies I have told my mother in order to meet you ? " " I will absolve you, madame." " Ah, my cousin, I have ill news ! My mother and the King are determined to marry me to the King of Navarre." " Impossible ! " exclaims the Duke ; " it would be sacrilege ! " " Oh, Henry ! " replies the Princess, in a pleading voice, and laying her hand upon his arm, " my cousin, bravest among the brave, swear by your A Dutiful Daughter. 121 own sword that you will save me from this detest- able heretic ! " The Duke did not answer, but gently drew her near the entrance of the grotto. It was now late, and the lights within had grown dim. " Marguerite," he says, in a voice trembling with passion, "come where I may adore you as my living goddess come where I may conjure you to give me a right to defend you. Say but one word, and to-morrow I will ask your hand in marriage ; the King dare not refuse me." " Alas ! my cousin, my mother's will is absolute." " It is a vile conspiracy ! " cries the Duke, in great agitation. "The House of Lorraine, my Princess, save but for the Crown, is as great as your own. My uncle, the Cardinal, shall appeal to the Holy See. Marguerite, do but love me, and I will never leave you ! Marguerite, hear me ! " He seizes her hands he presses her in his arms, drawing her each mo- ment deeper into the recesses of the grotto. As they disappear, a voice is heard without, calling softly " Madame ! Madame Marguerite ! for the love of heaven, come, come ! " In an instant the spell is broken. Marguerite extricates herself from the arms of the Duke and rushes forward. It is Charlotte de Presney, disguised like herself in a black domino. " Not a moment is to be lost," she says, hurriedly. " Her Majesty has three times asked for your highness. She supposes I am in the chateau seeking you." Charlotte's voice is unsteady. She wore her mask to conceal her face, for it was bathed in tears. 122 Old Court Life in France. In an instant she and the Princess, followed by the Duke, cross the terrace to where a boat is moored under the shade of some willows, and are lost in the crowd. The Duke dashes into the darkest recesses of the forest, and is seen no more. CHAPTER XIX. BEFORE THE STORM. HENRY, King of Navarre, accompanied by the Prince de Cond and his wife, and attended by eight hundred Huguenot gentlemen dressed in black (for his mother, Queen Jeanne, had died sud- denly at Paris, while he was on the road), has just arrived at the Louvre to claim the hand of the Princess Marguerite. The two Princes and the Princesse de Cond6 are received with royal honours and much effusion of compliments by King Charles and Catherine ; they are lodged in the Palace of the Louvre. Whatever Marguerite's feelings are, she carefully conceals them. Insinuating, adroit, clever, gifted with a facile pen and a flattering tongue, she is too ambitious to resist, too volatile to be constant. She lives in a world of intrigue, as she tells us in her memoirs, and piquing herself on being " so Catholic, so devoted to the 'sacred faith of her fathers,'" and she pendulates between Henri de Guise and La Molle, amid a thousand other flirtations. She lives in a family divided against itself. Sometimes she HENRI DE QUISE. FROM A DRAWING IN THE LOUVRE. (By permission of A. Giraudon, P.iris.) Before the Storm. 123 takes part with the Due d'Anjou and watches the Queen-mother in his interests, in order to report every word she says to him ; or she quarrels with D'Anjou and swears eternal friendship with her youngest brother, D'Alen9on all his life the puppet of endless political conspiracies ; or she abuses the King (Charles) because he listens to her enemy, De Gaust, and tells her that she shall never marry the Due de Guise, because she would reveal all the secrets of state to him, and make the House of Lor- raine more dangerous than it is already. This great- est princess of Europe, young and beautiful, a " noble mind in a lovely person," as Brantome says of her, is agitated, unhappy, and lonely. " Let it never be said," writes she, " that marriages are made in heaven ; God is not so unjust. All yesterday my room echoed with talk of weddings. How can I purge it ? " The Due de Guise no longer whispers in her ear " Eternal love." The great Balafr, stern in resolve, firm in affection, is disgusted at her l/gtret/. He has ceased even to be jealous. His mind is now oc- cupied by those religious intrigues which he devel- oped later as leader of the Holy Catholic League. Guise dislikes and distrusts the Valois race. He especially abhors their unholy coquetting with here- tics in the matter of Marguerite's approaching mar- riage. He has now adopted the motto of the House of Lorraine, " Death to the Valois ! Guise upon the throne!" Moreover, he looks with favour on a widow the Princesse de Porcian, whom he marries soon after. Guise only remains at Court to fulfil the vow of vengeance he has sworn against Coligni 124 Otd Court Life in France. for his suspected connivance in the murder of his illustrious father, Francis of Guise, of which accusa- tion Coligni could never clear himself.* The great Admiral is now at Court. He is loaded with favours. Charles IX. has requested his constant attendance at the council to arrange the details of a war with Spain. He has also made him a present of a thousand francs. The friends of Coligni warn him to beware. His comrade and friend Montmo- renci refuses to leave Chantilly. The Admiral, more honest than astute, is completely duped. It is whis- pered among the Catholics that revenge is at hand, and that the Protestant princes and Coligni are shortly coming to their death. It is said also that the marriage liveries of the Princess will be " crim- son," and that " more blood than wine will flow at the marriage feast." And the Queen ? Serene and gracious, she moves with her accustomed majesty among these conflict- ing parties. She neither sees, nor hears, nor knows aught that shall disarrange her projects. Silent, in- scrutable, her hands hold the threads of life. With- in her brain is determined the issue of events. Her son Charles is a puppet in her hands. This once frank, witty, brave, artistic youth, who formerly loved verses and literature, when not a roaring Nimrod among the royal forests, is morose, cruel, and suspicious ; convinced that the whole world is playing him false, all perjured but his mother. She has told him, and she has darkly hinted in the coun- cil, that events are approaching a crisis. She has secured the present support of the young Due de * See Note II. Before the Storm. 125 Guise and the powerful House of Lorraine, ever foremost when Catholic interests are at stake. She can now sit down calmly and marshal each act in the coming drama, as a general can marshal those regi- ments which are to form his battle-front. Fifteen hundred Protestants were slaughtered at Amboise alone, but there are thousands upon thousands re- maining, and she has promised Philip II., her awful son-in-law, and his minister, the Duke of Alva, that she will cut off the head of heresy within the realm of France. She has tried both parties, intrigued with both with Coligni and the Condes, with Guise and the Cardinal de Lorraine and she finds that at present orthodoxy answers her purpose best. Besides, there is personal hatred, fear, and offence towards the Huguenots. Did not Coligni dare to criticise her government at the Council of Amboise? Did not Conde" (that cautious Bourbon) escape her? The King of Navarre, too, her future son-in-law, is he to be lured to Court and married to the fasci- nating Marguerite for nothing? Has not Ruggiero shown her that his life crossed the life of her sons? Does she not hate him ? Is he not adored by the people, who, grown cold towards the House of Valois, extol his vigour, courage, and ability? Yes, he shall marry. Then he shall die along with all rebels, heretics, and traitors ! A general massacre of the Huguenots throughout France can alone sat- isfy her longings and secure Charles on the throne. Thus came to be planned that most tremendous crime, fixed for the festival of St. Bartholomew, ostensibly for the triumph of the Catholic Church, but in reality to compass the death of the Queen's 126 Old Court Life in France. political enemies Navarre, Cond6, and Coligni and to crush the freedom of thought and opinion brought in by liberty of conscience and a purer faith. This was the Court to which Henry of Navarre came, to be lodged under the roof of the Louvre, and to marry the Princess Marguerite ! The marriage took place on the i8th of August, 1572, at Notre-Dame.* The outspoken Charles had said that, in giving his sister Margot to the King of Navarre, he gave her to all the Huguenots in his kingdom. The Princess tells us she wore a royal crown and a state mantle of blue velvet, wrought with gold embroidery, four yards long. It was held up by three princesses ; and she further wore a cor- set, forming the body of her dress, covered with brilliants, and the crown jewels. The streets through which she passed were dressed with scaffoldings, lined with cloth of gold, to accommodate the spec- tators, all the way from the Archbishop's palace to Notre-Dame. A few nights after, Admiral Coligni was shot at, with an arquebuse, by a man standing at a barred window in the street of the Fosses Saint-Germain, as he returned from playing a game of rackets with the King, at the Louvre, to his lodgings at the Hotel de Saint-Pierre, in the Rue Bthisy. He was walking along slowly, reading a paper ; the finger of his right hand was broken, and he was otherwise grievously wounded. The assassin, MaureVert, was a fellow known to be in the pay of Henri, Due de Guise. The house from which the shot was fired * See Note 12. Before the Storm. 127 belonged to the Duke's tutor. The King of Navarre and Conde" were overcome at the news. Charles IX., along with the Queen-mother, visited the Ad- miral next day, and stayed an hour with him. Be- fore leaving, Charles folded him in his arms and wept. "You, my father," he said, "have the wound, but I suffer the pain. By the light of God, I will so avenge this act that it shall be a warning as long as the world lasts." A few hours after the shot was fired, the Hugue- not chiefs assembled in Navarre's apartments to deliberate what means should be taken to punish the assassin. About the same time a secret council was called by the Queen-mother, to decide whether or no Navarre and Cond6 should be massacred. Charles IX., the Due de Guise who, however hos- tile otherwise, join issue to destroy Navarre and Cond Anjou, Nevers, and D'Angouleme were present. It was resolved that the King of Navarre and the Prince de Cond6 should die, and that the massacre should take place that very night, before the Huguenots alarmed by the attempt on Coligni had time to concert measures of defence. Under pretence of protecting them from further violence, all hotels and lodging-houses were diligently searched, and a list made of the name, age, and condition of every Protestant in Paris. Orders were also given for the troops to be under arms, during the coming night, throughout the city. Every outlet and por- tal of the Louvre were closed and guarded by Swiss Guards, commanded by Cossein. The H6tel de Saint-Pierre, in the Rue B6thisy, where Coligni lay, was also surrounded by troops, " for his safety," it 128 Old Court Life in France. was said. . No one could go in or out. At a given signal, the tocsin was to sound from all places where a bell was hung. Chains were to be drawn across the streets and bonfires lighted. White cockades, stitched on a narrow white band to be bound round the right arm, were distributed, in order that the Catholics might be recognised in the darkness. The secret, known to hundreds, was well kept ; the Hu- guenots were utterly unprepared. " No one told me anything," said Marguerite.* " They knew that I was too humane. But the evening before, being present at the coucher of my mother the Queen, and sitting on a coffer near my sister Claude, who seemed very sad, the Queen, who was talking to some one, turned round and saw I was not gone. She desired me to retire to bed. As I was making my obeisance to her, my sister took me by the arm and stopped me. Then, sobbing violently, she said, ' Good God, sister, do not go ! ' This alarmed me exceedingly. The Queen, my mother, was watching us, and, look- ing very angry, called my sister to her and scolded her severely. She peremptorily desired her to say no more to me. Claude replied that it was not fair to sacrifice me like that, and that danger might come to me. " ' Never mind,' said the Queen. ' Please God, no danger will come to her; but she must go to bed at once in order to raise no suspicions.' But Claude still disputed with her, although I did not hear their words. The Queen again turned to me angrily and commanded me to go. My sister, continuing her sobs, bade me ' good-night.' I dared ask no questions. * See Note 13. St. Bartholomew. 129 So, cold and trembling, without the least idea of what was the matter, I went to my rooms and to my closet, where I prayed to God to save me from I knew not what. The King, my husband, who had not come to bed, sent word to me to do so." (They occupied the same room, she tells us, but separate beds.) " I could not close my eyes all night," she adds ; " think- ing of my sister's agitation, and sure that something dreadful was coming. Before daylight my husband got up. He came to my bed-side, kissed me, and said that he was going to play a game of rackets be- fore the King was awake. He said he would have justice in the matter of the attempt on the Admiral's life. Then he left the room. I, seeing the daylight, and overcome by sleep, told my nurse to shut the door, that I might rest longer." This took place on Saturday evening, the 23d of August, being the eve of St. Bartholomew. CHAPTER XX. ST. BARTHOLOMEW. A SIGNAL sounded from the belfry of Saint-Ger- main 1'Auxerrois. It was answered by the great bell of the Palace of Justice on the opposite bank of the Seine. Catherine and her two sons, Charles IX. and the Due d'Anjou, had risen long before daylight. Catherine dared not leave Charles to himself. He was suddenly grown nervous and irresolute. He might yet countermand everything. VOL. I. 9 130 Old Court Life in France. Within a small closet over the gate of the Louvre, facing the quays, the mother and her two sons stood huddled together. Charles was tallest of the three. The window was open ; it was still dark ; the streets were empty ; not a sound was heard save the crash- ing of the bells. They listened to the wild clamour without ; but not a word was spoken. Catherine felt Charles tremble. She clutched him tightly, and, dreading to hear the echo of her own voice, she whispered in his ear, " My son, God has given your enemies into your hands. Let them not escape you." "Mort de Dieu, mother, do you take me for a coward ? " whispered back Charles, still trembling. Suddenly a shot was fired on the Quays. The three conspirators started as if the weapon had been levelled against themselves. " Whence this pistol shot came, who fired it, or if it wounded any one, I know not," writes the Due d'Anjou, who as well as his sister has left an account of the massacre ; " but this I know, that the report struck terror into our very souls. We were seized with such sudden dread at the horrors we had our- selves invoked, that even the Queen-mother was dis- mayed. She despatched one of the King's gentlemen who waited without, to command the Due de Guise to stay all proceedings and not to attack Admiral Coligni." This counter order came too late. The Duke had already left his house. All the bells in Paris were now ringing furiously ; the quays and streets were rapidly filling with citizens bearing flambeaux. Multitudes came pouring in from every opening, every window was filled with persons holding lights, and the crackling of firearms. SV. Bartholomew. 131 loud curses, piercing screams, and wild laughter were heard on every side. In the midst of this uproar, Henri de Guise, thirsting for revenge upon the sup- posed murderer of his father, accompanied by Nevers and D'Angouleme, and a company of Catholic nobles, made his way to the Hotel Saint-Pierre, in the Rue Bthisy, where Coligni lodged. Coligni, who had the night before been embraced by his sovereign, lay asleep on his bed. Some of his Protestant friends, Guerchi, Teligny, with Cornaton and Labonne his gentlemen, who had hastened to him upon the news of the attempted assassination, lingered in the anteroom. Par, the surgeon who had dressed his wounds, had not yet left the hotel The Admiral had been conversing with him and with his chaplain Merlin, who had offered up a thanksgiv- ing for his deliverance. Within the Court five Swiss Guards stood behind the outer doors ; without, in the darkness of the night, crouched Cossein with fifty arquebusiers, who had been gained over by the Due de Guise. Suddenly, out of the stillness of the night a voice is heard calling from without, " Open the door - open in the name of the King ! " At the King's name the street-door is immediately unbarred ; Cossein and his men rush in, poniard the five guards, break open the inner door, and dash up the stairs, The noise disturbs Cornaton, who descends the stairs ; he is pushed violently backwards amid cries of " De par le Roil" Now the whole house is aroused, Merlin has risen, and Coligni awakened from his sleep, calls loudly from the door of his room, "Cornaton, what does this noise mean?" 132 Old Court Life in France. " My dear Lord," cries Cornaton hurrying up to him, wringing his hands, " it means that it is God who summons you ! The hall below is carried by your enemies Cossein is a traitor we cannot save you we have no means of defence ! " " I understand," replies Coligni, unmoved. " It is a plot to destroy me now that I am wounded and cannot defend myself. I have long been prepared to die. I commend my soul to God. Cornaton, Merlin, and the others, if the doors are forced you cannot save me, save yourselves." Coligni returns to his room. By this time the Admiral's retainers are aroused and enter his chamber, but no sooner does he repeat the words, " Save yourselves, you cannot save me," than they lose not a moment in escaping to the leads of the house. One man only remains with his master; his name is Nicolas Muso. The door is then shut, barred, and locked. Meanwhile Cossein, heavily mailed and sword in hand, having slain all he has found in his way, is on the landing. Besme, a page of the Due de Guise, Attin, and Sarbaloux are with him ; they force open the door of Coligni's room. The Admiral, his long white hair falling about his shoulders, is seated in an arm-chair. There is a majesty about him even thus wounded, unarmed and alone, that daunts his assailants. The traitor Cossein falls back. Besme advances brandishing his sword. " Are you Admiral Coligni ? " he cries. " I am," replies the veteran, following with his eyes the motion of the sword. " Young man, respect my grey hairs and my infirmities," and he ADMIRAL OASPARD DE COLIQNY FROM A DRAWING By FRANCOIS CLOUET (By permission of A. Giraudon, Paris.) St. Bartholomew. 133 signs to his arm bound up and swathed to his side. Besme makes a pass at him. " If I could have died by the hands of a gentleman and not of this varlet ! " exclaims the Admiral. Besme for answer plunges his sword up to the hilt into Coligni's breast. A voice is now heard from without under the window " Besme, you are very long; is all over?" " All is over," answers Besme, thrusting his head out and displaying his bloody sword. " Sirrah, here is the Due de Guise, and I, the Chevalier d'Angouleme. We will not believe it until we see the body. Fling it out of the window, like a good lad." With some difficulty the corpse is raised and thrown into the street below. The gashed and bleeding remains of the old hero fall heavily upon the pavement. Henri de Guise stoops down to feast his eyes upon his enemy. The features are so veiled with blood he cannot recognise them. He takes out his handkerchief and wipes the wrinkled face clean. " I know you now Admiral Coligni," says he, " and I spurn you. Lie there, poisonous old serpent that murdered my father. Thou shalt shed no more venom, reptile ! " and he kicks the corpse into a corner, amidst the dirt and mud of the thoroughfare. (Coligni's dead body* is carried to the gallows at Montfaucon, where it hangs by the feet from a chain of iron.) Guise then turns to the fifty arquebusiers behind him. " En avant en avant, mes enfants ! " he shouts ; " you have made a good beginning set upon the others slaughter them all men, women even infants at the breast * See Note 14. 134 Old Court Life in France. cut them down." Sword in hand Guise rushes through the streets with Nevers, D'Angouleme, and Tavannes, as well as Gondi and De Retz, who have now joined him, at his back. Meanwhile, Marguerite de Valois is awakened by some one beating violently with feet and hands against her door crying out, " Navarre ! Navarre ! " " My nurse," writes she, " thinking it was the King, ran and opened the door ; but it was M. de Seran, grievously wounded and closely pursued by four archers, who cried out, ' Kill him ; kill him ! spare no one.' De Seran threw himself on my bed to save himself. I, not knowing who he was, jumped out, and he with me, holding by me tightly. We both screamed loudly ; I was as frightened as he was, but God sent M. de Nangay, Captain of the Guards, who finding me in this condition, could not help laughing. He drove the archers out and spared the life of this man, whom I put to bed in my closet and kept there till he was well. I changed my night-dress, which was covered with blood. M. de Nan^ay assured me that my husband was safe and with the King. He threw over me a cloak, and took me to my sister Claude, in whose room I arrived more dead than alive ; specially so when, as I set my foot in the antechamber, a gentleman named Bourse dropped, pierced by a ball, dead at my feet. I fell fainting into the arms of M. de Nanc,ay, think- ing I was killed also. A little recovered, I went into the small room beyond where my sister slept. While I was there, two gentlemen-in-waiting, who attended my husband, rushed in, imploring me to save their lives. So I went to the King and to the 6V. Bartholomew. 135 Queen, my brother and my mother, and falling on my knees begged that these gentlemen might be spared, which was granted to me." " Having," continues Marguerite, " failed in the principal purpose, which was not so much against the Huguenots as against the Princes of the blood the King my husband, and the Prince of Conde" the Queen, my mother, came to me and ' asked me to break my marriage? But I replied that I would not ; being sure that she only proposed this in order to murder my husband " * The magic mirror of Ruggiero had revealed the truth ; Henry of Navarre led a charmed life. Of his escape, against the express command of the all-pow- erful Catherine, various accounts are related. He is said to have been saved by his wife, but of this she says nothing. It is believed on good authority that, with the Prince de Conde, he went out unusu- ally early, before daybreak even, in order to prepare for playing that identical game of rackets, of which he spoke to Marguerite and which probably saved his life. When it is discovered that these two princes, Conde 1 and Navarre, are both alive, they are sum- moned to the King's presence. They find Charles, arquebuse in hand, within the same small closet over the gate of the Louvre. He has been there since daybreak. A page stands by him, ready to reload his weapon. He is mad with exultation and excitement ; he leans out of window to watch the crowds of fugitives rush by and to shout to the Swiss Guards below " Kill kill all cut them all in pieces ! " " Pardieu ! see," he roars out, pointing to *See Note 15. 136 Old Court Life in France. the river, " there is a fellow yonder escaping. By the mass, look one, two, three- -they are swimming across the Seine at them, at them take good aim shoot them down, the carrion ! " Volleys of shot are the reply. Charles had recovered his nerves ; he now looks on Huguenots as game, and has been potting them with remarkable precision from the window. With hideous mirth, he boasts to Navarre and Cond how many heretics he has brought down with his own hand. He counts upon his fingers the names of the Huguenot chiefs aiready slaughtered. He yells with fiendish laughter when he describes how Coligni, whom the night before he had called " father," looked when dead. " By the light of God, it is a royal chase ! " shrieks Charles, as the page quickly reloads his arquebuse. " That last shot was excellent. Not a heretic shall be left in France." Again he points his gun and shoots ; a piercing cry follows. Charles nods his head approvingly. " We will have them all babies and their mothers. ' Break the eggs and the nest will rot.' Our mother says well we must reign. We will no longer be contradicted by our subjects. We will teach them to revere us as the image of the living God. You, Princes," and as he turns to address the King of Navarre and Conde, his tall, gaunt figure, distorted countenance, bleared and bloodshot eyes, and mat- ted hair are repulsive to look upon " You, Princes, I have called hither, out of compassion for your youth, to give you a chance for your lives, as you are alive, but by the holy Oriflamme, / thought you were both dead already. You are, both of you, rebels, and sons of rebels. You must instantly recant and St. Bartholomew. 137 enter the true Church or you must die. So down on your knees, both of you. Purge yourselves from your accursed sect. Give me your parole, and your swords too, Princes, that you will not leave the Louvre ; or, Dieu des Dieux, you shall be massacred like the rest ! " Thus did Henry IV. and the Prince de Cond escape death, unknown to, and contrary to the ex- press orders of Catherine. Without, Paris is a charnel-house. The streets are choked up by murdered Huguenots. Carts and litters full of dead bodies, huddled together in a hideous medley, rumble along the rough causeways, to be shot into the Seine. The river runs red with blood ; its current is dammed up with corpses. But the Court is merry. Catherine triumphs. Her ladies la petite bande de la Reine go forth and pick their way in the gory mud, to scrutinise the dead, piled in heaps against the walls and in the courts of the Louvre, to recognise friends or lovers. On the 6th September the news of the massacre reaches Rome by letters from the Nuncio. Gregory XIII. commands solemn masses and thanksgivings to God for the event. The cannon of St. Angelo booms over the papal city ; feux de joie are fired in the principal streets ; a medal is struck ; a jubilee is published ; a legate is sent into France ; a proces- sion, in which the Pope, Cardinals, and Ministers to the See of Rome appear, visit the great Basilicas ; the Cardinal de Lorraine, uncle to the Balafre, then at Rome, is present, and in the name of his master, Charles IX., congratulates his Holiness on the 138 Old Court Life in France. efficacy of his prayers these seventeen years past for the destruction of heretics. Blood calls for blood ! * Charles IX., whose royal mandate authorised the massacre (which lasted seven days and seven nights), falls sick two years after at the Castle of Vincennes. " I know not what has befallen me," he says to his surgeon, Ambrose Par ; " my mind and body both burn with fever. Asleep or awake, I see the mangled Huguenots pass before me. They drip with blood ; they make hideous faces at me ; they point to their open wounds and mock me. Holy Virgin ! I wish, Par, I had spared the old and the infirm and the infants at the breasts." Aged twenty-four, Charles died, abhorring the mother whose counsels had led him to this execrable deed abhorring her so intensely that he could not even bear her in his sight. In her place he called for the King of Navarre, and confided to him his last wishes. He died, poor misguided youth, piously thanking God that he left no children. The blood actually oozed from the pores of his skin. His cries and screams were horrible. Thus another King of France passed into the world of spirits, bringing Henry of Navarre one step nearer the throne. Charles, according to the prediction of Ruggiero, had died young, bathed in his own blood. And Catherine ? Calm, undaunted, still hand- some, she inaugurated a new reign that of her third and best beloved son, Henri, Due d'Anjou and King of Poland, popularly known by the style and title of Henry III., " by the favour of his mother inert King of France. ' ' * See Note 16. The End of Catherine de Medici. 1 39 CHAPTER XXI. THE END OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI. FIFTEEN years have passed. The Queen-mother is now seventy. She suffers from a mortal dis- ease, and lies sick at the Chateau of Blois. Hither her son Henry III. and his Court have come to meet the States-General. Trouble is in the king- dom ; for the great Balafr, supported by Rome and Spain, is in rebellion ; Henry totters on his throne. And what a throne ! What a monarch ! Henry, who in his youth was learned, elegant, sober, who fought at Jarnac and Moncontour* like a Paladin, has become effeminate, superstitious, and vicious. His sceptre is a cup-and-ball ; his sword, a tuft of feathers ; he paints and dresses like a woman, covers himself with jewels, and passes his time in arranging ecclesiastical processions, or in festivals, pageants, masques, and banquets. His four favourites ("minions" they are called, and also "beggars," from their greed and luxury), De Joyeuse, D'Eper- non, Schomberg, and Maugiron, govern him and the kingdom. They are handsome and satirical, and think to kill the King's enemies with ridicule and/ his successor to the throne. NOTE 2, p. 20. Saint-Germain 1'Auxerrois, one of the oldest churches in France, dedicated to St. Germain, Bishop of Paris, by Chilperic. Saint-Ger- main 1'Auxerrois, Saint-Etienne du Mont, the Hotel de Clugny, and the Hotel de Sens, all dating from a very early period, still remain. NOTE 3, p. 21. Gentille Agnes plus de loy tu merite, La cause etait de France recouvrir ; Que ce que peut dedans un cloitre ouvrir, Close nonnaine ? ou bien devot hermite ? NOTE 4, p. 30. The Due d'Alencon, husband of Marguerite de Valois, sister or Francis, who commanded the left wing of the French army, was the only man who showed himself a coward at Pavia. He turned and fled, with his whole division. NOTE 5, p. 45. Triboulet had been court fool to Louis XII., who first discerned his good qualities, and rescued him from a most forlorn position. Triboulet's sayings are almost a chronicle of the time, so much was he mixed up with the life of the two sovereigns he served. Brusquet, who compiled the " fool's Calendar," succeeded him in f jie office of jester to Francis. 317 3 1 8 Old Court Life in France. NOTE 6, p. 54. Francis's exact words, according to Du Bellay, were ' ' Les Guises mettront mes enfans en pourpoint et mon pauvre peuple en chemise." This prophecy was poetised into the following verse : " Franois premier predit ce mot, Que ceux de la maison de Guise, Mettraient ses enfans en pourpoint, Et son pauvre peuple en chemise." NOTE 7, p. 58. The Palace des Tournelles (so named from its many towers) stood in the Rue Saint- Antoine, opposite the Hotel de Saint-Paul, upon the site of the Place Royal. Charles VI. was confined here when insane, by his wife, Isabeau de Baviere. The Duke of Bedford, Regent of France for Henry VI., a minor, lodged here. After the expulsion of the English from Paris, Charles VII. made it his residence. Louis XI. and Louis XII. inhabited it. The latter monarch died here. NOTE 8, p. 64. Another contemporary says that the Queen of Navarre was invited to Marcel's, the Pre'vot of Paris, where, having eaten some confitures, she fell sick, and died five days afterwards. NOTE 9, p. 68. Charles de Guise, Cardinal de Lorraine, was Minister under Francis II. and Charles IX. He endeavoured, without success, to introduce the Inquisition into France. NOTE 10, p. 95. No sooner had Catherine de' Medici built the Tuileries, than she left it to inhabit the Hotel de Soissons (then called Hotel de la Reine), in the parish of Saint-Eustache, in consequence of a predic- tion that she would die at Saint-Germain. The Hotel de Soissons, as well as the Hotel de Nesle, is now amalgamated into the Halle aux Bles. At the Hotel de Soissons, Catherine lived for some years before her death. NOTE 11, p. 124. Coligni was prosecuted as accessory to the murder of Francis, Due de Guise, by his widow, Anna di Ferrara, but no sentence was pronounced. Notes to Volume I. 319 NOTE 12, p. 126. Henri de Navarre then went to le preche, Marguerite to mass. NOTE 13, p. 128. Memoirs and Letters of Marguerite de Valois published by the Societe de 1'Histoire de France, by M. Guessand, 1842. NOTE 14, p. 144. Coligni's head was cut off, embalmed, and sent to Rome as a trophy. His remains were collected and buried by his friend, Mont- morenci, at Chantilly. Before their removal from Montfaucon, Charles and all his court rode to see them. One of the courtiers observed " that the body smelt foul." "Nay," replied Charles, "the body of an enemy always smells sweet. " NOTE 15, p. 135. SULLY'S ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW. " I felt myself awakened at three hours after midnight by the loud ringing of all the bells, and the confused cries of the populace. My governor, Saint-Just and my valet went out. I never heard anymore of them. I continued alone in my chamber, dressing myself, when in a few moments I saw my landlord enter, pale and astonished. He was of the reformed religion. He came to persuade me to go with him to mass. I did not think proper to follow him, but resolved to try if I could gain the College of Burgundy, where I studied, notwith- standing the distance it was from the house where I lodged, which made the attempt very perilous. I put on my scholar's robe, and tak- ing a large prayer-book under my arm, I went out. Upon entering the street, I was seized with horror at the sight of the furies who rushed from all parts, and burst open the houses, bawling out ' Slaugh- ter, slaughter massacre the Huguenots ! " the blood which I saw shed before my eyes redoubled my terror. I fell into the midst of a body of guards ; they stopped me, questioned me, and were beginning to use me ill, when, happily for me, the book that I carried was per- ceived, and served me as a passport. At last I arrived at the College of Burgundy, when a danger far greater than any I had yet met with awaited me. The porter having twice refused me entrance, I re- mained in the midst of the street, at the mercy of the Catholic furies, whose numbers increased every moment, and who were evidently in quest of their prey, when I bethought myself of calling for the prin- cipal of the college, La Faye, a good man, who loved me tenderly. 320 Old Court Life in France. The porter, gained by some small pieces of money which I put into his hand, did not fail to make him come at once. This honest man led me into his chamber. Here two inhuman priests, whom I heard make mention of the Sicilian Vespers, wanted to force me from him, that they might cut me in pieces, saying: ' The order was to kill to the very infants at the breast ! ' All that La Faye could do was to conduct me secretly to a remote closet, where he locked me up. I was there confined three days, uncertain of my destiny, receiving succour only from a domestic belonging to this charitable man, who brought me from time to time something to preserve my life." NOTE 16, p. 138. According to Dufresnay, Tables Chronologiques , vol. ii., seventy thousand Huguenots perished in the massacre of St. Bartholomew, which lasted seven days and seven nights. One man boasted that he had killed four hundred with his own hand. NOTE 17, p. 139. It was the renown of these victories that gained for Henry the crown of Poland. NOTE 18, p. 149. Comte d'Auvergne, son of Charles IX. by Marie Touchet, illegiti- mate nephew of Henry III. and half-brother of Henrietta d'En. tragues. NOTE 19, p. 158. Henry IV. was the son of Antoine de Bourbon, Due de Vendome, and of Jeanne d'Albret, only daughter of Henri d'Albret, King of Navarre, married to Marguerite Alen9on, sister of Francis I., the widow of the Due d'Alen^on. NOTE 20, p. 162. Chi cot was a Gascon, jester to Henry IV. His speciality 'was intense hatred to the Due de Mayenne, whom he constantly attempted to attack. During an engagement at Bures, he made prisoner the Comte de Chaligny, and carried him into Henry's presence. " Tiens.'" said he, " this is my prisoner." Chaligny was so enraged at having been captured by a buffoon, that he poniarded Chicot on the spot. NOTE 21, p. 253. Marie de' Medici died in poverty at Cologne, aged sixty-nine. Notes to Volume I. 321 NOTE 22, p. 255. The Duchesse de Montbazon died suddenly at Paris of measles. De Ranee was in the country at the time ; no one dared tell him what had happened. On his return to Paris he ran up the stairs into her rooms, expecting to find her. There he found an open coffin, con- taining the corpse of Madame de Montbazon. The head was severed from the body (the coffin having been made too short), and lay outside on the winding sheet. Such is the story according to the Veritable Motifs de la Conversion de VAbbe" de la Trappe. Other authorities contradict these details. NOTE 23, p. 283. Now the military hospital of the Val de Grace, 277, Rue Saint- Jacques. Anne of Austria having been married twenty-two years without issue, vowed that she would build a new church within the convent, if she bore an heir to the throne. After the death of her hus- band, Louis XIII., she fulfilled her vow. The first stone of the pres- et church was laid in 1645, by her son, Louis XIV. END OF VOLUME I. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 001428195 o 1,-T- i^atK3agta3aggsga3