Catherine would learn a lesson more thoroughly, Diane was sure, if it were given in front of others. Therefore she chose a moment when there should be many august witnesses of the Queen’s discomfiture.
It was the occasion of one of those gatherings which, as Queen, Catherine held from time to time. The King was not present; but among the distinguished company was Diane, Henry’s sister Marguerite, Montmorency, and Francis de Guise.
Diane began asking the Queen if she would at some time be kind and gracious enough to show her the plans she had made for the alterations to the castle of Chenonceaux.
‘Why Madame!’ replied Catherine, ‘I should be delighted to show them to you. Of course, you understand that I have not the gifts of my gracious father-in-law, and my plans, I fear, leave much room for improvement.’
‘Madame, I should be glad to see them.’
Guy de Chabot, that stupid, reckless man who had once before shown himself to be Diane’s enemy during the scandal concerning himself and his stepmother, said: ‘Is Madame la Sénéchale thinking of improving on the plans of our gracious Queen?’
‘That may be so, Monsieur de Chabot,’ said Diane coldly, for the man’s manner was insolent. He had shown himself a fool once before; she was sure that he was ready to do so again. He should realize that he was already in the King’s bad graces; he could not help himself by showing a lack of respect towards the King’s mistress.
Diane turned from him to Catherine.
Catherine said: ‘I had thought of altering the southern façade and building the nine arches which Thomas Bohier projected― was it thirty years ago?’
Catherine glowed. She could not help it. Chenonceaux was one of her enthusiasms; it had given her so much pleasure to plan reconstructions when she had been smarting under humiliation. She was trapped, as she could be by her emotions into speaking too glowingly.
Marguerite, who was very clever and able to talk interestingly on most subjects, joined in. There was something kind about Marguerite, and she was glad to see the in the usually pale face of the Queen. Montemorency added his judgments; but artful de Guise guessed what was coming and remained silent.
Catherine said: ‘One of these days I shall start work on Chenonceaux; I shall invite all the greatest artists to help. I shall have the gardens laid out with flower borders; and I shall have ornamented grottoes and fountains.’
Diane answered coolly, since the moment could no longer be delayed: ‘It is my sincerest hope that you will grace Chenonceaux with your presence whenever it is your desire to do so.’
Catherine stopped to look at Diane. Only by the faintest flicker of her eyelids did she betray her feelings. She smiled while she forced herself to hold her hands to her side and not rush forward to slap the serene and charming smile off the face of her enemy.
This was cruel, bitter humiliation. Diane had known of her love for Chenonceaux; deliberately she had trapped her into betraying her enthusiasm, her longing to claim the claim the place as her own; then, before all these people, she had shown that her desires were as nothing beside those of the woman who was the real Queen of France.
Never, thought Catherine, have I hated quite as much as I do now. Not even when I have watched her at Saint-Germain through the hole in the floor. ‘So―’ began Catherine, and hated herself because she hesitated, aware as she was of the sly, laughing eyes of Francis de Guise, of the consternation in those of Marguerite, of the sympathy of de Chabot.
‘The King has been good enough to bestow upon me the castle of Chenonceaux,’ said Diane. ‘The gift is in recognition of the valuable services rendered the State by my late husband.’
It was impossible not to admire the way in which Queen Catherine calmly went on discussing Chenonceaux after congratulating Queen Diane on the acquisition of what was, in Catherine’s mind, one of the most charming residences in France.
Indeed, thought Diane, the Italian woman learns her lessons with grace.
Catherine was thinking: one day, every score shall be settled. You shall escape nothing, Madame.
‘Monsieur, you are downcast today.’
Guy de Chabot found that, in this dance where one’s partners changed continually, it was his turn briefly to dance with Queen Catherine.
He inclined his head. ‘I am,’ he answered, ‘and I hope my condition does not give offence to Your Gracious Majesty.’
‘We would prefer to see a smile upon your lips.’
He put one there.
‘And not a forced one,’ she said.
Now they must come closer in the dance and she took advantage of this to whisper to him: To not be downcast. There is a way out, Monsieur.’
Guy de Chabot looked straight into the eyes of the Queen, and he felt that he had never really looked at Catherine before.
Her lips were smiling, her eyes serene; and yet, he thought, there is something about her― something lurking there, something as yet not fully developed, something of the serpent― But what a fool I am. Anxiety, fear of death is making me fanciful. He did not understand her meaning and his blank expression told herself.
‘You fear de Vivonne,’ she whispered. ‘Do not. There is a way out.’
Now they were not so close, and it was impossible to whisper. De Chabot’s heart beat faster. It was true that he was afraid. He was not a coward, but he supposed that any man seeing death staring him in the face, feared it. He must face de Vivonne in mortal combat, for he had been challenged and had given the consent which King Francis, for the sake of Anne d’Etampes, had denied. De Vivonne was the best swordsmen in France and to fight him was to fight with death.
There were times when one could swagger, pretend one did not know the meaning of fear; but this quiet Queen caught something in his face which he did not realize he had shown.
I am young, he thought; I do not wish to die. What a gay adventure it had seemed, loving the King’s mistress, as many had before him, and some after. And now she, so beautiful, completely desirable, was languishing in prison and he was challenged to a duel which meant certain death.
And suddenly, unexpectedly, here was the Queen to him that she knew a way out. But what way out little Catherine show him? It was the wish of the King, and King’s powerful favourite that he should die. How Queen save him?
The Queen had very little more power than he had. Why, only a short while ago he had seen Madame Diane humiliate her cruelly over this matter of Chononceaux. And yet, suddenly, he had been made aware of the power of the Queen. He could not help it, but it made him shiver slightly, even while it filled him with hope. It was like being suddenly in a dark place by someone he had not known was near him. It was the Queen who had spoken to him; yet it was not the Queen’s mild eyes that looked at him but the of a serpent, calm, patiently waiting for the moment poisonous fangs could be plunged into an enemy.
He had no opportunity of speaking to her for a while. He must continue in the dance, and now he had another saucy-eyed girl who regarded him with favour. He was very handsome, this de Chabot; and the fact that all believed he was not long for this world seemed to add to his purely physical charm. But just now he could think of nothing but the Queen.
He had wondered at her meekness over the affair of Chenoniceaux. He remembered now how unnatural he had thought it, for a wife and Queen, to accept insult so mildly. But was she so mild? He felt that for a moment she had lifted a veil and shown him some secret part of Queen Catherine. He understood it; it was perfectly clear. The King and Madame Diane had decided he should die. He had been the lover of their old enemy; he had given the King, when he was Dauphin, some uneasy moments; he had swaggered about the court challenging him who had dared cast a slur on his honour and that of his stepmother, knowing full well that those who had done so were Dauphin Henry and his mistress. Now he was asked to pay for that folly. But what if, contrary to expectation, it were not de Vivonne who was victor in the combat, but de Chabot. What a surprise for the crowd who would come to see him die. What embarrassment for the King and his mistress. Diane had been prime mover in this affair. Might it not be that the King be so discomfited that he would feel resentment against her on whom he now doted? Yes, de Chabot could see how the Queen’s mind worked. And if she could turn defeat into life, what joy!