And how handsome is my Henry, thought Catherine; forgetting the new arrival at the sight of him in his black velvet garments. Her eyes went to the black velvet cap with the famous letters ornamenting it in flashing diamonds.
Henry was disturbed. He was comparing the lovely girl with poor delicate Francis. Poor boy! If he had looked sickly before; he looked ten times more so side by side with the dazzling Mary.
There was no doubt about it, Henry had a way with children. Their delight in him was spontaneous. Now he seemed to forget his dignity; he sank on to his knee and took the beautiful little face in his hands; he kissed first one smooth cheek then the other.
‘Methinks you and I shall love each other, Mary,’ he said; and she blushed happily; already she loved him.
He signed for a chair and the attendants immediately brought him that one which was kept for him here in the nursery. Henry sat down and made the little girl aware of Diane.
The bow! The looks of respect! So Diane’s fame had travelled to Scotland, and the bright little girl knew that if she would please the King of France, it was not the Queen to whom she must do homage, but Madame Diane.
‘Welcome, Your Majesty,’ said Diane. ‘It makes me very happy to see you and to discover that you have already won the friendship of the Dauphin.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Mary lightly. ‘He loves me. Do you not, dear Francis?’
‘Oh yes, Mary.’
‘And he would be so desolate if I went away. He has told me so.’
Francis nodded in agreement.
‘Elizabeth too!’ lisped Elizabeth; and Diane caught up the child in her arms and kissed her, while Francis climbed on to his father’s knee and patted the other, indicating that he wished Mary to use that.
Henry had an arm about each child.
‘Now you must tell me what you have been doing, my dear little ones.’
They chattered, gay and laughing. Mary, her big eyes seeming to grow bigger, explained the perilous journey in detail, making the King laugh with her description of how they had foiled the English fleet. Diane, hugging Elizabeth, joined in their laughter; and Catherine suddenly realized that Mary Stuart was no longer a dignified little Queen; with the King and Diane she was just a six-year-old little girl.
There was no place for Catherine in that magic circle.
She crept away unnoticed, and went to the cradle in which lay little Claude.
The baby at least seemed glad to see her. She clucked and laughed as her mother bent over her. Catherine held up a finger and the baby’s eyes grew large as she stared at the jewel there. Then she reached for it, laughing.
‘You love your mother then, Baby Claude,’ murmured Catherine.
But she knew that Baby Claude would grow up soon; then she too would turn from her mother to Diane― unless a miracle happened.
The King grew more and more under the influence of Diane. He had created her Duchesse de Valentinois and bestowed greater and richer estates upon her.
She was such a good Catholic that it was only right, thought the King, that the confiscated property of Protestants should be given to her, together with fines which the Jews were called upon to pay from time to time.
Brooding on her hatred, Catherine despised herself. Why did she not find some way of killing Diane? What folly it was to love, for it was only her love for Henry which stopped her again and again from trying one of the poisons she had in her possession. Sometimes she felt that it would be worthwhile risking the perpetual hatred of Henry if she could free herself from the continual humiliation of witnessing his love for Diane.
But she knew her love for her husband was greater than her hatred for his mistress. That was the crux of her problem. While matters stood as they were, she had that period between having children when she could share her husband with Diane; at other times she lived on her imagination. But Diane dead, and her death traced to Catherine, might mean banishment― anything, in which case she would be robbed of Henry’s visits and those other intimacies which she enjoyed in her mind.
Sometimes she implored the Ruggieri to help her. They stood firm. No matter how subtle the poison, they dared not risk it. They begged her to cling to reason. It was difficult; it was only her desire for her husband that saved Diane’s life.
Early the following year her son Louis was born, and in June of the same year she had her coronation. The crown was placed upon her head, but it was Diane who wore the Crown jewels; and it was Diane’s head with that of the King which appeared on the medals.
Tired out by the celebrations which attended her coronation, she would lie in her bed and think yearningly of the King as she had seen him that day in his white armour covered by a tunic of cloth of silver, the scabbard of his sword encrusted with rubies and diamonds; with what dignity he had ridden his noble white charger, while over his head was held, by mounted men with frisky horses which pranced on each side of the King’s, a canopy of blue velvet embroidered with golden fleur-de-lys.
He had looked so noble, so kingly. No wonder people had cheered him.
Catherine clenched and unclenched her hands. If only― I will do it. I do not care what happens. I will not see him doting on her, all the time giving her what belongs by right to me. Many times during the darkness of night she poisoned Diane in her imagination; she saw herself sprinkling powdered white poison over the woman’s food; she saw Diane turning the book whose pages were smeared with some deadly solution that would seep into her skin; she saw her drawing on gloves that had been cunningly treated by Cosmo and Lorenzo.
But with each morning, caution came hand in hand with common sense, and although she could not part with an idea which was an obsession and belonged to her life as much as did her love for her husband and her hatred for his mistress, she knew that the time was not yet ripe.
Contemplating the gaiety of the life at court, it seemed to Catherine that a colourfully embroidered cloth had been laid across something that was horrible, for the wars of religion were taking on a deep significance throughout the land.
The Chambre Ardente― a special chamber to deal with Huguenots― had been created by Parliament. Henry was less cruel than many about him and he did not wish to have his subjects tortured and burned at the stake, even though he was convinced that their misguided religious views might merit this punishment; but he was hemmed in by strong men and women who demanded punishment for the heretic. These were the wily de Guises, grown more powerful since their niece, Mary Stuart, had arrived in France, the cruel Montmorency, and Diane herself.
Calvin was flourishing, and Protestantism was growing everywhere; there were even some towns where the Reformers were in a majority; and where they were, as Diane did not hesitate to point out to the King, they did not refrain from persecuting Catholics. A firm hand was needed, said the Catholic party.
Protestantism must be ruthlessly suppressed.
Catherine, concerned with her own obsession, felt aloof from the conflagration. She would state no opinions and favor none unless it were beneficial to her to show favour. If the Protestants could help Catherine de’
Medici in her fight against Diane, then they should have her help; but if the Catholics could prove advantageous in the same cause, then Catherine was all for the Catholics.
Watch and wait for an opportunity to defeat Diane, should be her motto.