A KING'S MISTRESS
It is the 20th of May, and we ask our readers to go with us to the
Louvre at Paris, and to the apartments of the wife of the Great
Seneschal, Madame de Brézé, Duchesse de Valentinois, commonly called
Diane de Poitiers. Nine o'clock in the morning has just struck on the
great clock of the château. Madame Diane, all in white, in a decidedly
coquettish _negligé_, is leaning or half reclining on a bed covered
with black velvet. King Henri, already dressed in a magnificent costume,
is sitting on a chair at her side.
Let us glance a moment at the scene and the _dramatis personæ_.
The apartment of Diane de Poitiers was resplendent with all the
magnificence and taste which that fair dawning of art called the
Renaissance had had the skill to lavish upon a king's chamber. Paintings
signed "Le Primatice" represented various incidents of the hunting
field, wherein the Huntress Diane, goddess of woods and forests,
naturally figured as the principal heroine. The gilded and colored
medallions and panels repeated on all sides the intertwined armorial
bearings of François I. and Henri II. In like manner were memories of
father and son intertwined in the heart of the fair Diane. The emblems
were no less historical and full of meaning, and in twenty places was
to be seen the crescent of Phœbus-Diane, between the Salamander of the
conqueror of Marignan, and Bellerophon overthrowing the Chimæra, a
device adopted by Henri II. after the taking of Boulogne from the
English. This fickle crescent appeared in a thousand different forms and
combinations which did great credit to the decorators of the time: here
the royal crown was placed above it, and there four H's, four _fleurs de
lis_, and four crowns together made a superb setting for it; again it
was threefold, and then shaped like a star. The mottoes were no less
varied, and most of them were written in Latin. "Diana regum venatrix"
(Diana, huntress of kings),--was that a piece of impertinence or of
flattery? "Donec totum impleat orbem" can be translated in two
ways,--"The crescent is to become a full moon," or "The king's glory
will fill the whole world." "Cum plena est, fit æmula solis," can be
freely translated, "Beauty and royalty are sisters." And the lovely
arabesques which enclosed devices and mottoes, and the superb
furnishings on which they were reproduced,--all these, if we should
attempt to describe them, would not only put our magnificence of the
present day to the blush, but would lose too much in the description.
Now let us cast our eyes upon the king.
History tells us that he was tall, supple, and strong. He had to resort
to regular diet and daily exercise to combat a certain tendency to
stoutness; and yet in the chase he left the swiftest far behind, and
carried away the palm from the strongest at the jousts and tourneys. His
hair and beard were black, and his complexion very dark, which gave him
so much more animation, if we may believe contemporary memoirs. He wore,
at the time we make his acquaintance, as indeed he always did, the
colors of the Duchesse de Valentinois,--a coat of green satin slashed
with white, glistening with pearls and diamonds; a double chain of gold,
to which was suspended the medal of the order of Saint Michael; a sword
chased by Benvenuto; a collar of white point de Venise; a velvet cloak
dotted with golden lilies hung gracefully from his shoulders. It was a
costume of singular richness, and suitable to a cavalier of exquisite
elegance.
We have said in brief that Diane was clad in a simple white peignoir of
a singularly thin and transparent stuff. To paint her divine loveliness
would not be so easy a matter; and it would be hard to say whether the
black velvet cushion on which her head lay, or the dress, startling in
its purity, by which her form was enveloped, served best to set off the
snows and lilies of her complexion. And surely it was such a perfect
combination of delicate outlines as to drive Jean Goujon himself to
despair. There is no more perfect piece of antique statuary; and this
statue was alive, and very much alive too, if common report is to be
believed. As for the graceful motion with which these lovely limbs were
instinct, we must not attempt to describe it. It can no more be
reproduced than can a ray of sunlight. As for age, she had none. In this
point, as in so many others, she was like the immortals; but by her side
the youngest and most blooming seemed old and wrinkled. The Protestants
babbled about philters and potions, to which they said that she had
recourse to enable her to remain always sixteen. The Catholics replied
that all she did was to take a cold bath every day, and wash her face in
ice water even in winter. Her prescription has been preserved; but if it
be true that Jean Goujon's "Diane au Cerf" was carved from this royal
model, that prescription has no longer the same effect.
[Illustration: A King's Mistress.]
Thus was she a worthy object of the affection of the two kings whom one
after the other her beauty had dazzled. For if the story of the favor
obtained by Monsieur Saint-Vallier, thanks to his fine brown eyes, seems
apocryphal, it is almost conclusively proved that Diane was François's
mistress before she became Henri's.
"It is said," chronicles Le Laboureur, "that King François, who was the
first lover of Diane de Poitiers, having expressed to her one day, after
the death of François the dauphin, some dissatisfaction at the lack of
animation exhibited by Prince Henri, she told him that he needed to have
a love affair, and that she would make him fall in love with her."
What woman wills, God wills; and Diane was for twenty years the dearly
and only beloved of Henri.
But now that we have examined the king and the favorite, is it not time
to hear what they are saying?
Henri, holding a parchment in his hand, was reading aloud the following
verses, not without some interruptions and by-play which we cannot set
down here, because they were part of the setting of the piece.
Douce et belle bouchelette,
Plus fraîche, et plus vermeillette
Que le bouton églantine,
Au matin!
Plus suave et mieux fleurante
Que l'immortelle amarante,
Et plus mignarde cent fois
Que n'est la douce rosée
Dont la terre est arrosée
Goutte à goutte au plus doux mois!
Baise-moi, ma douce amie,
Baise-moi, chère vie,
Baise-moi, mignonnement,
Serrement,
Jusques à tant que je die:
Las! je n'en puis plus, ma mie;
Las! mon Dieu, je n'en puis plus.
Lors ta bouchette retire,
Afin que mort, je soupire,
Puis, me donne le surplus.
Ainsi ma douce guerrière,
Mon cœur, mon tout, ma lumière,
Vivons ensemble, vivons,
Et suivons
Les doux soutiens de jeunesse,
Aussi bien une vieillesse
Nous menace sur le port,
Qui, toute courbe et tremblante,
Nous attraîne, chancelante,
La maladie et la mort.[1]
"And what might be the name of this polite versifier who tells us so
well what we are doing?" asked Henri when he had finished his reading.
"He is called Remy Belleau, Sire, and promises to rival Ronsard, it
seems to me. Oh, well!" continued the duchess, "do you put the value of
this lover's poem at five hundred crowns, as I do?"
"He shall have them, this protégé of yours, my beautiful Diane."
"But we must not allow this to make us forget the earlier ones, Sire.
Have you signed the warrant for the pension that I promised in your name
to Ronsard, the prince of poets? You have, haven't you? Well, then, I
have only one favor more to ask at your hands, and that is the vacant
abbey of Recouls for your librarian, Mellin de Saint-Gelais, our French
Ovid."
"Ovid shall have his abbey, never fear, my fair Maecenas," said the
king.
"Ah, how fortunate are you, Sire, to have the power of disposing of so
many benefices and offices at your pleasure! If I could only have your
power just for one short hour!"
"Haven't you it always, ingrate?"
"Really, have I, my Lord? But you haven't given me a kiss for two whole
minutes! That's right, dear. So you say that your power is always at my
command? Don't tempt me, Sire! I warn you that I shall avail myself of
it to pay the enormous claim which Philibert Delorme has presented to
me, on the ground that my Château d'Anet is finished. It will be the
glory of your reign; but how dear it is! Just one kiss, my Henri!"
"And for this kiss, Diane, take for your Delorme the sum produced by the
sale of the governorship of Picardy."
"Sire, do you think that I sell my kisses? I give them to you, Henri.
This Picardy governorship is worth two hundred thousand livres, I should
think, is it not? And then I can take the pearl necklace which has been
offered me, and which I was very anxious to wear to-day at the wedding
of your dear son François. A hundred thousand livres to Philibert, and
a hundred thousand for the necklace; this Picardy matter will do very
well."
"Especially as you estimate it at quite double its real worth, Diane."
"What! is it worth only one hundred thousand livres? Well, then, it's a
very simple matter for me to let the necklace go."
"Nonsense!" said the king, laughing; "there are three or four vacant
companies somewhere which will pay for the necklace, Diane."
"Oh, Sire, you are the most generous of kings, as you are the best
beloved of lovers."
"Yes, you do really love me as I love you, do you not, Diane?"
"He really has the face to ask such a question!"
"But I, you see, dear, I adore you more and more every day, because you
are every day more beautiful. Ah, what a lovely smile you have,
sweetheart, and what a sweet expression! Let me kneel here at your feet.
Put your fair hands on my shoulders. Oh, Diane, how lovely you are, and
how dearly I love you! I could stay here and just gaze at you for hours,
nay, for years. I would forget France, I would forget the whole world."
"And even this formal celebration of Monseigneur the Dauphin's
marriage?" said Diane, smiling; "and yet it is to be solemnized this
very day and in two hours' time. And even if you are all ready in your
magnificence, Sire, I am not ready at all, you see. So go, my dear Lord,
for it is time for me to call my women. Ten o'clock will strike in a
moment."
"Ten o'clock," said Henri; "and upon my word, I have an appointment at
that hour."
"An appointment, Sire? With a lady, perhaps?"
"With a lady."
"Pretty, no doubt?"
"Yes, Diane, very pretty."
"Then it can't be the queen."
"Oh, you wretch! Catherine de Médicis has a certain sort of beauty of
her own, a stern and cold style of beauty, but undeniable. However, it
is not the queen whom I expect. Can you guess who it is?"
"No, I really cannot, Sire."
"It is another Diane, dear,--the living memento of our young affections,
our daughter, our darling daughter."
"You said that too loud and too often, Sire," said Diane, frowning, and
in a somewhat embarrassed tone. "It was agreed that Madame de Castro
should pass for the child of another than myself. I was born to have
legitimate children by you. I have been your mistress because I loved
you; but I will not put up with your openly declaring me your
concubine."
"That shall be as your pride dictates, Diane," was the king's reply;
"but you love our child dearly, do you not?"
"I like to have you love her."
"Oh, yes! I love her very much. She is so fascinating, so clever, so
sweet! And then, Diane, she reminds me so of my younger days and of the
time when I loved you--ah! no more passionately than to-day, God knows,
but when I loved you so that I was willing to commit a crime."
The king, who had suddenly fallen into gloomy reflection, raised his
head.
"This Montgommery! You didn't care for him, did you, Diane? You didn't
care for him?"
"What a foolish question!" said the favorite, with a disdainful smile.
"Still so jealous after twenty years!"
"Yes, I am jealous; I am, and shall always be jealous of you, Diane.
Surely you didn't love him; but he loved you, the villain,--he dared to
love you!"
"_Mon Dieu_! Sire, you have always lent too willing an ear to the
slanders with which these Protestants are always pursuing me. That is
not the part of a Catholic king. In any event, whether the man loved me
or not, what does it matter, if my heart never for an instant ceased to
be wholly yours, for the Comte de Montgommery has been dead many years?"
"Yes, dead!" said the king, in a hollow voice.
"Come, let us not grow mournful over these reminiscences on a day which
ought to be a day of rejoicing," said Diane. "Have you seen François
and Marie yet? Are they always so lovelorn, these children? Well their
terrible impatience will soon be at an end. Think, in two hours they
will be made one, and so glad and happy, but still not so delighted as
the Guises, whose wishes are fully satisfied by this marriage."
"Yes, but who is in a fury about it?" said the king. "My old
Montmorency; and the constable has so much the more reason to lose his
head, because I greatly fear that our Diane is not destined for his
son."
"But, Sire, didn't you promise him this marriage by way of amends?"
"Certainly I did; but it seems that Madame de Castro has objections--"
"A child of eighteen just out of a convent! What objections can she
possibly have?"
"It is to confide them to me that she is probably waiting in my
apartments at this very moment."
"Go to her, then, Sire, while I proceed to beautify myself to please
you."
"And after the ceremony I shall see you again at the tilting match. I am
going to break a lance in your honor once more to-day, and I propose to
make you queen of the lists."
"The queen? And who is the other?"
"There is only one, Diane, and you know it very well. _Au revoir_."
"_Au revoir_, Sire, and pray don't be rash and careless in this tilting;
you make me shudder sometimes."
"There is no danger there, I'm sorry to say; for I could wish that there
might be, so that I might seem a little more deserving in your eyes. But
time is passing, and my two Dianes are both impatient. Tell me just once
more that you love me."
"Sire, I love you as I always have loved you, and as I shall love you
forever."
The king, before letting the curtain fall behind him, threw her a last
kiss with his hand. "Adieu, my dearly loving and dearly loved Diane,"
said he. And he left her.
Then a panel hidden by hangings in the opposite wall opened.
"For the love of heaven, have you done enough chattering for to-day?"
said the Constable de Montmorency, roughly, as he came into the room.
"My friend," said Diane, rising, "you must have seen that even before
ten o'clock, which was the hour of my appointment with you, I did
everything I could to send him away. I was quite as uncomfortable as you
were, believe me."
"As uncomfortable as I! _Pasques-Dieu_! no, my dear; and if you flatter
yourself that your discourse was either instructive or entertaining--In
the first place, what is this new crotchet, of refusing your daughter
Diane's hand to my son François, after having solemnly promised it? By
the crown of thorns! would one not say that the bastard was conferring a
great honor on the Montmorency family by condescending to enter it? The
marriage must take place; do you understand, Diane? And you must take
measures to see that it does. It is the only means left of restoring the
balance between us and the Guises, whom the deuce take! So, Diane, in
spite of the king, in spite of the Pope, in spite of everything, I wish
that this should come to pass."
"But, my friend--"
"Ah!" cried the constable, "and when I tell you that I wish it so,
_Pater noster_!"
"It shall be as you say, my friend," Diane in her fear of him made haste
to say.
[Footnote 1: Sweet and lovely little mouth,
Fresher and ruddier than bud of eglantine
At morn!
Sweeter and more fragrant than the immortal amaranth,
And a hundred times dearer
Than the gentle dew which waters the earth,
Drop by drop, in the sweetest month!
Kiss me, sweet friend; kiss me, dear life.
Kiss me lovingly, closely, until I say:
Alas, my love, I can bear no more!
Alas, my God, I can bear no more!
Then take away thy little mouth, till dead I sigh;
Then bestow on me the rest.
Thus, sweet warrior, my heart, my light, my all,
Let us live together; let us live
And follow the sweet delights of youth,
Since near the haven old age threatens us,
Which, bowed and trembling, tottering, brings us
Sickness and death.]