The Emperor Charles was also amazed at this time by the gorgeousness
and extravagance in dress displayed by the _bourgeoisie_. “At Poitiers
he was received by near five hundred gentlemen, richly attired, and
two thousand of the citizens in robes of velvet and satin, bordered
with gold and silver lace. From Orleans a still more imposing cavalcade
rode out to meet him. The _bourgeoisie_ of this royal city had certain
privileges which, like the citizens of Paris, they shared with the
nobility. Ninety-two of these privileged merchants of the upper
_bourgeoisie_ accompanied the governor and persons of distinction to
greet the emperor. All of them were mounted on excellent chargers,
and all wore coats or casaques of black velvet, and doublets or vests
of white satin fastened with gold buttons. Their boots were of white
morocco, slashed, and their spurs either silver-gilt or gold. Their
caps or toques were also of velvet, elaborately ornamented with gold
embroider and precious stones.”
Orleans was then considered a large, handsome town. Charles V. said
it was the finest city he saw in France. “Where, then,” he was asked,
“does your majesty place Paris?”
“Oh, Paris,” he replied, “is no city, but rather a little world.”
As Francis I. was ruled by his favorite, the _Duchesse d’ Étampes_,
his wife, Queen Eleanor, was simply a dazzling ornament in his court,
where she always appeared in the splendor of the most gorgeous attire,
solacing herself with the only privilege left to her, of displaying her
rightful rank and prestige. “Near her, as if to seek the protection
which her position afforded, if not her influence,—for of that she had
none,—the quiet, subtle girl-wife of the youthful Prince Henry was
always to be found. Of all that passed around her nothing escaped her
vigilant, restless eyes. She was inwardly taking notes to serve for
her guidance in the future,—resigned to live, and learn, and bide her
time, fully assured—for was it not written in the stars?—that, as time
rolled on, her turn would come to sway the destinies of the kingdom.
“No attentions did Catherine de’ Medici receive or look for from
her boy-husband. He was a fluttering captive in the chains of first
love, and the most brilliant beauty of the court, the famed _Diana de
Poitiers_, was the lady of his heart, at the shrine of whose loveliness
he bowed the knee. Prince Henry was then seventeen, and the lady had
numbered thirty-seven summers. As to winters, they glided o’er her
smooth, fair brow, leaving no trace of their passage, or any snowy
signs of age on her luxuriant raven hair. Her husband, the Comte de
Dreux-Brezé, died in 1531, and she erected a magnificent monument to
his memory, and ever after wore the widow’s dress. Nature had made her
beautiful forever, and beautiful she remained, unaided by art, we are
told, until the end of her threescore years and nine.
“At this early period of Henry’s attachment to her, Diana derived from
it no influence at court. The king disliked his second son, whose
sentimental worship of an ‘aged siren,’ as envious ladies were pleased
to call her, was a subject of jest among his companions, while Diana
professed for the royal youth a tender but motherly affection; placid
Catherine looking on unmoved.”
But this placid Catherine would not always sheathe her sharp stiletto
of Italian craftiness, and then its gleaming point would pierce the
quivering hearts of her victims with merciless cruelty.
During the reign of her husband, Henry II., Catherine lived a quiet,
unobtrusive life, having little or no influence over the king, who was
completely under the fascinating sway of the beautiful widow, Diana
of Poitiers, who, possessing keen insight and much quick wit, was in
reality the sovereign of France during the reign of Henry II.
Catherine de’ Medici manifested no outward signs of her discomfiture in
thus having her place and power usurped by her husband’s fair favorite,
but she was silently waiting her turn, and carefully observing the
various moves in the political game then being played in Europe. She
affected not only tolerance, but even friendship towards Diana; but
the crafty Italian was meanwhile watching with tiger-cunning the
right moment to spring forth from her hidden lair and seize upon her
coveted prize, _the imperial power of the throne_; _this_ was her
only ambition. With wise insight she realized the hopelessness of
endeavoring to free her husband from the ensnaring power of Diana, and
so she artfully made his favorite her friend, and seemingly acquiesced
in the ascendency of her rival.
On the 31st of March, 1547, Francis I. died, and in the following July,
Henry II. was crowned, his elder brother having died some time before.
On this occasion Diana and Catherine sat together under a “canopied
tribune,” beholding the handsome prince in his royal robes, as he knelt
before the archbishop and received from his hands the imperial crown.
But another character connected with this court demands attention.
Jeanne d’Albret, the daughter of Queen Margaret of Navarre, was brought
up at the Court of Francis I. and educated in the Romish faith. But
her mother had adopted the principles of the Reformation, and Jeanne
d’Albret afterwards became the most ardent defender of the Protestants
at a time when such defence required the bravest heart and most
unflinching courage.
Soon after the coronation of Henry II. the marriage of Jeanne d’Albret,
heiress of the kingdom of Navarre, was celebrated in the Château de
Moulins. The bridegroom was Antoine de Bourbon, Duc de Vendôme and
first prince of the blood after the sons of Henry II. King Henry and
his brilliant court repaired to Moulins to celebrate these nuptials.
Upon this occasion Catherine de’ Medici was attired with gorgeous
splendor. She was very fond of dress, and with the richly-robed Italian
ladies in her suite presented a magnificent spectacle. Amidst all the
brilliant costumes, one lady was distinguished by her widow’s garb.
But Madame Diana well understood her charms, and in her costly robe
of white and black velvet, with veil of silver tissue and _coiffe_ of
netted velvet, bordered with pearls, she became at once _distingué_ and
enchanting; and though Catherine de’ Medici might flash in gorgeous
colors and royal jewels, her ugly, heavy features and ungraceful form
only appeared more unattractive by the side of her beautiful rival.
King Henry, who always wore black and white in compliment to Diana, was
attired on this occasion “in a _pourpoint_, or vest of black velvet,
slashed with white satin, with short skirts or basques, and a cloak of
the same material, embroidered in broad stripes of gold. Trunk-hose of
white silk, very large, and rounded with horse-hair or wool, a band
of gold braiding attaching them to the long white silk stockings, and
white silk shoes with black rosettes. A black velvet toque, with a
white plume of two or three feathers placed on the right side, and
bordered with four rows of black and white pearls. His cravat was of
fine lace, and an _escarcelle_ or pocket was fastened on his right side
by gold chains to an embroidered waist-belt.”
“The princes and other persons of distinction were similarly dressed,
the bridegroom wearing blue and white velvet and satin, many jewels
in his plumed hat, many rings on his fingers, a jewelled pouch at his
side, and a massive gold chain passing twice round his neck.”
But a lovely vision was presented by the bride of nineteen, Jeanne
d’Albret, as she stood at the altar of the chapel of Moulins. “She was
arrayed in white and silver satin brocade, her hair flowing loosely
over her shoulders, but confined at the forehead by a circlet of pearls
with diamond clasp, as was usual at that time for brides of high
degree. Her long, heavy train, embroidered in silver and seed-pearls,
was borne by four young pages in costumes of blue velvet and silver,
white satin shoes with blue rosettes, and blue velvet toques with small
white plumes. The great width of the deeply pendent sleeves (another
distinguishing mark of the _toilettes_ of ladies of rank, women of
inferior station being permitted far less latitude in this respect)
heavily embroidered to match the train, seemed from their weight almost
to need the services of two more pages to support them. A stomacher of
pearls and diamonds, a _cordelière_ of the same, silver-embroidered
satin shoes, and veil of Italian silver tissue falling very low on the
back of the dress, completed this artistic and becoming bridal costume.”
But a sketch of Catherine de’ Medici has little to do with such
fascinating scenes. With the death of her husband, King Henry, began
the terrible spectacles of bloodshed and vice and cruelties which
have made her name a synonyme of revolting wickedness. Not that
Henry II. was not also cruel and guilty of many crimes, for he even
celebrated his first appearance in Paris after his coronation by
the public burning on the Place de Grève of half a dozen heretics;
and he had established a special chamber in the Parliament called
significantly the “Chambre Ardente”; and he would sit at the window of
the Hôtel-de-la-Roche-Pot, which commanded a full view of the place of
execution in the Rue Saint-Antoine, and watch the writhings of the
burning heretics; but notwithstanding these atrocious instances, the
cruelties of Catherine de’ Medici were on so much larger scale, and
planned with such diabolical butchery, that in contrast Henry II. seems
almost humane.
The reign of Francis I. had left France in a mournful condition. The
peace of Crespy had hurt the feelings both of royalty and of the
nation. It had left England in possession of Calais and Boulogne, and
confirmed the ascendency of Charles V. in Germany, Italy, and Spain on
the French frontiers. But Charles V. met his match as a general, in the
brave defender of Metz, the valiant Duke of Guise, who commanded Henry
II.’s forces at that memorable siege. This successful defence against
the besieging army of the Emperor Charles V. gave Guise vast renown,
and weakened materially the power of Charles.
France had been for nearly six years free from actual war with the
emperor, when the German princes sought the aid of Henry II. in an
alliance against Charles V., who was threatening to become as despotic
in Germany as he was in Spain. The German princes had proposed to give
Henry II. possession of the three cities, Metz, Toul, and Verdun, or
at least allow him to conquer them, as these cities were not Germanic
in language. As a further inducement to the French king to make an
alliance with them, they promised to aid him in endeavoring to recover
from Charles, Henry’s heritage of Milan. This had been the constant
ambition of Francis I., to obtain possession of this ancestral
heritage. Henry accordingly entered into negotiations with the German
Princes; and to the declaration of war of Maurice of Saxony against the
Emperor Charles, was appended a manifesto from the king of France.
“Therein Henry announced himself the ‘Defender of the liberties of
Germany, and protector of her captive princes,’ further stating, ‘that
broken-hearted (_le cœur navré_) at the condition of Germany, he could
not refuse to aid her, but had determined to do so to the utmost of his
power and ability, even to personally engaging in this war, undertaken
for liberty, and not for his personal benefit.’ This document, written
in French, was headed by the representation of a cap between two
poniards, and around it the inscription, ‘The emblem of liberty.’
It is said to have been copied from some ancient coins, and to have
been appropriated as the symbol of freedom by Cæsar’s assassins. Thus
singularly was brought to light by a king of the French Renaissance
that terrible _cap of liberty_, before which the ancient crown of
France was one day destined to fall.”
Henry II., thereupon leaving Catherine de’ Medici as regent in France,
much to her profound surprise at such unusual attention from her
indifferent husband,—who took good care, however, to tie her hands by
such restrictions that she was regent only in name, while Diana held
the real power,—departed with his army, and with ease took possession
of the cities of Metz, Toul, and Verdun.
It was in endeavoring to reconquer Metz that Charles V. met his
disastrous repulse in the brave defence of the Duke of Guise, who was
then governor of Metz.
After the fatigues and horrors of war, the French court turned again to
balls and tournaments, and the building of châteaux, and the patronage
of art. It was at this time that Bernard Palissy was much patronized
by the fair Diana, whom Henry had made _Duchesse de Valentinois_,
presenting her with the _Château de Chenonceaux_, which seemed to be
the only attention from the king which caused Catherine de’ Medici to
vow vengeance, as she had desired to possess the château herself.
Notwithstanding desolating wars, the French court of Henry II. far
outshone that of Francis I. in extravagance of dress and living.
“Never had any queen of France, except, perhaps, Queen Eleanor, and her
court been arrayed in brocades so costly, or bedecked with gems more
precious than Catherine de’ Medici and her ladies, though the crown
jewels were worn by Madame Diana. At least they were transferred to her
when the reign of _Madame d’Etampes_ ended. Diana wore pearls only,
black and white, which harmonized with her mourning dress. She may,
however, have sometimes condescended to wear the crown diamonds, though
they were not of great value.
“Never had the _chefs-d’œuvre_ of Italian cookery been served at
any state banquets on gold and silver plate in greater profusion
or of more artistic workmanship, or the table ornamented with such
magnificent productions of the glass manufactories of Venice. Carriages
sufficiently capacious, luxuriously furnished, and ornamented with
thousands of gilt nails, now took the place of the litter for
travelling,—the gentlemen, when not aged or gouty, still preferring
horses.”