takes part with the Duc 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’Alençon—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 Duc de Guise, because she would reveal all the secrets of state to him, and make the House of Lorraine more dangerous than it is already. This greatest princess of Europe, young and beautiful, a “noble mind in a lovely person,” as Brantôme 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 Duc de Guise no longer whispers in her ear “Eternal love.” The great Balafré, stern in resolve, firm in affection, is disgusted at her légèreté. He has ceased even to be jealous. His mind is now occupied by those religious intrigues which he developed later as leader of the Holy Catholic League. Guise dislikes and distrusts the Valois race. He especially abhors their unholy coquetting with heretics in the matter of Marguerite’s approaching marriage. 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 for his suspected connivance in the murder of his illustrious father, Francis of Guise, of which accusation Coligni could never clear himself.[11] 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 Montmorenci refuses to leave Chantilly. The Admiral, more honest than astute, is completely duped. It is whispered 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 “crimson,” 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 conflicting parties. She neither sees, nor hears, nor knows aught that shall disarrange her projects. Silent, inscrutable, her hands hold the threads of life. Within 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 council, that events are approaching a crisis. She has secured the present support of the young Duc de 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 regiments which are to form his battle-front. Fifteen hundred Protestants were slaughtered at Amboise alone, but there are thousands upon thousands remaining, 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 Condés, 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 Condé (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 fascinating 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 satisfy her longings and secure Charles on the throne.