The Serpent and the Moon: Two Rivals for the Love of a Renaissance King (35 page)

The next day, the coffin was put on a chariot drawn by six horses caparisoned in black and carried very slowly to the royal priory at Haute-Bruyère, about six miles north of Rambouillet. For the following two days, prayers and masses were held there while the church bells rang continuously. On April 6, the two caskets with the heart and the entrails were buried in the priory church. On April 11, the cortège with the rest of François’ mortal remains proceeded to the Palace of Saint-Cloud, home of the bishop of Paris.

On April 24, just over three weeks after François’ death, the doors to the great hall at Saint-Cloud opened. Inside, the walls and ceiling were lined in blue velvet, covered in
fleur-de-lys
and golden salamanders. The effigy of the late king lay on the bier, draped in cloth of gold and edged with ermine. A large silver
torchère
, its candles lit, stood at each corner of the catafalque. There was no other light in the hall, which was permeated with the smell of burning incense. The wood-and-plaster effigy was dressed in the late king’s robes of state; a shirt of crimson satin, the collar of the Order of Saint-Michel, a tunic of blue satin covered in golden
fleur-de-lys
, the great coronation cloak of purple velvet also stitched with
fleur-de-lys
and edged with ermine, and a velvet cap on the head under the coronation crown. The hands were clasped on the chest in prayer. A red velvet cushion with François’ scepter lay on one side of the bier, and on the other, the hand of justice. The bier was covered by a canopy of cloth of gold. A crucifix lay at the effigy’s feet. Two heralds kept watch day and night while the nobles and clergy sat on benches along the walls.

Twice a day for the next eleven days, at the time the late king would normally take his meals, his effigy was placed in front of the royal dining table. Those who had usually been present at the king’s meals
would attend the effigy-king. The guests bowed before the “king” and sat down at the table. The place settings, plates, glasses, and cutlery were blessed for each meal by the cardinal, and the king’s napkin was presented to the senior guest by the maître d’hôtel. Serving dishes for three courses, and the appropriate wines, were brought in by the gentlemen ushers, preceded by the steward. The cardinal would say Grace and add the
De Profundis
, appropriate for a funeral. The food was tasted by the steward, served, and left untouched. At the end of the meal, the effigy was laid back on the gold-draped catafalque and the food distributed to the poor. Throughout this bizarre repast, the public continued to file past in a silence broken only by sobbing.

The macabre ceremony was enacted twice a day until May 4, when the effigy was removed. Overnight, the blue and gold hangings were changed and the “
salle d’honneur
” became the “
salle funèbre
,” the walls and ceilings completely draped in black. The king’s coffin was brought into the center of the room where the effigy had lain. The crown, the scepter, and the hand of justice were placed on the coffin.

On May 18, Henri, dressed in the dark purple velvet of deep royal mourning,
²
his cloak held by his cousins the Princes of the Blood, bowed for the last time before the coffin. For this ceremony, the effigy was not on view. This was Henri’s only part in the traditional funeral ceremonies, since the living king could not be seen while the late king was still alive in the form of his effigy. It was not acceptable to have two French kings simultaneously present together. On May 21, François’ coffin joined those of his two sons in Nôtre-Dame-des-Champs, all without their effigies. En route to Saint-Denis, the cortège passed through a Paris transformed: houses draped in purple velvet edged with silver thread, the flash of metal arms, black bobbing plumes, lanterns draped in black, a profusion of lit candles, the mourning costumes of all the many military and other groups, and expressions of sincere affection and admiration for the deceased king. Unable to join in the general mourning for reasons of protocol, Henri, accompanied by his friends Vielleville and Saint-André, watched the procession from a
window. It must have crossed Henri’s mind in his sadness that no matter how tragic the scene, the deaths of his father and two brothers had made his own ascendancy possible.

After a requiem Mass the next day, the church was closed and the three effigies were placed on litters. The king’s now had a different pair of hands—one holding the scepter, the other the hand of justice. The doors were opened to admit the members of the
Parlement
who had come in solemn procession from Paris. Once they had paid their respects, the elaborate funeral cortège comprising the country’s great and good set out for Nôtre-Dame-de-Paris. The three effigies on litters preceded the three coffins. More ceremonies followed; the last rites were once again administered and the effigies removed. Finally, François and his sons were laid to rest in the vault of the Abbey of Saint-Denis. Some months earlier, Henri had joked with his friends about this day and speculated how it would be. To his own surprise, he was deeply moved. As the new king, Henri II was not permitted to follow the coffin to Saint-Denis, but because he wanted to watch the procession, he again placed himself discreedy at a window overlooking the funeral route. His eyes were so full of tears he could not tell which was his father’s coffin and which were those of his brothers.

_____________________

1
. A number of sources claim that François warned Henri against the ambitions of the Guise family, but as there is no mention of them in the transcript of his last words, it is more likely that this warning was added to contemporary accounts of the king’s death in later years after the disgrace of the Guises.

2
. Males of the French royal family generally wore black for mourning. The new king wore deep purple. Unlike other Christian queens who traditionally wore white, Catherine wore black, adding some flattering white trimmings in emulation of Diane de Poitiers.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

King Henri II

F
rançois’ death freed Henri from a cloud that had hung over him since the time of his return from Spain. The new king had not been close to his father, nor had he felt appreciated by him. He had never forgiven his father for sending him to Spain as a hostage, for cheating him of his childhood. Now, at last, for the first time, he was his own master. The countenance and carriage of the twenty-eight-year-old king changed markedly and he looked as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He smiled; he
laughed
, and radiated a new confidence, a joyfulness unseen in him before. Henri’s time had come.

The many early reports of his silent, sullen, taciturn, and melancholy nature described a confused and troubled prince returning from a harsh imprisonment imposed on him unjustly by a father and grandmother whom he had loved and respected. On Henri’s arrival home, his grandmother died, and his father and king, the person whose love and understanding he wanted more than any other, was too preoccupied to ease him gently back to normality. The king asked Diane de Poitiers to help his troubled son while he made no secret of his preference
for his other two boys. By the time of Henri’s accession, everyone from that sad and sorry era had died—except for his enemy Charles V, and the two people whose support and devotion he had never been given reason to doubt: Diane de Poitiers and Anne de Montmorency. Now the new king could show them how highly he valued them. His enemy he would deal with later.

The inevitable, predicted palace revolution began. In defiance of his father’s last wishes, the new king’s first decision was to recall his mentor and friend, Anne de Montmorency. They met at Saint-Germain on April 2. For the past six years, the Constable had been living on his estates in self-imposed exile, but he had always kept in touch with Henri. Their friendship was based on trust and admiration, a true father-to-son devotion, and they shared the same opinions on politics and religion. Montmorency was a tried and seasoned warrior, zealous, sincere, and utterly devoted to his young king. He was a good choice.

Henri knew he still had a great deal to learn and immediately installed Montmorency as president of his newly appointed Privy Council, which consisted of old friends or cousins he cherished, including three members of the Guise family.
¹
The fifty-four-year-old warrior saw himself as the power behind the throne. To stay there, he knew that he must watch the emergence of the powerful Guise family, and also the Princes of the Blood—the Bourbon brothers, natural rivals to the Lorrainers. Unfortunately, Montmorency had never been popular. His brusque manner and rudeness, not to mention his brutality, made him feared and loathed. He was reasonably intelligent politically and quite a good military strategist; but his greatest qualities were undoubtedly his physical courage and his endurance. This was a time of heroes, and the Constable de Montmorency was acknowledged as a giant among them.

Montmorency was confirmed as Grand Master of the household and took the oath as Henri’s Constable of France, with all his former
prerogatives and incomes restored. Four years later, the king created him a duke and a peer, placing this mere baron on a par with the highest in the land. Inevitably, there were those who felt Henri was taking a chance relying on a man twice his age. Some thought the king was substituting the authority of one father for another. But Henri knew that for his confidence to take root, he needed the experience and advice of Anne de Montmorency. The king had good reason to be grateful to his friend. As Grand Master and Constable of France, he and his family held the colonelcy of the French Infantry, the admiralcy of France, and the four great governorships of Provence, Languedoc, Picardy, and the Ile-de-France. Gray-haired and solid, Anne de Montmorency was a man to whom no treachery came as a surprise, but who gave his friendship and love to this young man. He had known his new king since he was in his cradle, and would serve and advise him loyally, as he had his father.

Factions had always existed at court and Henri aligned himself with the two most powerful of them: the Constable in conjunction with the three feckless Bourbon brothers, Princes of the Blood; and, to counterbalance the power of Montmorency, the Guise brothers, cold, brilliant, fanatically Catholic—and supported by Diane. For the time being, all was harmony between them. Catherine was not yet consulted, but she knew Diane wanted what she did—glory and success for Henri II, the new king of France.

Catherine’s resentment and private humiliation went deep, but she and Diane had no cause to be enemies in public. Although she was now the queen, nothing really changed for her. Diane and Montmorency made all the decisions, just as Louise de Savoie, and not Queen Claude, had done for the young King François I on his accession. Hate and Wait.

On the evening of April 2, the late king’s favorites, and in particular those promoted by the duchesse d’Etampes, were thanked and relieved of their duties. Some were even imprisoned. The king gave the
Parlement
his new appointments and they were approved. Among those to benefit was Diane’s son-in-law Robert de La Marck, duc de Bouillon and prince of Sedan, who was made a marshal of France. At
the end of May, Henri’s official mourning ceased. He rewarded his close friends and relations by according them the insignia of the Order of Saint-Michel, the highest of the royal orders.

A
T last Henri could take his revenge on Anne d’Etampes for all the many years of her malevolence toward him and Diane, and especially for her involvement in the Treaty of Crespy. Her ruin was just and immediate. Two days after François I’s death, she arrived at Saint-Germain, thinking to move back into her apartments, and was told that their gift was in the hands of the dowager-queen, Eleonore. Anne was forced to retire, knowing her lovely home of twenty years would be given to the Constable. More retribution would follow.

It was not solely revenge. Anne d’Etampes had long been suspected of passing on military information she had overheard during her time with the late king. Her suspected treason presented Henri with an opportunity to punish his father’s mistress for all the years of insults and slanders against his “Lady.” The imperial ambassador in France, Jean de Saint-Mauris, wrote that Anne had made so many enemies, if she appeared in public she would have been stoned.
²
Her nominal husband, the duc d’Etampes (who had been created duc de Chevreuse in 1545), was appointed to Henri’s Privy Council. To punish Anne for stealing his income for the past fifteen years, her husband, who was also the governor of Brittany, locked her in one of his châteaux there. She was accused of selling secrets to the enemy, so Henri confiscated the duchy of Etampes and returned it to the crown.
³

The jewels François I had given Anne d’Etampes from the royal
treasury were reclaimed, as were those of Queen Eleonore, but in the latter’s case, without any recrimination.
⁴
It was to his mistress, Diane de Poitiers, and not Catherine, his queen, that Henri gave these jewels, including an extraordinarily large and beautiful diamond seized from Anne.
⁵
Henri also took Anne’s town house in the rue Saint-Aubine next to the Palace of Les Tournelles and gave it to Diane.

The king himself appeared as a witness at Anne’s trial by the
Parlement
. Most of her household, staff, and servants were imprisoned. Anne herself remained a prisoner in Brittany until her husband died eighteen years later. By then, fat and friendless, she spent the rest of her days in pathetic efforts to help the Protestants. Anne d’Etampes survived until 1580, outliving everyone in this story by many years. In her prime as François I’s mistress, she had been described as “
La plus savante des belles et la plus belle des savantes
”—“The most erudite of the beautiful and the most beautiful of the erudite.”

Many accused the new king’s mistress of being as greedy as her predecessor. It is true that Diane enjoyed the honors she received as well as the king’s many gifts, although it could be said that Anne d’Etampes’ avarice was for her pleasure, whereas Diane’s was for her glory. Finding herself as powerful as her erstwhile teacher Anne de Beaujeu, Diane never lost her head or forgot her teachings, especially: “Show restraint in everything,” and “Always carry yourself with dignity, be cool of manner and confident, look modest, speak softly, be reliable and strong, and never flinch from doing the right thing at the right time.” Nor would Diane forget all that she had been taught by her husband, who had served through four reigns. Rather than play the power game as he could so easily have done, Louis de Brézé had taught his young wife to follow his example and adhere to the values of the day—namely, to consolidate her house, build her fortune, and bring up her children to do the same. Nonetheless, Diane de Poitiers, true to her era and her breeding, must be acknowledged as acquisitive if not rapacious. She would also prove implacable in her vengeance.

The demands of life at court required enormous financial resources. Diane’s only income came from her estates; to entertain the court of some twelve thousand people, including their servants, she counted on the king’s generosity. Equally “greedy” were others who were close to Henri and obliged to entertain as lavishly as Diane—the Guise family, Montmorency, and, in particular, Henri’s close friend Jacques d’Albon de Saint-André. All benefited handsomely from the king’s largesse. The secret of Saint-André’s success was his ability to juggle the various factions at court and somehow remain on good terms with them all—the Guises, Montmorency, the Princes of the Blood. But most important, he was close to Diane. His sister was a
dame d’honneur
to Catherine, his son one of the
garçons d’honneur
to the dauphin. Brantôme writes that Saint-André lived in extraordinary style: Philibert de l’Orme himself renovated his château, where he entertained the whole court in enviable splendor.

T
HE new regime was summed up by one of the few of François I’s favorites to keep his place. Claude de L’Aubespine wrote that there were two great stars in the sky, the Sun and the Moon: Anne de Montmorency and Diane de Poitiers. They held all the power in the realm—the one ruling over the crown, the other over the person. Another marshal of France, Gaspard de Saulx-Tavannes, wrote that “the Constable is the captain and navigator of the ship of state, but Diane de Poitiers holds the tiller.”

There were many at court who were still not entirely sure of Diane’s position in relation to the king. Henri II seemed to be content with his wife and did not flirt with others, so these courtiers hardly imagined that such a dashing young man of twenty-eight would have a mistress of forty-six. It was therefore naturally assumed by most that the relationship must be platonic. But Henri was madly in love. Gentle since birth, attached to Diane by habit, he lived out his childhood fantasy and was proud to have made a conquest he never imagined possible.

Diane de Poitiers did not assume the role of an official royal mistress.
She saw herself as the king’s partner—someone he could trust, love, and in whom he could confide. At court and in public, Henri always referred to Diane as “
Ma Dame
”—“My Lady,” which signifies the true relationship between them. His subjects called her “
Madame
” just as they would a sister or daughter of the sovereign. She was his fair Lady in the true chivalric sense. She was the Lady for whom he would slay the dragon. He would be willing to die for her. To the outside world it was the perfect platonic love, but for Henri and Diane, it was much more.

Henri II began his reign by distributing the possessions and revenues confiscated from the incumbents of the previous regime. The Guise family gained far more than Henri bestowed upon his other friends, who all received high posts and incomes—in particular, his childhood friend Jacques de Saint-André. The new queen, Catherine, had to make do with crumbs from her husband’s table. She was allowed to keep the income from her own dowry, and she received a sum of money and some posts for her Strozzi cousins.