Madame Serpent Read online

  She was silent, annoyed that he should have noticed the traces of grief on her face, and, having noticed them, been tactless enough to refer to them. But what evil tidings did he speak of?

  As she continued silent, the young man went on: ‘I thought it my duty,

  Duchessina, to carry the news to you. I know your strong feelings for your noble cousin.’

  Her feelings were under control. Was it only where her husband was

  involved that they got the better of training and her natural craft?

  She had no idea to what the Count referred but she said with the utmost

  calm: ‘You had better tell it to me, Count, as you heard it.’

  ‘Oh, Duchessina, you know the condition of our beloved city, how its sufferings are almost unendurable under the tyrant. Many have been driven into exile, and these, with others, met together in secret. They decided to send a petition to Emperor Charles begging him to free Florence from Alessandro.

  Duchessina, they selected your noble cousin, Cardinal Ippolito de’ Medici as their ambassador.’

  ‘And Alessandro’s secret spies discovered this. I know. I know.’

  ‘He got as far as Itri. He would have embarked there for Tunis.’

  ‘And they killed him.’ Catherine covered her swollen eyes with her hands.

  ‘My poor noble cousin. My dearest Ippolito.’

  ‘It was in his wine, Duchessina. His death was terrible, but quick. He did not suffer long.’

  For a few seconds she was silent; then she said: ‘Would there were some to avenge him.’

  ‘His servants were mad with grief, Duchessina. Italy mourns the great Cardinal. Florence is desolate.’

  ‘Oh, our poor country, Sebastiano! Our poor suffering country! I know how you feel. You and I would die for our country.’

  ‘And count it an honour to do so,’ said the young man earnestly.

  She held out her hand and he took it. She was excited by a sudden thought which had come to her, conscious of that strange force which warned her of great events. Standing before her was a man whose eyes glowed fanatically when he spoke of his country.

  ‘Yes, Sebastiano,’ she said, ‘for the sake of your country you would gladly die a thousand deaths. There are men like that. Not many― but I think that you are one of them. If you were, your name would be remembered throughout Italy forever, my dear Count, with reverence.’ Her eyes glowed and the Count,

  looking at her, wondered how he could ever had accepted the general opinion that she was insignificant.

  ‘There have been times,’ she went on, ‘when I have been privileged to see into the future. I fancy I see something now. One day, Sebastiano, you will be called upon to do great deeds for our country.’

  She spoke with such conviction, her eyes glowing almost unnaturally, that it seemed to the young man as if some power spoke through her. He stammered:

  ‘My lady Duchess, if that should be, I should die happy.’

  Catherine withdrew her hand, sighing.

  ‘Ah well,’ she said. ‘you and I must live our lives as wisely as we can. But we will never forget the land of our birth.’

  ‘Never!’ he declared fervently.

  She walked away from him, speaking quietly, as though to herself. ‘I am

  married to the son of a King― but the second son. The Dauphin is not strong, and I have wondered― as the Holy Father wondered― whether God has

  destined me, through my children to bring glory to Italy. My children!’

  Her voice broke suddenly. ‘I have no children. I had hoped―’ she felt her control snapping. She burst out: ‘My husband is enamoured of a sorceress. They say she is a wrinkled old woman but appears as a young and beautiful lady. Life is strange and the ways of Fate are incomprehensible. You comfort me― there is nothing you would not do to serve me and Italy. If ever I were Queen of France, I would not forget― though I know you seek no honours.’

  ‘I seek only the honour of serving our country, Duchessina.’

  ‘You are good, Count; you are noble. We will both remember our country―

  always. We are strangers in a strange land, but never forget Italy. Stay and talk with me awhile. How good it is to speak our native tongue! You may sit, my lord Count. Speak to me of Italy― in Italian. Talk of our beloved Arno and the groves of olives― and the blessed sunshine―’

  But it was she who went on speaking; and as she talked, it was not

  Ippolito― once so well-loved― whom she saw in her mind’s eye; it was Henry, his eyes shining for Diane, shame-faced and apologetic for his wife.

  She told the young Count of her life at the Murate and how she had heard

  the story of the Virgin’s mantle.

  ‘Miracles are made on Earth by those who are great enough to make them,’

  she said. ‘There are some who are selected by the Holy Virgin to work miracles.

  I often think of my position, and the power that would be in my hands to work good for my country, if my brother the Dauphin passed from this life. He is delicate in health; it might be that God has not meant him to rule this land. And then, were I Queen, I must have children― sons― to work for the good of

  France― and Italy.’

  ‘Yes, Duchessina,’ said the Count quietly.

  ‘But I keep you from your duty, Count. When you wish for conversation, go along to the house of the brothers Ruggieri. They will have much to show you that is truly marvellous. When I tell them you are my friend― that you and I understand each other― there is nothing they will not give you.’

  After he had left her, she found the pain of unrequited love was easier to bear. Perhaps, she thought, it will not always be thus.

  ―――――――

  Heavily cloaked and closely hooded, accompanied by the youngest of her

  women, Catherine left Les Tournelles and hurried through the streets of Paris.

  She was going to see the astrologer brothers who lived on the left bank of the Seine close to the Pont Notre-Dame. The house could be approached from the street or the river, for at the back, its stone steps led down to the water, where two boats were kept moored to carry away any who might wish to leave by a different route from the one by which they had come. Catherine was delighted with the prudence which the brothers had shown by selecting such a house.

  Most of the court ladies visited astrologers whose business included the sale of charms and perfumes; but these French ladies visited French magicians. The Italians were not only unpopular in France; they were suspected of all sorts of evil practices. Stories of the reign of terror under Alessandro in Florence circulated; it was known that Ippolito had been murdered, it was suspected that Clement had died through poison.

  The Italians, thought the French, were skilled in all the arts of poisoning.

  Therefore, reasoned Catherine, at such a time she would not wish to be seen making a hurried visit to the house of the Italian sorcerers.

  She had impressed on Madalenna, her young Italian attendant, that she

  wished none to know of their journey this evening to the house of the brothers.

  She smiled faintly at the small figure beside her. Madalenna was to be

  trusted.

  They reached the shop, descended the three stone steps, pushed open the

  door and went into a room in which were shelves where stood great jars and bottles. From the ceiling hung herbs of many kinds; and on the bench lay the skeleton of a small animal among the charms and charts.

  The two brothers came into the shop, which was lighted only by a candle

  that guttered and showed some sign of flickering out altogether. When they saw who their visitor was they bowed obsequiously, thrusting their hands into the wide sleeves of their magician’s robes, and waiting, with bent heads to hear the commands of their Duchess.

  ‘You have my new perfume for me, Cosmo?’ she asked, turning to one of

  the brothers.

  ‘It is ready,
Duchessina. I will have it sent to you tomorrow.’

  ‘That is good.’

  Lorenzo waited with his brother for her commands; they knew she had not

  come thus― when she might have sent for them― merely to ask about a new

  perfume.

  Madalenna hovered uncertainly in the background. Catherine, turning to her, said loudly: ‘Madalenna, there is no need to stand hack. Lorenzo, Cosmo, bring forth the new perfume. I would hear Madalenna’s opinion of it.’

  The brother looked at each other. They knew their Duchess; they

  remembered a meek little girl who had asked for an image of Alessandro that she might, through it, bring about the death of that monster. She had something on her mind now.

  They brought the perfume. Lorenzo took Madalenna’s hand while Cosmo

  thrust into a bottle a thin glass rod. He wiped the now perfume-smeared rod on Madalenna’s hand, bid her wait for a few moments, and both brothers stood back as though spellbound, waiting for the moment when the perfume would be ready for Madalenna to smell it.

  And all the time their eyes were furtive. What had brought the Duchess here at such an hour?

  ‘It is wonderful!’ declared Madalenna.

  ‘See that it is sent to me tomorrow,’ said Catherine. And then: ‘You know I did not come here merely to smell a perfume. Lorenzo, Cosmo, what have you discovered for me? Is there any news of a child? You may speak before

  Madalenna, this dear child knows my secrets.’

  ‘Duchess, there is yet no news of a child.’

  She clenched and unclenched her hands. ‘But when? When?― It must be

  some time.’

  They did not answer.

  Catherine shrugged her shoulders. ‘I will look into the crystal myself.

  Madalenna, sit down and wait. I shall not be long.’

  She drew aside the heavy curtains which divided the shop from a room at

  the back. In this room was a large cabinet which the brothers always kept locked and which Catherine knew to contain many secret hiding places. She sat down while the brothers drew the curtains, shutting off the shop and Madalenna.

  Catherine stared into the crystal; she could see nothing. The brothers waited respectfully.

  Suddenly she turned to them and spoke, and they now knew the real reason

  for her visit. ‘There is a young Count,’ she said, ‘who wishes to serve his country. Should he come to you and wish to talk of his native land― our native land― in our native tongue, be kind to him. If he should ask for a love potion to enhance his charms in his mistress’ eyes― or if he should ask for a draught of any sort, give it him. You may trust him.’

  The brothers looked at each other apprehensively. Catherine’s eyes revealed nothing; her face held the innocence of a child’s.

  ―――――――

  The court was on the move once more, and this time there was a reason,

  other than the King’s restlessness, behind the move.

  Catherine rode with the Petite Bande, keeping close to the King and Madame d’Etampes. A place of honour― yet how she longed to be of her husband’s suite; but there was no place since it was ruled by her hated enemy, whom Henry continued to adore. Catherine was hiding her passion and her

  jealousy with success; she could laugh as loudly as any surrounding the King.

  As they halted at various towns and châteaux on their way from Paris to

  Lyons, there were lavish entertainments for the amusement of the King.

  Madame d’Etampes and the Queen of Navarre put their heads together to devise plays and masques. Countless beautiful girls had been brought with them, and there were some to be found on the way. They danced before the King; they tried to secure his interest by boldness and modesty in turn; but Francis was half-hearted, for war was spreading over France, and it was the invasion by the Emperor’s troops, of the fair land of Provence, that was sending the court hurrying from Paris down to Lyons.

  It was in Lyons that Catherine betrayed herself.

  She was with her women in her apartments when Henry came in. Her heart

  beat in the mad fashion it was accustomed to when he was with her. She hastily dismissed her women, trying to suppress the emotion which possessed her.

  He said: ‘I am afraid I disturb you. I am sorry.’

  ‘There are occasions when it is good to be disturbed.’ They were alone now, and she could not prevent her eyes shining with an eager passion. She added breathlessly: ‘I pray to the saints that there may be many such disturbances.’

  He looked at her in a puzzled way, not comprehending. She felt slightly

  impatient with him; but oddly enough she loved him the more for that slowness of wit which exasperated his father.

  ‘Pray, be seated, Henry,’ she said, tapping the window seat and sitting there, making room for him as she drew in her pearl-embroidered skirts.

  It was unbearable to have him so close and to feel that was so far away. Was he thinking now of Diane? She doubted it, for he looked unhappy, and he was never unhappy thinking of Diane.

  He said: ‘This is a sorry state of affairs.’

  She touched his arm, and although she knew he hated to touched by her, she could not withdraw her hand. But now he did not seem to notice.

  He went on: ‘Have you not heard the news? Montmorency is retreating

  before the Imperial troops. Tomorrow my father leaves for Valence.’

  ‘Oh, another move? I was thinking I have scarce seen you since we left

  Paris.’

  She could not keep the reproach out of her voice; her eyes were hot; she was seeing herself, tossing and turning in her bed, awaiting a husband who did not come, picturing him with Diane, asking herself, Why? Why should it be Diane and not Catherine? How could she listen to his talk of war? When he was near her she could think of nothing but love.

  Her voice sounded high-pitched. ‘Has the King spoken to you again?’ she

  asked. ‘We see so little of each other, it is small wonder that we have no children―’

  He did not move, and she realized he had not even heard what she said. He could not follow two lines of thought at the same time; if something was on his mind he could hear and see nothing else.

  ‘Montmorency is burning and destroying everything as he retreats, and there will be no stores of food left for the advancing enemy. Men, women, children―

  French, all of them are left starving after the armies have passed through―’

  She interrupted him. ‘But that is terrible. I have heard that Montmorency is cruel and that his men obey him through fear!’

  ‘It is the only way,’ said Henry. ‘Montmorency is a great man. His policy is the only safe policy. But for Montmorency the Spanish devils would be in

  Lyons now. I would I could go and fight with him.’

  She was pleased. If he went to fight, he must leave Diane.

  She slipped her arm farther through his. ‘There are soldiers enough, Henry‚’

  she said softly.

  ‘My father has said that if he needs the Dauphin he will send for him. I wish he would send for me! But he hates me. He knows I long to fight; therefore he says: You shall not fight! And the enemy is at our gates. But for my father’s folly there would be no war. Long ago Milan would have been ours!’

  Catherine’s eyes went to the door. She longed for Henry’s confidences but she dared not let it be known that she had said, or even listened to, a word against the King. Francis’ favor was easily won by some; it was equally easily lost; and she must not forget that it was only through a lucky chance that Henry was speaking to her thus. He had come to the apartment not thinking of her; and he had found her there, and being unusually excited by the closeness of the war, had wished to talk to someone― even Catherine.

  She said: ‘Lower your voice, Henry. There are spies everywhere, and what

  you say might quickly be carried to your father.’

  H
e shrugged his shoulders. ‘This desire of his for Italy― it is like all of his desires. No matter what stands in his way, he will do anything― cruel, foolish, it matters not― anything to get his desires. As it is for women, so it is for Italy.

  There is no right or wrong for my father where his desires are concerned. When Monsieur Chateaubriand objected to my father’s immorality with Madame de

  Chateaubriand, he took the man by the throat and threatened to cut off his head unless he gave up the woman. He must lose either his head or his wife.’

  Catherine laughed, loving this intimacy. ‘So he kept his head. Sensible

  man!’

  ‘I hate the life my father leads!’ said Henry. His mouth was prim and

  Catherine wondered about his love-making with Diane. ‘He chooses the most degraded people to surround him. Madame d’Etampes should be banished from court.’

  Catherine’s smile was noncommittal. The King’s mistress was supposed to

  be her friend.

  Then Henry spoke again of his father who was forever reaching out his

  hands to Catherine’s native land of grapes, olives and the finest artists in the world. He was reckless when he should be cautious― so said his son― bold

  when there the greatest need for hesitation.

  Catherine understood that glittering personality far better than did his son.

  She knew that over the brightness which surrounded him lay the shadow of

  Pavia. There was hardly an hour in the King’s life when he did not remember that defeat, and he would feel that nothing but the conquest of Italy would wipe out the humiliation. It was Pavia that made him reckless, eager as he was for that military success which would put him right with the world; it was Pavia that made him hesitate, reminding him that disastrous defeat must never be repeated.

  Pavia had made of the century’s greatest lover its most incompetent general.

  ‘The Emperor,’ Henry was saying, ‘has made a triumphant return from the

  East. He has twice defeated Barbarossa; he has taken Tunis, and the whole of the Christian world rejoice because he has brought with him many who were made slaves to toil for the barbarians. And what has my father done? He looks about him for an enemy of the Emperor― and makes a treaty with the Turks!