He adopted an appalling costume of black, including his hats, and from collar, cuffs, shoelaces and hat brims dangled tiny ivory death's-heads. When this first phase of his grief was spent he went to another extreme, appearing in scarlet satin doublet with jeweled buttons from which the little death's-heads clattered on gay ribbons. He twined pearls and rubies in his hair, wore exquisite rings and bracelets; and when he tired of all this, he gave himself up to the most grotesque spectacle of all. Garbed as a monk, he joined a sect of fanatical flagellants and twice a week marched with them through the streets, two by two, his shoulders bared and
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Heeding under the lashes of the devotees behind him while he administered stripes as cruel to the man ahead of him.
This mockery of religion was frowned upon by the clergy and laity alike. Where, they demanded, was their King, their hope for the future of France"? This effeminate young man with his alternating morbid religiosity and his unabashed sybaritism had little of sovereignty about him. Catherine saw the gathering storm and as usual, where one of her children was concerned, she felt she must do what she could to temper the wind.
She faced Henry and without any preamble and very like any modern mother, she spoke her mind. He must stop all his hysterical nonsense; he must marry and have an heir. Only so could he expect to keep his throne. She had several eligible princesses in mind and in businesslike fashion counted them off on her fingers for him to consider. But Henry shook his head; he wanted none of them. He had recently been attracted by a lovely young girl who reminded him of Marie de Cleves, Louise de Vaudemont, of the House of Lorraine. If she would have him he would marry her, but no one else.
Catherine faced the disappointment as best she could. Louise de Vaudemont, of the House of Lorraine and therefore a Guise! Still, the girl was beautiful, highly intelligent and modest in a day that knew so little of modesty. If she bore Henry sons the match might still bring glory to the House of Valois; so Catherine, aging now and growing very tired, smiled benignly on the marriage and prayed for a happy fulfillment of her hopes. Henry's coronation at
RJieims took place in February, 1575, and two days later he and Louise were married.
The gentle, lovely bride who had spent so much of her girlhood with the Kings sister Claude, Duchess of Lorraine, and had absorbed so much of her quiet dignity, watched her bridegroom's antics at the wedding feast and must have wondered how a newly anointed King of France could make such a spectacle of himself. For as though to compensate himself for a marriage in which he had little heart, he acted the buffoon, trying, it seemed, to escape from reality into a mocking half-world of his imagination. But in the midst of the festivities tragedy struck. A messenger brought word that the Duchess of Lorraine was dying; and now Henry rose to the occasion. He was all grave solicitude, sent his own physician to do what he could, and daily for the next fortnight had Masses said for her recovery.
But Claude, the little crippled sister, died just short of her twenty-seventh birthday, leaving two children, the little Marquis of Pont-a-Mousson and a daughter, Christine, who became Duchess of Florence and Tuscany. Henry shuddered. Only he and Marguerite and Alengon remained— and they both detested him. What was happening to the proud House of Valois? To Catherine, though she did not admit it, it was apparent that the timbers of the House were rotting, that the decay of degeneracy was eating at its heart.
• Two years, three, passed and though both Louise and Henry made repeated pilgrimages to holy shrines and offered continuous petitions, no heir came to bless their
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marriage. The King, sensitive to another's sorrow, redoubled his efforts to make his wife happy. He took her on long Progresses across the country, built for her a beautiful little castle of her own, showered her with gifts. And Louise, wise, tactful woman that she was, saw through his pitiful repertoire of amends, knew his heart was with the love he had lost and that his kindness to her was perfunctory. She made no complaint and won Catherine s admiration with her dignified acceptance of a situation she was helpless to change.
However, Henry's erratic, unstable personality was again stirring up trouble for him. He was a bachelor by nature, a man who loved to go his own way, choose his friends, stay clear of any hobbling responsibilities. The more unconventional his friends and their habits, the better they pleased him. Now he gathered about him a large group of effeminate-looking young courtiers who were as savagely brave as they were girlish in appearance. They loved shocking the citizens
by wearing their hair in long ringlets, their beribboned clothes impregnated with heavy perfume, and by mincing through the streets, often singing in high falsetto voices. That they should be the Kings closest friends filled the people with loathing; that the French Court was becoming known throughout Europe as the most profligate of all time, this killed the last shred of respect the French felt for the young wastrel who was their King.
Alengon, too, had his young courtiers, many of them with reputations as questionable as those of Henry's loathed mignons, as the people called them. There were ambushes, duels, crimes of every sort, and within three years the mignons had almost entirely disappeared, killed, most of them, by their rivals* This,
