THE FRENCH EXPERIMENT 315
Belle princesse, ardeur de mon courage,
Mon cher desir, ma peine et mon tourment
Que mon destin, las! trop soudainement
Par votre absence a change de visage.. .*He took to taking pills and potions, to diplomatic absences from court, and to
long week-ends at the royal hunting-lodge at Niepolomice. Above all, he was
worried by the alarming news of his brother's illness.
In all the negotiations surrounding Henry's Election, the possibility of him
succeeding to the throne of France had not been seriously considered. At the
time, his brother, Charles IX, was only twenty-four years of age, a man of great
physical energy, and a young husband with every prospect of fathering a son
and heir. Yet within a month of Henry's coronation in Poland, it was known
that Charles was gravely ill. At the end of March, two prominent figures from
the French retinue in Cracow, the Marshal de Retz and the Duke of Nevers, left
for home on different pretexts. Cheverny, the head of the Catholic faction in
Paris, wrote to say that in the event of Charles's death it was Henry's duty to
ride post-haste for France, to secure the Catholic succession, and to forestall the
partisans of his reformist younger brother, Francois d'Alencon.
Charles IX died on 30 May 1574. The news reached his successor in Wawel
Castle at 11 a.m. exactly two weeks later, from the lips of the Imperial ambas-
sador. It was confirmed at midday by a messenger from Catherine de Medici. To
all outward appearances, Henry was undecided what steps to take. On 15 June
he met the Senate, and asked their advice in a long Latin address. He dispatched
letters of regency to his mother in Paris. On the 18th, he joked and danced with
his Polish lords. Declining an invitation to call on the Jagiellonka, he retired
early to bed. It was not unusual. There was a guard on the door of his suite.
Teczynski was at hand, on behalf of the Senate, to watch developments. Yet
unbeknown to all but a handful of French advisers, the King was preparing to
depart. Fearing no doubt that an open departure might invite delays, either from
the Poles or from the Imperial authorities across whose territory he had to pass,
he was preparing to escape in secret.
It was Saturday night. Wawel Castle was locked and bolted. The King
changed into some nondescript riding clothes, and crept from his room through
a backstairs entrance concealed by a tapestry on the rear wall. Two pages,
standing to attention beside the screens of his bed, were unaware that he had
gone. An accomplice obtained the keys of the gate on the pretext of a gallant
escapade, and passed off his muffled companion as a 'Capitain Lamotte'. They
walked out through the Jewish Quarter of Kazimierz, and across the Vistula
bridge to an abandoned chapel where horses were waiting. By dawn, they had
covered the twenty miles to Zator, and were riding hard for the frontier.
- With tears upon tears, and lament upon lament,/I spend, alas, my nights of yearning/With
no relief in any way from the troubles/Which, far from you, crowd my life./Oh fair princess,
the inspiration of my valour,/My dear desire, my sorrow, my torment!/How suddenly, alas,
through your absence/My fate has changed its countenance!^2