Henry M. Baird · 86 of 379

CHAPTER VIII · Character of the new king.

Of the three sons of Francis, the dauphin and his youngest brother, the Duke of Angoulême, had been snatched away by death during the lifetime of their father. The Duke of Orleans, who now ascended the throne as Henry the Second, was not a favorite son. More than once he had incurred his father's grave displeasure by insubordination. A mad frolic, in which the young prince undertook in sport to distribute the high offices of state, as if his father were already dead, and disclosed his intention to recall to power the monarch's disgraced courtiers, occasioned a serious breach. More important consequences might have flowed from the unfortunate incident, had not the youth and the giddy companions of his revel sought safety in temporary exile from court. From his father Henry inherited great bodily vigor, and remarkable skill in all games of strength and agility. His frame, naturally well proportioned, was finely developed by exercise. He was accounted the fleetest runner, and the most graceful rider in France. He rarely suffered a day to pass without playing ball, not unfrequently after having hunted down a stag or two. In the more dangerous pastimes of mock combat and jousting he delighted to engage, to the no small alarm of all spectators. Unfortunately, however, the intellectual and moral development of the young prince had by no means kept pace with the growth of his physical powers. The sluggishness of his dull and unready comprehension had, at an earlier date, been noticed by the Venetian Marino Cavalli, while, with a courtier's flattery, he likened him to those autumnal fruits that are more tardy in ripening, but are of better quality and last longer than the fruits of summer. Although he had reached the age of twenty-eight years on the very day of his accession, he was still a child in all that respected the serious concerns of life and the duties of his elevated position. Averse to that careful deliberation which the public affairs demanded, and willing to be led by those who would think for him, it immediately became evident that he was destined to be the mere image of a king, while the powers of royalty were to be enjoyed by his trusted advisers and by those who could minister to his immoderate love of pleasure. The issue abundantly proved the truth of the assertion that his reign ought rather to be called the reign of Diana of Poitiers, of Montmorency, and of the Cardinal of Lorraine; of whom the last, it was said, had the king's conscience in his sleeve, and the first his body, as by some species of sorcery.