The likeness of Francis I at Hampton Court, though painted by some mediocre copyist, has a special interest, inasmuch as it once belonged to Henry VIII of England. This portrait is reproduced in pencil in the Recueil d’Arras, and another, though superior, presentation of this same King in the Tribune at Chantilly seems to be of the same type. The King is here shown in profile, a treatment copied repeatedly by Limousin, an example being in the Gallerie d’Apollon at the Louvre, where he is seen kneeling beside Queen Claude. The latest portrait of all of this monarch is a drawing at Chantilly taken full face, which seems to have been made as a post-mortem effigy, such as, according to the Royal Accounts, François Clouet was commissioned to make. This again is only a copy; so that of these many and varied types of portrait few only can claim to be the original work of Jean Clouet. In this connection we should like to mention an exquisite drawing recently acquired by the British Museum which represents Marguerite d’Angoulême, sister of King Francis, in the bloom of her youth.[96]

Portraits of Queen Claude[97] are as rare as those of her royal husband are numerous. There is a slight drawing at Chantilly representing the daughter of Louis XII: presumably taken soon after her marriage to the heir to the French throne (which under the Salic Law she could not ascend herself). This marriage took place after the death of her mother, Anne de Bretagne, whose dearest wish it had been that she should marry Charles V, a suitor to whom she had been affianced in infancy. According to Brantôme the shrewd Queen Anne foresaw that her timid little daughter could not have a particularly happy life between so fickle a husband as Francis and so ambitious a mother-in-law as Louise of Savoy; but King Louis thought otherwise and sacrificed his daughter to his patriotism. This drawing, albeit very slight, is not without considerable charm. It dates probably from the same period as the portrait of the young King at Chantilly and may perhaps be attributed to the same artist. It is nothing like so elaborately finished as the drawing of Queen Claude’s sister Renée, which in craftsmanship recalls the drawing of Duc Claude de Guise in the Musée Condé. Another far more finished and far more elaborate drawing, now in Florence, represents Queen Claude some ten years later as Queen-Mother; and it bears upon it marginal notes in no less august a hand than that of Catherine de Medicis herself, which enhances its importance. Apparently this too is a copy of one of Jean Clouet’s lost originals.

The next drawings of interest by this artist in the portfolios at Chantilly are likenesses of the two Dauphins of France[98] and of the other Royal Children: a portrait of the Dauphin François, which was repeated in colours in an exquisite little panel now at Antwerp,[99] with the slight difference that the Royal Child has exchanged his simple cap for a plumed hat; and likenesses of Monsieur d’Orléans (afterwards the Dauphin Henri), and of the third son, Charles, so great a favourite with his aunt Marguerite. This latter Prince had the good fortune to be kept at home when his two elder brothers were given as hostages to the Emperor Charles V after the disastrous defeat at Pavia to be subjected by him to four years of most inhuman imprisonment. Bodin, who was sent by their Royal Father to attend upon his unfortunate sons, relates that he found them in a dark chamber seated upon small wooden chairs. The hardest of straw mattresses were provided for them, and they were not allowed to wear the plumed caps which he brought for them, for fear that by some exercise of necromancy they might perhaps contrive to fly away! According to Brantôme, the poor Dauphin had almost forgotten his native French, so that his younger brother had to assist him in making himself understood. The charming sketch at Chantilly of the Dauphin François wearing a plumed hat was evidently made after his safe return to France.

A slight sketch shows Madeleine de Valois as a child. This princess was married at the age of seventeen to King James V of Scotland; and she is said to have been so delighted at the prospect of becoming a Queen that she soon consoled herself for having to leave la douce France for so rigorous a climate. She was, however, extremely delicate and died six months later, to the unbounded grief of her husband, who for years could not be persuaded to remarry. Princess Marguerite, on hearing of her elder sister’s untimely death, shut herself up in her own apartments and refused food to the great injury of her health; and it was only by the urgent persuasions of her aunt Marguerite d’Angoulême that she was induced to resume her morning walks in the gardens of Fontainebleau and so by degrees to recover. A variety of drawings at Chantilly present this young princess at different periods of her life; and in the earlier of these, as in the portraits of her sister and two brothers, we can trace the handiwork of Jean Clouet. A painted portrait of her (which formerly belonged to Gaignières) in the Tribune at Chantilly, is attributed to Corneille de Lyon, and on the margin is written “Marg. de France, Duchesse de Berry.” She is represented with auburn hair and blue eyes like her brother the Dauphin, whose portrait hangs in the same room. The words “Corneille fecit” are written on the back of the frame by Gaignières himself, who in so doing settled its authorship. Whilst the Dauphin seems in his portrait to be but eighteen years of age his sister Marguerite looks thirty, so that we may conclude that she sat at a much later period. The numerous drawings that François Clouet made of this Princess[100] reveal that amiable disposition so much praised by Brantôme. He speaks of her as “la bonté du monde, charitable, magnifique, liberale, sage, vertueuse, si accostayle et douce que rien plus.” She remained unmarried until she had reached the age of thirty-six, because she declined (it is said) to marry one of her brother’s subjects and yet did not wish to leave her beloved France. When quite young she had accompanied her aunt Marguerite to Nice, where she fixed her choice upon the heir of the House of Savoy, to whom after twenty-one years’ interval she was, when adverse political complications had finally passed away, eventually united.

She was meanwhile much admired at the French Court for her learning. A Latin and Greek scholar of merit, she studied Aristotle’s Ethics and is reported to have sent to Paris for at least three different editions of Cicero. She had no special gift in the use of the pen like her versatile aunt,[101] the authoress of the Heptameron, although she occupied her mind with continual study and much careful reading. She patronised the poet Du Bellay, who translated for her Bembo and Naugerius and she induced him to assert that no century would ever extinguish the memory of Boccaccio and Petrarch. Moreover, she attracted to the French Court Baccio del Bene, of whom Ronsard said that he was the only Italian author worthy of earnest consideration at this period. Her learning acquired for her the sobriquet of “Pallas”; her emblem was an olive-branch; and she was looked upon as the symbol of Platonism in its highest form. Her father, King Francis, paid but little attention to her; but her brother, Henri II, loved and esteemed her greatly and when she married ordered for her adornment magnificent robes, costly lace and jewels, and organised great festivities. It was on the occasion of these nuptials, however, that the terrible tragedy occurred which brought about His Majesty’s death. Like her aunt Rénée at Ferrara Marguerite[102] in her home in Piedmont never ceased to long for her “sweet France”; and every Frenchman who passed through Turin, on presenting himself at her Court, was warmly welcomed and munificently entertained. With her enlightened views she was able to act as mediator in the religious differences which raged so violently in France during the sixteenth century, and which extended into the country of her adoption; and she protected, as far as she was able, the persecuted Waldenses. The last years of her life were devoted chiefly to the education of her son, Charles Emmanuel of Savoy; and Michel de l’Hôpital declared that this Prince owed the success of his career entirely to her. The French Ambassador at Constantinople left to her his entire fortune, and the poet Du Bellay on his death-bed wept bitterly because he was unable to take a last farewell of her. When she herself died there perished with her all that was best in the spirit of the neo-Platonism initiated by her aunt, the first Marguerite; so that it presently fell entirely to pieces under the influence of the third Marguerite, youngest daughter of Catherine de Medicis.

A likeness of Rénée de France[103] which bears some affinity to the portrait of her sister Queen Claude is also to be found at Chantilly. It represents her at the time of her marriage to Ercole, Duke of Ferrara, son of Lucrezia Borgia: nuptials which were celebrated in the Sainte Chapelle at Paris. Like the other French princesses of her day she was extremely intelligent and studious, and during her time the Court of Ferrara became renowned as an intellectual centre to which French visitors were always warmly welcomed. To the complaints of her Italian courtiers that she spent too much money upon her compatriots she replied, “Que voulez-vous? Ces sont pauvres Français de ma nation lesquelles si Dieu m’eut donné barbe au menton, et que je fusse homme, seraient maintenant tous mes sujets, et si cette méchante loi Salique ne me tenait trop de rigueur.” Rénée was a strong adherent of the Reformed Faith and welcomed Calvin to her Court, thereby giving serious annoyance to her husband, the Duke, whose policy it was to keep on good terms with the Pope. The poor Duchess therefore presently found herself compelled to part with all her French ladies-in-waiting on account of their Protestant views. Furthermore, her brother-in-law, Cardinal Ippolito d’Este, was sent to the French Court to discuss these matters with the King, upon which occasion those two connoisseurs and patrons of Art became fast friends.[104]

After the death of her husband the Dowager Duchess was exiled by her son, Alfonso, to Montargis,[105] and there she was visited by the Cardinal—who, in spite of her heretical leanings, had never ceased to be on good terms with her. According to Brantôme she here provided shelter and food for 300 Huguenots who had been despoiled of their goods; and she even went so far as to remonstrate with her son-in-law, François de Guise, for his cruel treatment of the Prince de Condé; saying that “whoever had advised the King to take this course of action had done a great wrong.” Notwithstanding her Calvinistic views she was always reckoned by the Royal Family as a true Daughter of France and was held in high honour by them. Her portraits, like those of her sister Queen Claude, are extremely rare.

Besides the portraits of the Valois princes and princesses at Chantilly there are a great number of likenesses of other interesting historical personages. It would, however, lead us too far afield were we to attempt to enumerate them all. Amongst them, however, the most remarkable are as follows: Madame Vendôme d’Alençon,[106] mother of Antoine de Bourbon and of Louis I Prince de Condé (a drawing on a larger scale than most of the others); of the same size, Madame l’Estrange,[107] a lady renowned for her beauty and greatly beloved by the Dauphin François; Henri d’Albret, King of Navarre; Chandus, one of King Francis’ most faithful officers; and various portraits of Unknown Young Men. All these are excellently drawn, may be assigned to Jean Clouet and are evidently taken from life. In some of the portraits we can detect a point of transition between the joint work of father and son: for example, in a drawing representing Louis de Nevers,[108] son of a Princesse de Bourbon and related to the Princes of the House of Cleves. This drawing is incorrectly designated Saint Marsault; but a copy supplies the right name. There is a copy of it in colours in the Lochis Collection at Bergamo, which long passed under the name of Holbein until Dr. G. Frizzoni assigned it to François Clouet, who evidently executed it from the drawing at Chantilly. In this same connection may be mentioned the Sieur de Canaples,[109] and the portrait of an Unknown Lady of singular force of expression, very plainly clad and without ornaments, who may perhaps be Jeanne Boucault[110] of Tours, Jean Clouet’s own clever and devoted wife.

Before we take leave of Jean Clouet and pass on to his brilliant son attention should be called to a fascinating portrait of a young girl inscribed “la reine Jehanne de Navarre petite,”[111] which, on account of its excellence, might well be attributed to the master himself. In this instance history comes to our aid, for we are informed that Princesse Jeanne (known as “la mignonne de deux rois” on account of the marked affection shown to her by both King Francis, her uncle, and King Henry of Navarre, her father) was in her fourth year removed from the charge of her own parents and transported to Plessis-le-Tours, a château on the Loire; where there was provided for her a suite consisting of a lady-in-waiting, a master of the horse, two chaplains and other attendants. The reason for this strange arrangement was political, inasmuch as Francis feared that Henry of Navarre would negotiate a marriage between this child and Philip of Spain, eldest son of Charles V. In vain the little Princess wept and implored her Royal uncle to allow her to rejoin her mother. Her wish was not to be granted until she had reached her twelfth year, and then only on condition that she should be betrothed at once to the Duke of Cleves, whose sister Anne was wife of King Henry VIII of England—a political scheme to unite the Protestant Princes of Germany and England against the Emperor Charles V. It was probably at the moment when the Princess was about to leave the lonely château on the Loire that Francis commissioned Jean Clouet to secure for him a likeness of his niece before her departure for Béarn. Jeanne, who was born at Fontainebleau in 1528, appears here to be about twelve years of age; so that the drawing may perhaps have been executed in 1539-40, and, since it was one of the artist’s last works it gains greatly in interest.

That François Clouet succeeded his father as Court-Painter in 1541 is proved by a document in the “Trésor des Chartres” which runs as follows: “François par la grace de Dieu, roy de France, etc.... Savoir faisons ... que voulant reconnoistre envers nostre cher et bien aimé painctre et varlet de chambre ordinaire, François Clouet les bons et agréables services que feu M^e Jehannet Clouet, son père, aussi de son vivant nostre painctre et varlet de chambre, nous a durant son vivant faictz en son dict estat et art, auquel il estoit très expert et en quoy son dict fils la jà très bien imité, et espérons qu’il fera et continuera encores de bien en mieux cy après, a icelluy, François Clouet pour ces causes et affin que de ce faire il ayt meilleure voullonté, moïen et occasion, avons donné, octroïé, cedé et délaissé, tous et chacuns les biens meubles et immeubles qui furent et appartendrent au dict Me Jehannet Clouet, son père, à nous advenuy et escheuz, adjugez et declarez appartenir par droit d’aubène au moïen de ce que le dict deffunt estait estranger et non natif ne originaire des nostre royaume et n’avoit obtenu de nos predecesseurs roys ny de nous aucunes lettres de naturalité et congié de tester” (published by E. de Freville, Arch. de l’art Français, t. iii, p. 98).

From the above document we learn the following important facts, namely: (a) that Jean Clouet was not of French origin; (b) that he was highly esteemed by the King; and (c) that after his death François Clouet, his son, inherited all his privileges and favours.

CHAPTER XVII

FRANÇOIS CLOUET AND HIS FOLLOWERS

These drawings represent Jossine Pisseleu[112] (niece of the famous Duchesse d’Estampe), better known under the name of “Hegli,” and the beautiful daughter of Diane de Poitiers, called “Brasseu.”[113] Both of these portraits are rendered specially interesting by the fact that their respective names are written on the margin by Queen Catherine de Medicis. These two ladies, Hegli and Brasseu, are known to have belonged to that gay company known as la petite bande, of which the young Catherine herself, when Dauphine, was also a member.

Francis I, thanks to his own great taste for Art, comprehended to the full the different talents of the artists in his employ; and whilst he commissioned Rosso and Primaticcio to execute the frescoes at Fontainebleau, the two Clouets were successively entrusted with such portrait painting as he required.

At Chantilly there is an exquisite portrait of Louise de Clermont, Duchesse d’Uzez, another of the fair members of the petite bande whom the King nicknamed “la Grenouille” on account of her husky voice and projecting eyes: a drawing which belongs to the same series already referred to; that is to say, an early work with which François Clouet was commissioned after his father’s demise. A miniature taken from this drawing is preserved in the Louvre.

Henri II, whilst Dauphin, had apparently not much chance to employ either of the Clouets, since their time was almost entirely monopolised by the King; but there is evidence to prove that Catherine de Medicis’ children were repeatedly painted by Germain le Mannier[114] and his brother Alois. There exist pencil sketches of Francis II at the age of five, and again at eight years and five months; to which latter there is a pendant representing his fiancée, Mary, Queen of Scots, at the age of nine and a half. There is another of Charles IX aged between four and five years. All of these were executed by this artist and are now in the portfolios at Chantilly.

With reference to these drawings there is a letter still extant, written on June 1 1552 by Queen Catherine to M. Humières (who with his wife were in charge of the Royal nurseries at Saint-Germain-en-Laye), in which she expresses a desire to have all her children, sons and daughters, including la Royne d’Ecosse,[115] painted “sans rien oublier de leur visages.” There is also a letter from Henri II, written on the eve of his accession, expressing a desire to recompense the painter Mannier.

This, however, did not prevent him, as soon as he became King, from taking up François Clouet, whom he commissioned not only to make a post-mortem effigy of the late King, but also to prepare an official representation of himself. His own portrait bears a note upon it, apparently in the artist’s own handwriting, “Le Roy Henry 2”[116]: handwriting which bears close similarity to an existing quittance signed F. Clouet. This drawing, now in the Bibliothèque Nationale at Paris, became very popular. A version completed in colours, is now in the Louvre: it was reproduced in miniature; and many copies were subsequently made by lesser hands.

Contemporary with this portrait is a powerful likeness of the Grand Connétable, Anne de Montmorency,[117] evidently taken from life. In this drawing the individuality of the artist is very marked: more realistic in his tendencies than his father, he is on that account more French. This great warrior, the Lord of Chantilly, is shown here when at the height of his fame, in high favour with the King and with l’amie du roi, Diane de Poitiers.[118] This famous lady herself sat to François Clouet, and so apparently about the same time did Catherine de Medicis, and also Jeanne d’Albret,[119] Queen of Navarre. It is interesting to compare the likeness of this latter princess, so eloquent of a noble mind and a frank disposition, with that of Catherine de Medicis, past mistress in the art of dissimulation.

Drawings and portraits of Catherine as Dauphine and as Queen of France are comparatively rare. It is as a Queen-Dowager, growing old and well away on her career of dangerous intrigue, that we chiefly meet her in the Galleries of Europe. No small value can therefore be attached to the drawing in the British Museum which came to the nation through the Salting Bequest, inasmuch as it brings her before us at the period when her husband had just ascended the throne of France; and to another likeness at Chantilly, attributed to Corneille de Lyon, which is supposed to be the one executed when she passed through Lyons with Henri II in 1564. Brantôme relates that upon this occasion the great Diane de Poitiers received more homage than the Queen herself, and that portraits were drawn of all the royal ladies, amongst whom was the King’s sister Marguerite (soon to become Duchess of Savoy). The writer further tells us how Catherine, when fifteen years later she revisited Lyons as Queen-Mother, displayed much amusement at the old-fashioned attire in which she and her Court ladies had then been portrayed.

To the years between 1559 and 1570 belong the drawings in the Bibliothèque Nationale, which are considered as marking the height of this artist’s power. Such, for instance, are the portraits of Maréchal Strozzi (1567) and of Maréchal de Vielville[120] (1566), supposed to have been dated by the artist himself, a circumstance which greatly adds to their value.

We are on certain ground with regard to the genuineness of the signed and dated portrait of Charles IX now at Vienna; but, strange to say, the date has here clearly been tampered with. We can ascertain this from the fact that the young King in the portrait seems certainly only about twenty years of age, and since he was born in 1550 the date upon the picture ought to be 1569 instead of 1563. Furthermore, the original drawing (now at St. Petersburg) from which this finished painting was executed is dated 1569. There is also a miniature taken from it in the Louvre.

It would lead us too far if we were to mention all the drawings which bear the stamp of this master’s own hand, but there are some on which we ought to dwell as being examples of his finest work. Amongst these are the drawings in the Bibliothèque Nationale of the boy-King Francis II[121] and of his young and beautiful bride, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots.

In the delicate and subtle pencil drawing of the latter, more than in all her other portraits, we can detect traces of her world-renowned beauty; and this is how she must have looked when, with her young husband beside her, and surrounded by the great dignitaries of State, she entered the Cathedral of Notre Dame for her Coronation. Clouet has succeeded in conveying to us something of the sweetness of her smile, her wistful expression, and the thoughtful look in her eyes. In the miniature at Windsor, which is said to have been reproduced from this drawing, much of the refinement has been lost, and more attention has been paid to accessories, i.e. her dress and her ornaments.[122]

A later drawing, in which the young Queen is represented in her deuil blanc as a widow, is among the framed drawings at Chantilly: a portrait probably executed by François Clouet when she was on the point of leaving her beloved France. This is apparently a reproduction from a lost original, and it found its way to Chantilly with the Lenoir Collection. It is no doubt the last likeness of Mary Stuart made in France. The charm which Clouet so deftly imparted to the portraits of this unhappy Queen seems entirely absent from all the numerous likenesses subsequently made in England by other artists. How hard and set, for instance, do her features seem in the life-size oil-painting by Oudry at Hardwick Hall. All that we can perceive in it is the only too-evident havoc wrought by fate upon that beautiful face.

François Clouet’s highest capabilities may be traced in the water-colour sketch at Chantilly which represents Margot de France,[123] youngest daughter of Catherine de Medicis, in her girlhood. It is exhibited in the Psyche Gallery and is considered one of the gems of the collection. Since correct drawing from life was the artist’s first thought this preparatory sketch is superior to the painting, also in all probability executed by the artist himself, which a rare chance has brought into the same gallery. This latter is supposed to be the actual portrait sent by Catherine to her daughter Elizabeth, wife of Philip II of Spain, which the Infante Don Carlos admired so much. Comparing the portrait with those of the other marriageable princesses of Europe, he exclaimed, “This little one is the prettiest of all”; whereat Elizabeth de Valois in a letter to her mother writes: “Le Prince était demeuré en extase devant le miroir délicieuse de la mignonne.”

Clouet has painted the little Princess in a robe of delicate silver tissue adorned with pearls; more pearls are round her neck and intertwined amid the tresses of her hair. Her expression displays that joie de vivre which is known to have been one of her most marked characteristics throughout her whole life.

It is, however, in the sketch that the high qualities of François Clouet as a portrait-painter specially assert themselves. Here he appears as a refined Holbein, endowed with graceful and elegant French qualities. Light and shadow are barely perceptible but are nevertheless sufficiently present to produce the necessary plastic feeling. The costume and the jewels, though reproduced with closest accuracy, do not mar the harmony, nor do they overpower the clearly defined features which retain their fullest importance and prominence.

Another portrait by François Clouet, equalling this in excellence, is that of la bonne petite reine, Elizabeth of Austria in the Louvre—the youthful consort of Charles IX, whose simple virtues shone out so conspicuously during a most degenerate period in the history of the French Court. The perfection of draughtsmanship in the delicate features is astonishing; and the colouring, of a pale rosy hue, is most effective. The hands, placed one over the other, have in their graceful movements been justly likened to the petals of a white lily. There is a copy of this picture at Chantilly, probably also by François Clouet, but the exquisite hands are absent. Nor are they to be found in the original drawing in the Bibliothèque Nationale, in the famous Lecurieur album which once belonged to François Clouet’s own nephew, Benjamin Foulon. Maréchal Strozzi, Madame de Retz, Albert de Gondi the Duc de Retz, Robert de la Marck, the Duc de Bouillon, Jeanne d’Albret in deep mourning, and many others, have the same provenance and all bear notes in Foulon’s[124] handwriting. It has been suggested by Henri Bouchot that these admirable designs came to the nephew from his uncle who had preserved them in his studio in order to reproduce them subsequently in colour. We may presume then that these original pencil drawings were the immediate work of François Clouet, whilst the coloured portraits were reproduced from them either by himself (as in the case of the portraits of Elizabeth of Austria in the Louvre and at Chantilly) or by the hands of his pupils.

There is, however, one exception to this proposition in the case of the portrait of Pierre Quthe recently acquired for the Louvre. It certainly appears to be a portrait painted direct from life and not reproduced from a drawing; and it reveals to us a new and more intimate characteristic of the artist; since he has here shown us one of his own personal friends, with whom he, no doubt, had many tastes in common. Had this not been so he would not have appended to the picture the following inscription: FR. JANETT OPUS PE. QUTTIO. AMICO SINGULARI ETATIS SVE XLIII, 1562. This portrait, therefore, when compared, for instance, with that of Charles IX at Vienna, gives the impression of being less conventional and more sympathetic. It has the same bluish curtain in the background, and an open book lies on the table, in which may be seen representations of certain plants, alluding to the fact that the person represented was well known as a botanist.

Since the discovery of the portrait of Pierre Quthe we can have no hesitation in attributing to François Clouet another life-size portrait at Chantilly: namely, that of Cardinal Odet de Coligny, hitherto—though with some reserve—assigned to Primaticcio on account of a misleading signature evidently posterior to the painting. This portrait and that of Henri II (Cabinet Clouet) (also attributed, and with much more reason, to Primaticcio), clearly exhibit the difference between the respective artists without need for any further comment. The curtain in the background, for which François had so decided a predilection, is also to be found in the portrait of Odet; and it appears to have been Clouet’s latest work. It exhibits very decidedly his appreciation for Italian methods, more especially those affected by Morone and Moretto of Brescia, to whose work these two large portraits by François Clouet bear a marked analogy.

Besides a fine drawing in red chalk of this same Cardinal, presented to the Musée Condé by M. Moreau Nélaton, there exist two other drawings, evidently preliminary sketches for the same picture. One of these is in the British Museum (Salting Bequest) and the other in the Albertina at Vienna. These form a further proof that the painting at Chantilly is by François Clouet and not by Primaticcio.

Odet de Coligny, created a Cardinal by Clement VII at the early age of seventeen, was the eldest brother of Admiral Coligny and of Dandelot. In spite of the countless honours showered upon him by the Catholic party he all at once in 1561 astonished the world by openly confessing the Protestant Faith. Like his brothers he became a staunch supporter of Calvin, proceeded publicly to marry Elizabeth de Hauteville—to whom he had for many years previously been deeply attached—and presented her at Court, where she received the title of Comtesse de Beauvais. The scandalised Pope, Pius V, erased his name from the list of Cardinals, whilst Catherine de Medicis merely smiled. It suited her purpose on the death of Francis II to dismiss the Guises from her Court and to admit thereto the Calvinistic party, even to the extent of attending their sermons. This freak of hers did not, however, last long, but by it she enticed the Protestants into her net. Odet de Coligny subsequently retired to England, where in 1570, just when he was intending to return to France, he died suddenly at Hampton Court, not without suspicion of poison.

Before concluding this chapter on François Clouet attention should be directed to a specially interesting feature about these drawings. Upon the margins, and also on the reverse sides of most of them, are to be found annotations and legends of the utmost historical and iconographic value. Sometimes they appear to be in the handwriting of the artists themselves: often notes with regard to subsequent reproduction in colours; but more often they seem to be the remarks of the connoisseurs and collectors who at different times possessed the drawing—such as was Catherine de Medicis herself. Her handwriting is to be found upon at least sixteen of the drawings in the Musée Condé, easily identified by existing fragments of her letters in the archives at Chantilly and elsewhere. There is, for example, a drawing of Erasmus which had hitherto passed unnoticed until Moreau Nélaton discovered that the Queen had written his name upon it in her own hand. Her autograph is clear enough also on the drawings which present her favourite ladies-in-waiting Hegli[125] and Montchenu and la Romène; whilst she has also annotated the drawings representing Monsieur de S. Valier, “le père de la Grande Senechalle,” and “Monsieur de Nevers,” “le père de Madame de Nevers.” Then upon a drawing of Brissac (so celebrated for his good looks) she notes “brassac depuis maréchal.” Again, “le fu roy de Navarre, Henri,” “Monsieur de Chateaubriand,” “Monsieur de Voldemont,” and “Chandu, capitaine de la porte du Roy.” Besides the sixteen drawings at Chantilly which so obviously bear the Queen’s handwriting, there is as already mentioned in the Deligand Collection a likeness of “Brasseu,” daughter of Diane de Poitiers, and in the Uffizi a drawing representing Queen Claude, “mère du roi Henri,” on both of which we also find Her Majesty’s angular writing. She has corrected, moreover, the title upon one pencil drawing wrongly entitled Madame de Nevers d’Albret into Madame de Vendôme d’Alençon.

Yet by far the larger number of the drawings bear notes in a variety of different handwritings: at Chantilly, the Bibliothèque Nationale, in the Uffizi and in the British Museum (Salting Bequest). M. Moreau Nélaton is strongly of opinion that these notes were all made either by the Queen herself or by secretaries written at her dictation. He is certainly right in regard to one of these, for we can trace the same handwriting in a private letter “a ma cousine Madame la Connetable” signed by the Queen; and again on the margin of the three drawings representing “François Dauphin,” “Marie Royne d’Ecosse,”[126] and “Charles Maximilian d’Orleans” respectively. It is a well-formed caligraphy with a peculiar trick of abbreviating “et” into “&,” which appears both in the letter and in the notes. There is no proof, however, as to who were the other annotators, whether Court secretaries or not. They may just as well, as M. Dimier[127] suggests, be other collectors through whose hands in the course of time the drawings have passed. This much, however, is quite certain: that all are posterior to the drawings themselves. The different handwritings—of which there are at least four, if not five (including that of the Queen), have puzzled Bouchot as much as Dimier and Moreau Nélaton, and all these authorities have their own special theories upon the subject. It is evident that in most cases the notes do identify the persons represented in the drawings upon which they are found, and they are thus of greatest historical value: and more especially is this the case with the drawings at Chantilly (many of which are stained with blotches of colour), since they are the originals from which were derived the copies and portraits found now in other collections.