The French monarchy was, at that time, under the sceptre of Henry the Second, the son of Francis the First, to whose character his own bore no resemblance; or rather the resemblance consisted in those showy qualities which lie too near the surface to enter into what may be called character. He affected a chivalrous vein, excelled in the exercises of the tourney, and indulged in vague aspirations after military renown. In short, he fancied himself a hero, and seems to have imposed on some of his own courtiers so far as to persuade them that he was designed for one. But he had few of the qualities which enter into the character of a hero. He was as far from being a hero as he was from being a good Christian, though he thought to prove his orthodoxy by persecuting the Protestants, who were now rising into a formidable sect in the southern parts of his kingdom. He had little reliance on his own resources, leading a life of easy indulgence, and trusting the direction of his affairs to his favorites and his mistresses. The most celebrated of these was Diana of Poictiers, created by Henry duchess of Valentinois, who preserved her personal charms and her influence over her royal lover to a much later period than usually happens. The persons of his court in whom the king most confided were the Constable Montmorency and the duke of Guise. Anne de Montmorency, constable of France, was one of the proudest of the French nobility,--proud alike of his great name, his rank, and his authority with his sovereign. He had grown gray in the service of the court, and Henry, accustomed to his society from boyhood, had learned to lean on him for the execution of his measures. Yet his judgments, though confidently given, were not always sound. His views were far from being enlarged; and though full of courage, he showed little capacity for military affairs. A consciousness of this, perhaps, may have led him to recommend a pacific policy, suited to his own genius. He was a stanch Catholic, extremely punctilious in all the ceremonies of devotion, and, if we may credit Brantôme, would strangely mingle together the military and the religious. He repeated his Pater-Noster at certain fixed hours, whatever might be his occupation at the time. He would occasionally break off to give his orders, calling out, "Cut me down such a man!" "Hang up another!" "Run those fellows through with your lances!" "Set fire to that village!"--and so on; when, having thus relieved the military part of his conscience, he would go on with his Pater-Nosters as before.[139]