Dark Eminence Catherine De Medici And Her Children (2 page)

*Paul Van Dyke, Catherine de M&dicis. (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1922), I, 23.

Around the stern were sculptures in high relief, gold on a black ground, and on the prow a lantern of polished metal shone. The awnings were of purple embroidered cloth; the rooms hung with silk and cloth of gold. The rowing benches were chained to the sides with silver chains and the crew of three hundred rowers were dressed in damascened satin in the royal colors of red and yellow/'

Pope Clement VII and thirteen cardinals whose pages were dressed in coats of green velvet met the fleet at Nice where His Holiness distributed rich gifts among the members of the French Court. Then on to Marseilles. In spite of the air of sanctimony and edification aboard the royal galley, there was gay laughter as well and frolicking. Many of Catherine's "ladies" were far younger than she; moreover, few had ever before been at sea, and the novelty of their adventure kept them in gales of amusement. Three of the little girls were dark-skinned, captured from Barbary: Marie-the-Moor and Agnes-and-Margaret-the-Turks, brought along to lend an exotic air. If any were homesick, bewildered little girls they were too conscious of their good fortune in being part of the train of the Duchessina to admit it, and it was a gay, chattering party of pretty girls that tripped down the gangway behind the impressive aggregation of clergy when they reached Marseilles.

Here Catherine, wearing gold brocade and mounted on a bay mare, rode with quiet dignity, head high, through the throngs gathered to welcome her. She was painfully aware of the critical gaze of the multitude, the shrill cries of "There she is! There's the Italian woman!" a name she bore proudly,

but came to dread for the connotation of contempt the French somehow injected into it.

Finally, on October 28, 1533, the fourteen-year-old Catherine de Medici became the Duchess of Orleans. The bridegroom was two weeks older than his bride, a solemn, rather melancholy lad who was considered wise for his age. And Catherine, uncertain scattering that she was, shunted from glittering pillar to magnificent post, felt that here at last was a friend, young like herself, someone she could trust. She fell deeply, unalterably in love.

The match, however, was frowned upon by the French Court. The bride s dowry still seemed unpardonably small coming from the heiress of the Medicis; again, though a Duchessina, she was still the daughter of bankers and tradesmen, and her intrusion upon royalty of feudal origin was considered little less than shocking. She was not spared the thrusts and lightly veiled insults of the Court and only her innate tact, a characteristic for which she was always to be remembered, kept peace between her and her tormentors, But a thin, cold shaft of bitterness slid silently into her young heart and coiled there. Her position and her husband's were relatively unimportant at Court, so in those early years her reactions to anything were of minor interest to anyone but herself.

Then the Dauphin died and she found herself and her young husband but one step removed from the throne of France. So, sitting on that breathless August morning, listening to the gathering storm, Catherine quietly appraised the prospect. Who shall say that it was not in that hour of full

realization of royalty's might that Catherine de Medici determined to be the mightiest of them all?

Almost from the day of her arrival, Catherine had won the affectionate regard of her father-in-law, Francis L He was a great respecter of art and literature. Hadn't he brought the aging Leonardo da Vinci to Amboise to add to its endless list of beauties? Didn't he own Mona Lisa? He was aware that a knowledge of the New Learning was essential to anyone calling himself an intellectual, and this in turn called for some comprehension of Greek. Catherine had perfected her own knowledge of Greek to the astonishment of the entire Court. His Majesty, watching the quiet absorption with which his young daughter-in-law bent over her books, smiled in rueful admiration.

But even greater than his respect for her learning was his high regard for her riding. Catherine was one of the most skillful horsewomen of her day. At that time the sidesaddle was unknown; the equestrienne sat sidewise on her mount with her feet resting on a small wooden platform or "footboard" as it was called. Catherine invented the horn for the saddle to give the rider balance, and had her makers of "horse furniture' fashion one to her liking. It became popular at once and soon in France, England and Italy the new sidesaddle was being adopted by noble ladies who found it not only safe and comfortable but flattering as well.

The King was a tireless hunter himself and, because he delighted in being surrounded by pretty women, he organized what he called his "Little Band," a select group of

women of the Court who joined him in the hunt. So proud was the King of Catherine's skill in the saddle and of her knowledge of fine horses that he insisted she join his "Little Band" and took great pleasure in having her ride beside him, outdistancing the others, skimming over the most perilous jumps. On one occasion she was thrown and painfully bruised and His Majesty's tender concern for her was such that she said to one of her ladies, "In all Christendom I think there is none kinder than His Majesty and none more fortunate than I to be his most humble servant/'

But for all her learning and all her skill in the saddle, Catherine was deeply troubled. As the years passed and no children came to her and the Dauphin an ugly rumor started, a threat to her marriage. Certain busybodies at Court suggested both to the King and to the Dauphin that she be replaced by another wife who would bring heirs to the throne.

At first Catherine refused to believe what she heard. Then she went to her husband. But Prince Henry was evasive. His interest at the moment was far removed from domestic matters. A typical sixteenth-century princeling, he showed his wife all respect and a certain affection, but it was to his mistress, the beautiful Diane de Poitiers, that he gave his full devotion. To the young wife who had given him her whole heart this was bitter humiliation, but she was wise in the ways of her world and did not complain. Now, however, she was thoroughly frightened; second choice she might be, but to be cast off entirely, this was unthinkable.

Catherine marshaled her forces of tact and gentle diplomacy, and then she went to the King. In all history there

First Dreams

23

have been few royal supplications to equal hers as she faced the monarch. She was not beautiful but she possessed that rare quality without which beauty is so much water poured through a sieve: she had charm. Even in her later years her personal magnetism won her many a diplomatic battle. Now, having obtained an audience with the King, she sank in a profound obeisance, fully aware of the pleasure he took in the rustle of brocade, the faint breath of perfume the gesture involved. His voice, his hand gentle upon her shoulder as he bade her rise, were proof enough that she had acted wisely.

"Your Majesty, my liege/' she began, her great eyes searching his, "it has come to me from divers sources that it is Your Majesty's desire since I have failed to bear an heir to this great kingdom that another woman be chosen as wife for my beloved husband and . . ."

"But my dear daughter/' Francis interrupted.

However, Catherine, her lines learned, was determined to finish her speech. ". . . and out of my gratitude to Your Majesty for having accepted me as your daughter-in-law I am resolved not to resist in the slightest degree your royal will but to accept it as God's will also. My one supplication is that I be permitted to serve in the train of my successor."

She paused, flushed and a little breathless, and found the King looking at her with an expression of friendly concern. Tiens, this girl really lias spirit, the expression said, and a fine sense of loyalty as well. This is pleasing, very pleasing. He took her hand. "My dear child/' he said gravely, "we would not have you distress yourself in this fashion. Since God has willed it that you should be the wife of His Highness, we have no wish to make a change, and instead let us pray that in good time God will grant us children to bless your marriage. Now go and do not grieve more."

With becoming humility Catherine backed from the royal presence, but once in her own bedroom, her women dismissed and the door securely locked behind her, she flung herself on the bed and burst into tears of rage. "So," she sobbed, "I've crawled like some craven animal before the King to save my marriage. I, Catherine de Medici, have been told I will do! But one day I swear the world shall know my

strength!" And in her heart the bitterness tightened its coils. Whether or not Catherine was correct in her suspicions has been a question history never has been able to solve satisfactorily. The young Cardinal of Lorraine was tutor to the Dauphin and both he and his brother, the Duke of Guise, were two of the Dauphin's closest friends, somewhat against the wishes of the King who had little use for the House of Guise. Catherine's suspicions were founded largely on the fact that both the Cardinal and his brother were on the friendliest terms with her rival, Diane de Poitiers. What was more reasonable than to believe this wily young trio, the Guises and Diane, between them had convinced Prince Henry that his marriage had been a mistake? Still, a motive seemed lacking unless, indeed, it was that Catherine was of the hated Italian Medicis.

Then as though to compensate her for her years of anxiety, on January 19, 1543, almost ten years after her wedding day, the Dauphiness bore a little son who was destined to become Francis II. The palace rocked with the tumult of rejoicing as bells pealed, and Te Deums drifting out from the chapel made the wintry air sweet.

The Dauphin permitted himself the rare luxury of a smile as he looked down at his young wife and the new baby who would soon be taken from her and put in the care of nurses and governors. "Praise God, Catherine/' he said, and let his fingers for a moment touch the fuzzy little head on her arm, "we have our boy! One day he will be King of France. His people will call him 'the wise/ 'the beloved/ 'the long-awaited/ "

Catherine closed her eyes to shut in tears of frustration. I am his mother, she thought, yet I mean less to you, his father, than the golden falcons lure you wear on the hunt to bring your Urd hack to your wrist. Aloud she said, "I trust you are right, my lord. We can only pray that when his day shall come he will reign as wisely as the great king for whom he is to be named." If only, the thought nagged, they had been peasant man and wife, interested only in each other and in their child instead of being virtual strangers! Fiercely her arm tightened around the baby. In an age of hatred and bigotry and cruelty unbounded he should be hers, all hers. She would see to that.

Francis was two years old, bravely trotting about in his voluminous black velvet gown with its attached white bib and white silk underdress, when his sister Elizabeth was born in April of 1545. She was followed by another sister, Claude, in September, 1547, and the following year by Louis who died when he was only two. In that same year, 1550, Charles was born, later to become Charles IX of France. Alexander Edward followed in 1551, but reigned as Henry III; and in the spring of 1553 Marguerite, who became Queen of Navarre. In March of 1554 Catherines last son, Hercules, was born, to become Duke of Alengon and Brabant. Twin girls, bom in 1556, died in infancy.

But Catherine s nursery was full; her fears regarding the succession were allayed; henceforth her ambitions would be centered in her children. Of them all, Elizabeth was unquestionably the favorite of both parents—lovely Elizabeth of Valois,

Chapter 2 ELIZABETH

THE beautiful palace at Fontainebleau was new. Standing in its whispering miles of forest it looked even in its pristine freshness like the hidden retreat of a fairy princess. And it was to Fontainebleau that the Dauphiness, Catherine, came for the birth of her second child.

It was spring, April, 1545, and the French countryside was at its loveliest. Plum, apple and chestnut trees were in bloom; larks tumbled in shrill delight across the cloudless sky; hidden waterways bubbled along through the delicate new grass.