The Serpent and the Moon: Two Rivals for the Love of a Renaissance King (31 page)

T
HE year 1543 began with rumblings from across the Channel as Henry VIII broke his treaty with the French and allied himself with Charles V His real objective was Boulogne, but among his official complaints against François I was the French king’s hasty recognition of the eight-day-old Mary as queen of Scotland upon the death of her father, James V, on December 14, 1542. The duc de Vendôme was successful against Henry VIII near Calais. Charles d’Orléans regained Luxembourg, but the Duke of Cleves, France’s ally, was defeated by the emperor. Meanwhile, the Turkish fleet under Barbarossa, together with the French fleet, terrorized the populations on the Mediterranean
coast. The wild Turkish fighters were given permission to winter in Toulon, which had been vacated by its careful burghers. Once François rewarded them generously, the Turks finally left in May 1544.

Having been cashiered from the army, Henri returned to court to the joy of his wife and mistress. They had not been idle in his absence, but had been to see every doctor, quack, magician, astrologer, and alchemist—anyone who might be able to help the dauphine conceive. At the time, there were two eminent physicians at the French court, Louis de Bourges and, above all, Jean Fernel. After thorough examinations, Fernel surmised that Catherine’s inverted womb would not be an obstacle to conception with any man other than Henri, about whose congenital malformation nothing could be done. All he could advise was what Diane had already told Catherine—try alternative positions, and take his pills made of myrrh. Diane spared herself nothing to have Catherine conceive and resumed the routine of regularly sending Henri upstairs to his wife.
⁶
Diane de Poitiers had fallen completely in love with her dashing young
chevalier
and one can imagine her agony at having to make this decision. But the alternative was so much worse, and he always came back to her for the rest of the night.

Finally, the miracle happened. Whether it was due to Fernel’s pills, Diane’s advice, or simply nature, a son was born at Fontainebleau on January 19, 1544, ten years after Catherine’s marriage. She was twenty-four. Even the most intimate moments in the life of a future queen had a public significance and dozens of people had direct access to her during the labor and birth. Her cousin Cosimo de’ Medici was informed by his ambassador that according to custom, when the time came for the baby’s birth, several Princes of the Blood were present at the scene separated from Catherine by a flimsy curtain.

As soon as the child was born, according to custom, the astrologers were called to cast the boy’s horoscope. Their verdict was that the positions of the stars were favorable. The papal nuncio entered the room so promptly after the baby’s arrival to offer his congratulations that Catherine was still lying on the floor where she had given birth.

It was assumed that the baby’s fragility was due to the many exotic remedies the mother had taken before and during her pregnancy. The doctor who delivered the baby, Jean Fernel, recommended no bleeding and no purges.
⁷
Catherine was to avoid spicy or salted food, and she was not to resume marital relations. The baby was named François in honor of his grandfather, who also assisted at the birth, as did Diane.
⁸
Like a soothsayer, the king did not hesitate to examine the afterbirth, and then he pronounced that his grandson would be a healthy lad and that there would be many more births to come—at least six! Everyone was delighted. Marguerite de Navarre wrote her brother a charming letter on the joys of being a grandparent.

The papal nuncio visited the royal mother and child several times, and the cardinal de Bourbon officiated at the baptism. The godfathers were the baby’s grandfather the king, and his uncle, Charles d’Orléans. His godmother was Henri’s sister Marguerite de France, Catherine’s friend. After a stay at Anet, François allowed Henri back into his council. The rifts between the king and his heir appear to have been healed to some degree by the birth of an heir. To the joy of both wife and mistress, François I rewarded the dauphin by appointing him commander-in-chief of the army for the spring campaign against Henry VIII and Charles V.

F
OR the next ten years, the dauphine had a child almost every year. The marriage of Henri II and Catherine de’ Medici was one of the most prolific royal unions in history. Other women who married in their early teens and had multiple pregnancies often wore their young bodies out with the strain, like poor little Queen Claude, who began her seven pregnancies at age fourteen. Catherine was already twenty-four at the first birth and physically completely mature. When it
was safe for her to conceive again, Henri did his duty; but once she was pregnant, he did not go to his wife’s bed but remained with Diane. It was said that thereafter the dauphine concealed her pregnancies for as long as possible.

Henri’s gratitude was expressed by the gift of a sum of money to Diane, described in the accounts as being in recognition of her assistance to the dauphine. Once again, Diane had made herself useful. Having had two children, she knew what she was doing. Diane de Poitiers was unusual in that she took on the active role of both parents in the life of her daughters following the death of Louis de Brézé. There was far less family feeling about children in those days because of the frequency of early death in childhood. Parents deliberately distanced themselves, and babies were given to wet nurses, nannies, and tutors to bring up. Fathers made the decisions concerning their sons after the age of seven. Diane, however, was very close to her two daughters, remaining in constant touch with them and deeply involved in establishing them in good marriages. Her duties as a mother did not end there; she spent much time with her grandchildren and planned their marriages as carefully as those of her two girls. A woman of her time, she lived by the philosophy she had learned from Anne de Beaujeu—to consolidate her holdings and those of her children, and to secure their succession.

In seventeen years, between 1546 and 1563, the queen wrote less than twenty letters concerning the welfare of her children. Henri, on the other hand, was a doting father, probably a reaction to the lack of affection he received during his own miserable period of childhood in the Spanish prisons. He concerned himself with every detail of the progress and health of his children. Later he would quiz them on their studies, especially their knowledge of Latin and Italian.

If Catherine’s position in France was now no longer threatened, the same could be said for Diane. The arrival of a son and heir made no difference to Henri’s feelings for Diane—if anything, they were stronger. He knew how she had worked to see that he had an heir. More and more often, Henri would escape to Anet to spend time with his “Lady” within her magic circle of entertainments, culture, and pleasure; hers
was a chivalrous court along the lines of
Amadís
. There he could forget his difficult relations with his father and brother, forget his wife, and above all, forget the insidious maneuverings of Anne d’Etampes.

A
great favorite of the king’s and Henri’s, François de Bourbon, comte d’Enghien, asked permission to invade Milan, and scored an important victory on April 14, 1544 at Ceresole Alba. Though longing to join his friends Saint-André, Dampierre, Brissac, and La Châtaigneraie fighting the emperor in Italy, Henri had to stay in France on his father’s orders. News of the senseless cruelty of Charles V’s army in burning the captured city of Vitry-en-Perthois in northern France traumatized the population. Ill in bed again with another abscess in his groin, the king finally gave Henri the command as lieutenant general of the army. Vitry was to be avenged.

Just when the imperialists were about to abandon the siege of nearby Saint-Dizier, the king’s personal seal fell into their hands. With this incredible stroke of luck, they sent a forged order to the commander of the French garrison, the comte de Sancerre, instructing him to capitulate in the name of the king. He did so, to widespread French disbelief. Scandal hit the court; it was rumored that Anne d’Etampes, in her hatred of Diane and fear of the dauphin’s victorious return from the war, had passed the king’s seal to the emperor and state secrets to Henry VIII.
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Henri’s friends Enghien, Saint-André, and Brissac rushed back from Italy to join his army to defend the capital as the imperialists drew nearer to Paris. Perhaps recalling what happened to Rome when the imperial army arrived in 1527, the inhabitants panicked, packing their goods and fleeing the capital. Among the first to save their gold treasures and abandon the capital were the monks and nuns—not a good example.

François I, who had installed himself in Paris to give confidence to the population, knew his army was fit and intact. Henri waited with his force of forty thousand outside the capital, but to everyone’s astonishment,
the imperialists did not give battle. Many of the emperor’s mercenary army had not been paid for some time and when reinforcements did not come from Henry VIII in Normandy, they deserted. Having fortified his position in the north of France, Henry VIII had no intention of coming to the rescue of the emperor and watching him extend his territories. Meanwhile, the dauphin had forced the Spanish to retreat and, at the same time, managed to keep his army together. If the war continued, Henri would surely be covered in even more glory. To avoid such a triumph for the dauphin, Anne d’Etampes urged François to make peace. In fact, Charles V was quite willing to negotiate—his credit had run out and he had no funds to continue the war.

By September 16, 1544, peace was declared, and on the 18th, the Treaty of Crespy (Crépy) was signed with terms that did not really benefit either side. Charles d’Orléans was to marry the emperor’s daughter the Infanta Maria, this time with the Netherlands or Franche-Comté as her dowry. Alternatively, he could marry the emperor’s niece, the Princess Anne, and she would bring with her the duchy of Milan. From his father, Charles would receive four French duchies as his domain.

Again, the emperor hoped that by ruling over this sizable territory, Charles d’Orléans would one day be inspired to challenge Henri for the throne of France. For his part, the king renounced all claims to Savoy and Piedmont, and the emperor abandoned his claim to Burgundy. The two monarchs formed a secret “holy alliance” against the reformers, with the aim of bringing the Protestant princes of Germany back into the Catholic fold. The French agreed to lend support to (Charles V’s brother) Ferdinand of Austria, and to the duc de Savoie against his erstwhile allies the Swiss. Neither nationalism nor loyalty was a factor in sixteenth-century warfare. François I was to renege once again on his alliance with Suleiman—a treaty considered against nature by all Christianity—and join with the emperor to fight the Turks. When he heard this, the enraged Sultan almost impaled the French ambassador, Gabriel d’Aramon.

François I and his family left for Brussels to celebrate the peace with the emperor and his other sister, Queen Maria of Hungary, regent of the Netherlands. The peace was not universally praised in France, but Queen Eleonore was delighted that her husband and brother were
no longer in conflict. To the surprise of all and the embarrassment of most, during Queen Eleonore’s official entry into the city, Anne d’Etampes was seated next to the queen on her gold-draped litter. The dauphin was outraged at this show of
lèse-majesté
, and many of the king’s advisers refuted the treaty. The
Parlement
only agreed to ratify it following a second order from François, and he in turn blamed the dauphin’s negative reaction for the attitude of his
Parlement
.