The Serpent and the Moon: Two Rivals for the Love of a Renaissance King (50 page)

On New Year’s Day 1558, Henri II’s army, led by François de Guise, supported by his brother, Claude d’Aumale, moved their cannon over the frozen marshes right up to the two forts protecting Calais, while the French navy bombarded the city from the sea. It was only then that Wentworth appreciated his predicament. With the city surrounded, his sole source of reinforcement or escape was across the frozen marshes and dunes to the sea—where the French navy was firing at him. Five days later, Lord Wentworth capitulated. The last English stronghold in France was no more and the population of Calais was “invited to cross the Channel.” The English had always avowed that Calais would only be taken when “iron and lead float like corks.” It had taken just eight days to conquer Calais.

As Queen Mary Tudor lay on her sickbed, tormented with pain and anguish, she cried out that when she died, “
Calais
” would be written on her heart. Never again could the monarchs of England divide their arms with those of France. Saint-Quentin had been avenged. This glorious victory caused French national spirits to rise so high that the
Parlement
voted Henri a huge amount of money for the campaign to continue. The star of the Guises was on vertical ascent as France celebrated
the “Scarface” duke’s victories. Meanwhile, the hostilities on the Continent, and the endless negotiations and jockeying for position between the European powers, continued.

With this decisive victory behind them, in the spring of 1558, the Guises pushed for the wedding between the sixteen-year-old Mary, the Rose of Scotland, and the fifteen-year-old dauphin finally to take place. Despite the queen’s pleas that the dauphin was too young and weak, as well as Diane’s gentle persuasion, Henri still would not yield. The only success story in the endless war had been the heroic leadership of François, duc de Guise, and the king could refuse him nothing. Diane had no choice but to make the best of the decision and try to swing the balance of power away from the Guises. After the eleven years of underhand hostility between them, Diane once again joined forces with Anne de Montmorency. The king sorely missed his wise, imprisoned adviser and was daily more enraged by the arrogance of Charles, cardinal de Lorraine, who had moved himself into Montmorency’s place.

B
ECAUSE Mary Stuart had lived at the French court since the age of six and grown up with the Valois children, the young Scottish queen welcomed the decision on her marriage, as did her country and her Guise relations—each for different reasons. In conquering Calais, the Guises had triumphed. Mary would control the weak dauphin and her uncles would rule her, France, and Scotland—perhaps even England. As most of Europe’s Catholic countries considered Mary to be the rightful queen of England as well as Scotland, the heraldic devices displayed all over France for this dynastic union included not only those of France and Scotland but those of England as well.

Prior to the wedding, at the request of the Scottish commissioners, Mary had signed guarantees that Scotland would keep its ancient liberties, and that her Scottish heirs would inherit the kingdom should Mary die without issue. Nine commissioners were sent by the Scottish Parliament to show the country’s approval of this union with France—on these conditions. Subsequently, in secret, the little queen signed three documents presented to her by her Guise uncles. In these she gaily promised the exact opposite: first, that she would give Scotland to the king of France if she died without heirs; second, that she would grant the French immediate possession of Scotland unless King Henri was repaid the 1 million
livres
of gold he had spent on Mary’s upbringing in the last ten years—this represented Scotland’s entire revenue; and finally that any promise she had made to the Estates of Scotland that could harm France would be invalid. It is likely that Mary was pressed by her Guise relations into authorizing these documents; nor could such an agreement, should the circumstances have arisen, ever have been made binding. The betrothal contract was signed in the Great Hall of the Louvre, in the presence of the king and queen, the papal legate, and the court. Antoinette de Bourbon, the duchesse de Guise and Mary’s aunt, acted as guardian to the marriage. The ceremonies were arranged by her son, the hero François de Guise, with his brother the cardinal officiating.

The spectacular marriage ceremony took place on April 24, 1558 in the Cathedral of Nôtre-Dame in Paris. Carpenters had built an arched platform and gallery draped in vine leaves, with a canopy of blue velvet covered with gold
fleur-de-lys
, shading the entrance to the cathedral. In the center, prominently displayed, were the arms of the new king of Scotland and his queen. The crowds waited outside as the parade approached to the sound of cheering and music—drums, trumpeters, and finally the viols, guitars, zithers, and oboes played by the many dozens of musicians dressed half in red and half in yellow. The ladies of the royal household wore their most splendid robes; silks, satins, velvets, and jewels glowed in the sunlight, while the courtiers doffed their feathered hats pinned with glittering brooches. Princes of the Church also paraded, all the clergy walking before the cardinals, who were dressed in red silk and wore their small four-cornered hats. The groom, the stunted dauphin, was the next to appear, walking alongside the taller, handsome young Henri of Navarre—a striking contrast.

Finally, the sixteen-year-old bride arrived on foot, walking between the king and her uncle, the duc de Guise, a great favorite with the crowds since his victory over the English at Calais. The dauphin had drawn little cheering, but when the king, François de Guise, and Mary appeared, the murmuring hum swelled to a roar. Brantôme wrote that the bride was radiant in a dress “white unto a lily, fashioned so richly and so beautifully that none could imagine it. The train thereof six ells in length, was borne by two maids. About her neck hung a circlet of untold value.” The wedding dress was made of cloth of silver and was covered in precious stones, which shone white in the bright sun, blinding the onlookers. From Mary’s shoulders hung a cape of purple velvet embroidered in gold, and a gold crown studded with pearls, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds was fixed to her titian hair. Sighs and gasps and appreciative murmurs rose from the audience.

Brantôme described the bride as “a hundred times more beautiful than a goddess from the sky.… In the afternoon she danced, and in the evening she walked with modest steps and proud face to make her vow to Hymen and to consummate her union in such a manner that the conversation in the Court and the capital was that the Prince, who
was being united to this Princess, was beyond all measure fortunate. If the Kingdom of Scotland were a thing of value, its queen surpassed it therein.”

Although the country was crippled by debt, Henri II was determined that the wedding of the heir to the throne would be unforgettable. He had a footbridge erected across the main entrance to Nôtre-Dame, and to loud cries of “
Largesse, largesse
,” his heralds tossed countless handfuls of gold and silver coins into the crowd. The service was performed under the canopy in front of the cathedral door by the cardinal de Lorraine, using a ring from Henri’s own finger. Then the bridal party entered Nôtre-Dame to hear Mass. By all accounts, it was the celebration of the century, and a unique occasion in which “a queen became a dauphine and a dauphin became a king.”
⁴

The following year on January 22, 1559, Henri and Catherine’s eleven-year-old and rather unattractive daughter Claude married the young, dashing, sixteen-year-old duc Charles II de Lorraine, with great popular approval and celebrations. Charles de Lorraine was the head of the senior branch of the family.
⁵

Few could deny that Charles de Lorraine was a much more attractive prospect than the dauphin. He was bright, charming, skilled, and graceful, and had been brought up at the French court. During a visit to his mother with the cardinal de Lorraine in May 1558, he was told he might choose to remain in France or return to Lorraine. Charles replied that he would not know how to live anywhere else than where he had been raised. He returned to France and was welcomed joyfully by Henri II, the queen, and by the new king-dauphin as an integral part of the French court. Once again the Guise family were in charge. They celebrated this marriage with splendid, hugely expensive fetes, and the traditional jousting. During the festivities at the Hôtel de Guise and the Hôtel de Lorraine, it was noticed that Mary Stuart’s arms were quartered with England’s, drawing comments from the various ambassadors. When the English complained, they were reminded
that their own Queen Mary Tudor continued to quarter hers with the arms of France.

D
IANE’S health had always been excellent and, although approaching sixty, she was still beautiful. Sometimes the endless movement of the court from one château to another tired her, so she would spend more time at Anet or Chenonceau, often with her grandchildren. At Chenonceau, the magnificent vaulted bridge over the river was still being constructed. From her bedroom, which opened onto the bridge, a small trapdoor in the floor led down steps inside the nearest arch, not visible to the shore, and into the water. She would slip secretly into the river and swim naked.
⁶

During these later years, most of her creative energy was spent on the gardens of Chenonceau, importing new varieties of flowers from America. So many of today’s herbaceous flowers were unknown at the time and her neighbors vied with one another to present the duchesse de Valentinois with interesting plants and trees. The garden inventory shows an extraordinary collection of plants, fruits, and vegetables from other countries in Europe, as well as from the Near East. To perfume the rooms, Diane would scatter her own mixture of dried roses and essence of lily of the valley. During this quieter time, Anet, that refuge where the lovers had spent their happiest days, was not forgotten. The château always retained its slightly medieval air despite the exquisite imposition of the Renaissance structure by Philibert de l’Orme. Lacking native flowers, the garden was largely green, interspersed with fountains and the gentle lap of water.