by Emily Hahn
At Versailles the old men were still quarreling over the young women when things took an unexpected turn. Marie Jeanne, resignedly putting the finishing touches on her trousseau for Portugal, suddenly found herself being claimed by her almost forgotten fiancé, Charles of Lorraine. As if this were not enough, a third voice made itself heard above the clamor of courtiers—that of her kinsman Carlo Immanuele, Duke of Savoy. Marie Jeanne, overjoyed at the prospect of release from marriage with the dreaded King of Portugal, begged her uncle to reconsider her fate. Carlo Immanuele was a good match, so Marie Jeanne had her way, and was married to the duke.
The bishop then assured the Marquêz de Sande that the wedding of King Affonso might go on as planned, with only one slight, insignificant change—the bride. Marie Françoise was still in the shop window; she was as pretty as her sister and she would be delighted to be Queen of Portugal.
In the end that is how it arranged itself. There was another slight change as well, for the Infant Pedro turned awkward at the last minute and refused to marry Mademoiselle de Bouillon. He had not been consulted about the matter at all, he said; he had not agreed to anything; he had no desire to marry anyone, and not all Affonso’s fury would move him. Turenne must look elsewhere for a nephew-in-law, but the marshal’s chagrin could not hinder the main proceedings at that stage of the game. Affonso got a blond bride, and Marie Françoise a crown.
There is always something ridiculous about a proxy marriage, but nothing can surpass for sheer oddity the wedding of Marie Françoise Isabelle, Princess of Savoy, to Affonso, King of Portugal, as it was solemnized at La Rochelle before the bride sailed for her new home. Sande represented Dom Affonso, and the Duc de Vendôme stood up in the place of Mademoiselle d’Aumale. Very gravely, marquêz and duke were joined in holy wedlock by the Bishop of Laon, and there it was. Marie Françoise was a queen, a consummation she had long desired. She was an ambitious young woman, anxious for power, and she thoroughly understood that she owed all her loyalty to Louis and France. The crown was hers; now to do her duty.
Was Affonso impotent? At Versailles they sniggered and asked the question. Few marriages can have begun less auspiciously. The ship came to anchor at Lisbon, carrying as chief passenger a very seasick bride. Poor Marie Françoise, who had been miserable through the whole long, rough voyage, found no husband pacing the dock in eager expectation of her arrival. Affonso, perhaps still feeling snubbed because he hadn’t got Marie Jeanne, was in the town busying himself with non-marital matters, and he had to be reminded twice that the gaily decorated barge awaited him.
Pedro was in the party which accompanied him when he went at last. This was fitting and proper, but it furnished an unfortunate contrast when the two brothers arrived on deck to pay their duties. There was Pedro, tall and handsome in his fine clothes, standing respectfully back of his grotesque, fat, trussed-up brother, who may possibly have been indulging his customary taste for wearing two or three hats on his head, one on top of another. There they stood, both of them staring at Marie Françoise in open admiration which had in it an element of unflattering astonishment. All the time the interpreter, or some Portuguese noble who could speak French (for the King could not), was chattering away to Marie Françoise, who spoke no Portuguese. At that moment, tired and disappointed, she must have regretted her bargain very bitterly, but such regrets were a commonplace in her circle.
There was no time for more than the usual long-winded courtesies. Marie Françoise had to go ashore to attend her second marriage ceremony and then set off on a wedding journey with an oafish King with whom she could not exchange a word in a common language.
The bewildered girl had at least one refuge, the ill health which everyone knew she had suffered from ever since La Rochelle. Whether or not Affonso considered himself a capable lover, he was not allowed to prove it for at least three nights. Later, the Queen was to claim that he never did prove it.
In a court one knows everything. At least one likes to have it thought that one knows everything, which is why so many attendants tell thrilling shocking stories about their royal masters. There was never any dearth of gossip at the court of Affonso, even before the pretty Queen arrived. Everyone knew, for example, about the bad feeling between the brothers, which had been gaining in strength ever since the Infant put his foot down and refused to take a wife at his brother’s command. They had squabbled a good deal about the Infant’s rights and his dignities. Now, with Marie Françoise in the household, they quarreled more than ever.
At a public festival during the honeymoon, sitting with the bride in full view of the large audience, Affonso and Pedro began a dispute which rapidly developed into a loud quarrel. Poor Marie Françoise, who had just begun to learn her husband’s language, understood enough of the fraternal insults to be much upset. Were it not for her presence, Affonso was saying, he would kill Pedro with his sword. King and prince bawled at each other, threatening injury and death but never quite coming to blows, while between them the Queen wrung her hands. The scene ended only when Pedro flounced out.
Marie Françoise managed to bring the brothers together again, but soon there was another quarrel to resolve, and then another. At least Affonso never threatened his wife as he did his brother. He must have been fond of her in his way, although as the court gossips well knew they were not an amorous pair of newlyweds. They occupied separate bedchambers, and Affonso continued to take his pleasure, whatever it amounted to, with females he had known before his marriage.
These excursions into the sentimental should not tempt us to forget how all-important to every actor in the Portuguese drama was the world situation. Spain and the war were still with them, and Louis of France followed up the friendly gesture of marrying his cousin to Affonso by the even friendlier one of becoming Portugal’s ally in the struggle.
Already there was a rapport between the armies of the two nations: Marshal Schomberg was virtual commander of the Portuguese forces, and Schomberg was French. That is to say, he was generally considered French, though one scarcely knows why, as his mother was English and his father German. However, it is true that he had been in the French army, among others, before Louis lent him to Affonso. Like Marie Françoise, he was the embodiment of a diplomatic gesture. Soon after the bride’s arrival, the two expatriates came to an understanding that Marie Françoise be kept informed as to the progress of the war. They had to be careful to hide their sentiments from the public, for these lackadaisical hostilities were becoming increasingly unpopular in Portugal.
The Queen had to content herself with undercover activity such as this, for it was annoyingly evident that any importance Louis had hoped she would enjoy in the government was nonexistent. Chafe as she might against her fate, she was a woman, and in Portugal that meant she was a nonentity in public affairs. She had been warned of this disadvantage when the marriage was first discussed, but at Versailles, where even girls had plenty of freedom, she had been gaily confident of circumventing such obstacles. Now she was giving up hope. Southwell pithily summed it up: Marie Françoise had found “a total disappointment in her bed, and a perfect insignificancy in the government.”
No doubt it was galling for the new Queen to reflect that her mother-in-law Dona Luiza, herself a foreigner, had managed in spite of Portuguese tradition to make her mark and have her way. Of course she had not been hampered by a feeble-minded husband, revolting in appearance and habits. Even at that, Luiza hadn’t attained her hour of strength until she became widow and regent. Was it possible to follow her example?
When two people have much the same ambition, as did Marie Françoise and Dom Pedro, it is difficult to decide which of them furnishes the first impulse to achieve it. The Infant had fallen in love with the French princess at sight. Such sentimental urges were probably commonplace in his life, and this one would have died quickly if there had not been practical reasons to hold him constant to his love. From the Queen’s point of view everything combined to push her toward Pedro. He was attractive, sympa
thetic, and admiring. He knew better than anyone else what she had to cope with, married to his brother. Doubtless she had been briefed by Louis in the intrigues of the court, and understood that the Infant wanted to take Affonso’s place. Before meeting her husband she must have thought of her brother-in-law as an enemy to circumvent. Now, after meeting the man she had already married, she began to wonder how best to help Pedro get what he wanted.
We do not know the exact steps by which she reached this state of mind, but the details hardly matter. It would give a false picture of Marie Françoise’s character and of the general situation, however, if we leaped to the conclusion that she was loose or careless. She did not rush into Dom Pedro’s arms. She had been well brought up by Versailles standards, and never disregarded appearances. Nor was she headstrong enough to run the risk of having an affair at that court, full as it was of enemies. I think it possible that she took Pedro as her lover later on, just before they succeeded in forcing Affonso from the throne, but even that is by no means certain.
All we know is that very soon after she was installed, during the unhappy bickering between Affonso and Pedro and her own estrangement from her husband, she and Pedro recognized each other as political allies and agreed to work together. The Infant’s adherents welcomed this valuable recruit with enthusiasm. Her presence caused them to map out a new campaign to unseat the King.
First of all, obviously, Castel-Melhor must be eradicated. He was an intelligent watchdog, and unshakably faithful to Affonso. The Infant’s party stirred up the public feeling which already existed against the Count, reminding everyone how the minister supported the hated war. As soon as they felt the softening process had gone far enough, Marie Françoise adroitly attacked Castel-Melhor. She picked a quarrel with him by demanding that he give her that portion of her marriage settlement which was to be her allowance; it had not yet been paid.
An outstanding debt between European crowned heads was not at all exceptional. On the contrary, it was the usual state of affairs. Portugal herself still owed England the major part of Catherine’s famous dowry, the largest ever paid—on paper. It came to nearly half a million sterling, or would have had the bride actually brought it, but the unromantic fact was that it was paid on the installment plan, and the payments went on for so many years that Charles II had long been dead before accounts were settled. Such debts were so often in arrears that the entire bookkeeping system of Europe’s royalty could have done with a general moratorium.
Nevertheless, the Queen of Portugal had a case, if she wanted to make trouble. Castel-Melhor, as she expected, admitted he could not possibly hand over the sum she was demanding. Marie Françoise was loud in her complaints. News of the quarrel spread through court and country; the Queen and the minister were sworn foes. Fresh clashes occurred as fast as she could precipitate them. Marie Françoise became a termagant. Her attacks were shrewd and well timed. Soon the people began to think of her as they did of Dom Pedro, as an enemy of their enemy Castel-Melhor, and their champion.
The months passed by, and the conspiracy flourished. There was no doubt that the Queen was becoming more popular. Even the Army, she felt confident, would support her and turn against the King when the time came, for it was under the command of Schomberg, friend and ally. To make quite sure, however, she asked Schomberg to send her an up-to-date report of his men’s state of mind, and other military matters. Schomberg obligingly wrote and sent to her several pages of exhaustive discussion.
Marie Françoise received this confidential report late one night and she went to bed with it, intending to read it carefully before morning. Lulled too well either by Schomberg’s style or the dullness of the material, she fell asleep and left the papers scattered all over the bedclothes. Next morning she overslept, though she was supposed to attend early mass with the King. What with attendants running in to rouse her and everything being late, she went off to the chapel in such a rush that she forgot the papers. Bang in the middle of the service, she remembered. There was nothing she could do about it at the moment. Having arrived after the elevation of the Host, she would have to wait for the next mass. Terrified, she watched Affonso walk out at the end of the first ceremony.
She whispered to her confessor, and sent him up to her room, but he returned with agitating news. The King was in her bedchamber, chatting with her lady-in-waiting; of course the priest had not been able to do more than peer in, and just as he came away he had seen the King throw himself down on the unmade bed. If one of the papers so much as crackled under him …
The Queen was in a frenzy. On the advice of the confessor she fainted, which put a sudden end to the mass. Then she permitted herself to recover slightly, just enough so that she could totter, with support, to her room. The alarmed King leaped from the couch and scurried about being helpful, commanding that the bed be made afresh. Marie Françoise protested that she could not wait. Weakly she lay down on the muddled bedclothes. The papers were still there. For once she had reason to be grateful for the slovenly habits of the palace domestics.
The furore over Castel-Melhor had been whipped up to such a pitch that the Infant and his coterie of fidalgos felt safe in inviting the people’s tribune, with representatives of the guilds, to come and talk things over. To these citizens they put the straight question: on whose side would the people be if it came to an open break between the brothers? Enthusiastically the citizens declared their loyalty to Dom Pedro.
All of this was immediately reported by spies to the King’s party. Dom Affonso was in danger, and he was not too stupid to realize how things stood. That did not mean, however, that he was willing to do anything decisive. Castel-Melhor urged him to move out of town to Alcántara, muster his troops, and march back to make war on the Infant, but the King was averse to that sort of violence, for all his love of the other kind. Instead he rushed into the matter headlong, as he always did, upbraiding Dom Pedro openly for holding treasonous meetings. The Infant angrily retorted that His Majesty supported Pedro’s enemy Castel-Melhor and was himself a traitor. If that man did not leave Lisbon, Dom Pedro said, he would.
Again Affonso would not make a decision, and by putting it off he allowed Pedro to win. The count was a good fighter, but he knew when he was beaten. As gracefully as he could, he took his leave. He knew he was abandoning his master to destruction, but as his master had abandoned him first, he had no choice.
Followed a strange and uncomfortable era in the palace. Having given in easily on Castel-Melhor, Affonso began to prove unexpectedly awkward. His Queen and her accomplices discovered that they did not, after all, enjoy the free hand with the government that they had hoped for after their triumph. The King refused to see his brother, and he would not listen to his wife’s advice any more than he had before. She had still “a perfect insignificancy in the government.”
Moreover, for the first time the forthright King displayed considerable talent for intrigue. He called back to Lisbon the count’s right-hand man, Sousa de Macedo, to take Castel-Melhor’s place, and between them they collected a large pro-Affonso party, which lost no time concocting a plot against the Infant. It was desperate in design. Pedro was to be lured to a meeting and there assassinated. However, the King’s commander in chief took alarm at this idea and argued Affonso out of it.
It was Pedro’s turn to take the offensive. Early one morning he burst into the palace at the head of a large body of men, and stalked into the King’s bedchamber. The situation had all the makings of a good bloody battle, but this was Portugal, where most matters can be compounded in talk. It would never have done in England, but Lisbon was different. The air, instead of ringing with clash of arms, resounded with passionate speeches. Pedro, in flowery terms, requested Affonso to sack Macedo. Affonso angrily refused. Macedo was brought in and the argument continued over his unfortunate head. Hours went by. Now and then a soldier made a sort of pass at Macedo, but nothing actually happened to him, though everyone shouted a good deal.
Marie Françoise e
ntered, and the King turned on her. In the ordinary way he was courteous to his wife in public, but this time he broke his own rule. I would not go so far as to say he threatened her; Affonso was remarkably restrained in some ways. But he did accuse her, in a childishly jealous tirade, of having walked in merely to see Pedro. An awkward silence fell at last on the group, and in the lull Macedo could be heard timidly requesting a private audience with the King. Somehow, everyone felt inclined to let him have his own way, and the others retired for a while to the anteroom. The first flush was over; the coup had fallen flat, and what might have been armed rebellion was petering out in talk.
Not that the talk was over; far from it. It went on for five hours more. At one point a mob gathered in the town to discuss the disturbing rumors that emanated from the palace. They worked themselves up and made a rush on the building, brandishing naked swords. However, they were a Portuguese mob and didn’t really want trouble. Affonso, Pedro, and Marie Françoise hastily showed themselves in friendly proximity at the windows, and the crowd cheered them and retired. Indoors the fury of words continued unabated, to the rather macabre accompaniment of Affonso’s flute, which he insisted upon playing through most of the proceedings. He said he needed the practice.
At last His Majesty tired of the affair and gave in, with reservations. Sousa de Macedo should leave Lisbon for a time, but it was to be a short time only. However, Macedo, like Conti, went away bereft of all ambition, and he was never to come back in the same capacity.
The tale had become monotonously repetitive, but now there were new developments, for Pedro proceeded to buy over that part of the Army which was still loyal to his brother. There remained a few fidalgos faithful to the King; Pedro’s people frightened some with threats, and attempted to assassinate the tougher specimens, until one by one they all fled.
Then the conspirators engineered a demand from the Municipal Council and the people’s tribune for a meeting of the Cortes, or Parliament. Affonso, knowing this meeting would probably be the end of his reign, held out as long as he could, but when the people threatened to stop paying taxes, he capitulated. It was arranged that the Cortes should assemble at the beginning of 1668, about six weeks thence.
