by Jean Plaidy
I was right. There were tears.
I put my arms about her neck and kissed her.
“Elizabeth,” I said. “Dear sister. What ails you? Tell Henriette.”
There was a brief silence during which I thought she was about to order me away angrily. I gave her my conquering smile and suddenly she put her arms about me.
“There!” I said. “There!” I patted her back, marveling that I, the baby, should be comforting my elder sister.
“Dear little one,” said Elizabeth, more kindly than she had ever spoken to me before—not that she had ever been unkind, only seeming to be unaware of my existence.
“You are unhappy. What is wrong?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t understand.”
“I would. I would.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I am going away…. Away from you all.”
“Away? Why? Where?”
“To Spain.”
“Why are you going to Spain?”
“To marry the King’s son.”
“The son of the King of Spain! Oh, Elizabeth, when the King dies you will be the Queen of Spain!”
“Does that surprise you?”
“No,” I said. “I know we all have to marry. What surprises me is that you are sad when you are going to be Queen of Spain.”
“And you think that is worth…losing everything else for?”
“It must be wonderful to be a queen.”
“Oh, Henriette, what of your family? Suppose you had to go and leave us all…. Go to a new country…”
I considered it. Giving up everything…Mamie, Gaston, Madame de Montglat…my sisters…my mother…. And all in exchange for a crown!
“You are too young to understand, Henriette,” went on Elizabeth. “It will come to you one day. You must be prepared for it.”
“When?”
“Oh there is a long time to wait yet. How old are you? Six. I am seven years older than you. In seven years your time will come.”
Seven years! It was too far in the future to be considered. It was longer than the time I had been on Earth.
“Louis will be married too,” said Elizabeth. “Lucky Louis, he will not have to leave his home.”
“Do you hate going so much?”
“I don’t want to leave my home. To go into…I do not know what. It’s frightening, Henriette. It will be easier for you. You will have seen my going…and Christine’s before your time comes, so it won’t be such a shock.”
She set me down and blinked away the tears.
“Don’t tell anyone that you found me like this. Not even Mamie or Gaston.”
I promised.
“Our mother would be angry. She thinks it is wonderful that she has brought about this match with Spain. Some of the people are not too pleased.”
“Who isn’t pleased?”
“The Huguenots.”
“Huguenots! What concern is it of theirs?”
She took my face in her hands and kissed me. It was rare affection from Elizabeth.
“You are so young,” she said. “You don’t know anything of what is going on outside.”
“Outside where?”
“In the world…beyond the Court. Never mind. You will in time.”
She had stood up and, straightening her dress, became the Elizabeth I knew, inclined to be disdainful of her little sister’s youth.
“Run along now, dear,” she said, “and forget what I have said.”
But of course I was not going to forget. Many times I was on the verge of telling Mamie or Gaston. I felt it very difficult to restrain myself for I should have felt very superior for once to have discovered something they did not know. But I remembered my promise.
I did not have to wait long, for a few days after my encounter with Elizabeth our mother arrived in the nursery. Gaston and I did our ceremonious bows, and when she held out her hand to us we approached and stood one on either side of her. I found myself staring at her bosom, which always fascinated me. It was one of the biggest bosoms I had ever seen and very different from that of Madame de Montglat, which was almost nonexistent.
“Now, my children,” she said. “I have come to tell you some very good news. Your dear brother the King is about to be married.”
I gasped and stopped myself just in time from blurting out: “But I thought it was Elizabeth who is going to be married.”
We saw little of our brother Louis. Now that he was the King he was too important to be in our nursery and had to be taken away to have special tuition.
The Queen went on: “His dear little wife will come here to be with you for a while…but only until she is old enough to go to her husband. We are going to Bordeaux where we shall meet the new little Queen of France, whose father is giving her into our care. She is to be married to your brother. And now that we are taking his daughter from the King of Spain we think he might be a little unhappy so we are giving him our Princess Elizabeth. She is to be the wife of the son of the King of Spain. You were both at the proxy ceremony. You don’t remember. You were too young. It took place three years ago at the Palais Royal. You were only four then, Gaston, and you were three, Henriette.”
“I remember,” cried Gaston. “There was dancing and a banquet….”
“I remember too,” I put in, although I did not, but I was not going to be outdone by my brother.
“Well, that is good,” went on our mother. “There will be a real marriage now. So we are all going to Bordeaux and I have decided that it will be good for you children to come too.”
Our mother drew away to look at us closely.
I could see the questions trembling on Gaston’s lips, but he was always afraid to speak too freely in our mother’s presence.
The Queen went on: “It is a most happy occasion. It is an alliance with Spain. The daughter of a Spanish King will be a Queen of France and our daughter a Queen of Spain. Fair exchange, eh? Spain will be our ally and my daughter…Queen of Spain. She has married well, and what delights me as much as her crown is that she is going into a Catholic country.”
I was afraid then that our mother was going to ask how we were getting on with our religious instruction and I was just as scatterbrained with that as I was with other subjects.
But, however, she did not. She was clearly too excited by the marriages she had arranged.
“There will be many preparations to be made,” she said. “You will have new clothes.”
I clasped my hands in joy. I loved new clothes and I knew that those we would have to attend a grand wedding would be very grand indeed.
The preparations for this great occasion went on. I learned afterward that there were murmurings in the streets against my mother but I did not know of them then.
We seemed to spend long periods being fitted. I laughed at Gaston in his scarlet velvet coat and broad-brimmed beaver hat. He looked like a miniature cavalier. And I was like a lady of the Court in my puffed sleeves and wide cuffs, looped-up skirts and laces and ribbons. Everyone in our household came in to admire us and we loved our clothes—apart from the ever-present ruffs. “I shall never get used to them,” I declared; and Gaston hated them even more than I did.
Elizabeth’s gown was more glorious than anything we had ever seen. I heard my mother say that she must impress the Spaniards with our infinitely better taste. Poor Elizabeth, in spite of the fact that she was going to be a queen in a Catholic country she stood with a look of cold indifference on her face while she was fitted with the most sumptuously trimmed gowns; and I could not forget the sight of her sad face above all that splendor.
In due course we left for Bordeaux. On some occasions I rode on one side of my mother, Gaston on the other.
I heard two people whispering. I think they were minor attendants. “She thinks the people will so like those two pretty children that they will forget how much they dislike her.”
And there was no doubt that the people liked us. I smiled and lifted my hand in acknowledgment of their cheers just as I h
ad been taught to do.
They cheered Louis too. After all he was the King, and I heard Elizabeth say to Christine that he was too young to have done anything the people did not like.
“All their blame is for our mother and the Maréchal d’Ancre,” said Elizabeth.
I wanted to know more. Why should they blame my mother, and who was the Maréchal d’Ancre, that Concino Concini about whom I had heard people whispering?
Although I hated to learn lessons I was avid to gather information about what was happening around me. The trouble is that when you are six no one considers you seriously enough to talk to you.
We stayed at castles and great houses on the way to Bordeaux and there we were entertained lavishly. Gaston and I were allowed to dance on certain occasions and I sang, for singing was another of my accomplishments and my singing master said I had the voice of a nightingale.
My mother was very pleased with us, and I kept wondering whether it was because she loved us or because it was necessary to make the people pleased with the children she had brought into the royal nurseries so that they would forget those mysterious things she appeared to have done which annoyed them.
However neither Gaston nor I was given to introspection—certainly not at the ages of seven and six; and we were going to enjoy ourselves.
“This is an exciting life!” I said to Gaston; and he agreed wholeheartedly.
In due course we reached Bordeaux.
We were not present at the important ceremony of handing over the two Princesses, but we did dance at the celebrations which followed; and when we left Bordeaux we had lost our sister Elizabeth and had gained a sister-in-law who was known as Anne of Austria and, as she was married to our brother Louis, she was Queen of France.
When we returned to Paris the excitement increased. We had to show Anne of Austria and her attendants how much more cultured we were in France than they were in Spain.
As we came into the city, the narrow streets were crowded with people who had come to see the new Queen. Nobody loves pageantry more than the Parisians and they evidently liked the look of Anne as she rode beside Louis at the head of the cavalcade. She was a tall girl with a good figure and as fair as I was dark. Moreover she was young—just about the same age as Louis. She had beautiful hands, which she was fond of bringing into display, and she seemed very sure of herself. I thought we might get on well together for I had already discovered that she was not very good at learning but enjoyed singing and dancing as much as I did.
We rode past the new house of the Place Royale and the Place Dauphine which my father had caused to be built. I had been watching Anne to see if she was impressed by our grand city. My father had believed in building and he had made great improvements in Paris.
“Ah, Madame la Princesse,” the old ones used to say, “you are lucky to live in such a city. In my day it was a very different place. Thanks to your great father we have now the finest city in the world.”
I had heard how he had completed the old Arsenal—that building to which he had been making his way when he was murdered—and he had built the Hôtel de Ville also. I had been taken to see it on one occasion and I had been completely overawed by the magnificent staircase, the molded ceilings, the sculptured doors and the most wonderful fireplace in the throne room.
My father had done all that. People constantly said, when speaking of him: “What a tragedy! Oh what a tragedy for France!”
And sometimes I felt a flash of uneasiness because I realized that criticism of the present rule was implied—and present rule was, of course, my mother, for Louis was too young to be blamed for anything.
I was so proud as we approached the Louvre. We called it the New Louvre because the ancient one had become so unhealthy and decrepit that François Premier, who had loved fine buildings, had decided to rebuild it. It was hardly begun when he died, but the next King, Henri Deux, and his wife Catherine de Médicis also loved fine buildings and they went on with it. I, too, love beautiful things and until the day I left France I was always thrilled by that glorious façade of Jean Bullant and Philibert Delorme every time I went past the New Louvre.
Now the celebrations began in real earnest. We could be so much more lavish in Paris than they could be in provincial towns, and we were going to show these Spaniards how rich and clever we were.
For a while everyone must forget his or her grievances and enjoy the occasion. I had rarely seen my mother so happy. She was so pleased with the marriages. Later she began to imbue me with a firm belief in the true Faith and the determination to preserve it wherever I was. There were two precepts which must be upheld at all cost: the true Faith and the determination to enforce it on all people for their own good; and the other was the importance of royalty, the right to rule which had been bestowed on Kings and Queens by God: The Divine Right of Royalty.
But stern as she was on these two points, she did enjoy feasting, banquets and fêtes; and she was determined to indulge these pastimes no matter what old Sully would say. Not that that mattered. He could grumble away to his heart’s desire in retirement. He had been shown the door as soon as he had lost his master.
No expense was to be spared. Everyone was going to rejoice in the marriage which she—the Queen Mother now that there was a new Queen—had brought about.
For me it was a wonderful time. I forgot lessons, the dull routine, the admonitions of Madame de Montglat—they were all in the past. Here we were celebrating the marriage of our King, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it.
I danced. I sang. “What an enchanting creature little Madame Henriette is!” I heard that more than once and I was quick to see the pleasure in my mother’s face.
Such happiness! I prayed that it would go on forever.
There was Spanish influence in quite a number of our entertainments—in honor of the Queen, of course. Some of our gentlemen performed the Galanterie Castellane and there were quadrilles and Spanish dances. Gaston and I learned a little Spanish pas de deux which we performed together to the delight of everyone at Court. Some of the company dressed up as gods. I sat round-eyed watching while Jupiter led in Apollo and Diana; and then came Venus, who knelt before our young King and Queen and chanted verses about La Belle Espagnole. Poor Louis hated it all and found it very hard to smile and pretend he was happy. Perhaps he had not wanted to marry and was a little worried about all it entailed…just as Elizabeth had been. The Queen however threw back her long fair tresses and flourishing her pretty hands quite clearly enjoyed it.
At one point my hand was taken by an old woman who made me sit beside her.
I did not know who she was at first but I was intrigued by her and considerably overawed. She had a regal air so I guessed she was of importance but I could not think what she could want with me.
Her old hands clawed mine and she studied me intently. I could not take my eyes from her. Her face was wrinkled; her eyes were deeply shadowed; but she wore so much rouge and white lead that from a distance she might have been quite young. She had a wig of luxuriant black curls, and her clothes struck me as belonging to an earlier age. Her gold-braided houppelande was certainly out of date.
She said: “So you are the little Madame Henriette.”
I agreed that I was.
“And how old are you?”
“Six years.”
“A baby,” she commented.
“Indeed not.”
She laughed and touched my cheek. “Beautiful soft skin,” she said. “Mine was like that…once. When I was your age I was the prettiest girl in the whole of France…and I was the cleverest too. I was old for my years, they said. Are you, little one?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you can’t be, can you? Little Margot knew everything. She was born with knowledge.”
“Are you…La Reine Margot?”
“Ah, so little Madame Henriette has heard of me! Yes, you might have been my daughter—think of that. I was your father’s wife before he married Marie de
Médicis.”
I was overawed. I had heard of her, of course, but never had I thought I would meet her. She had been notorious in her youth…and after.
She said: “Your father and I hated each other. We fought like two wild cats. Then we divorced and he married your mother. If he had not, you would not be here, would you? What a calamity! Can you imagine a world without Madame Henriette?”
I remarked that it would be rather difficult for me to do that if I were not here.
She laughed.
“He hated me, but he hated his second wife even more, they say. Strange is it not, that a man who loved women more than any other man in France should have had two wives whom he hated.”
“You should not talk about my mother like that.”
She came close to me. “La Reine Margot always says what she means and cares not whom it may offend. So do you think little six-year-old Madame Henriette will stop me?”
“No,” I answered.
“I like you,” she said. “You are very pretty. I will tell you something. You are prettier than the new Queen. I don’t think our lord Louis is very impressed with her, do you?”
“My mother would not wish me…”
“To give an opinion? But, little Henriette, when you grow up you are going to state your opinions whether people like it or not. Don’t you agree with me?”
“Yes, I expect I shall. But I have to get a little older first.”
“You are getting older every minute while you talk to me. Oh, little one, do I look very old to you?”
“Very old.”
“Look at my beautiful skin. Look at my lovely hair. You do not know what to say, do you? Once I had beautiful luxuriant hair. Many men loved me. Oh yes, I have had many lovers…and still do. But not so many now. I don’t remember ever having been innocent as you are, my beautiful child. When I married your father I was not innocent. It was an ill-fated marriage. The streets ran with blood. Have you ever heard of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew’s Eve?”
I said I had.
“Catholics and Huguenots—and your father coming very near to death then. They meant to get him. But he survived. He would. Like a country boy, he was…crude…rough…no mate for an elegant Princesse…not cultured as I was. We disliked each other from the start. Catholic and Huguenot…I wonder if they will ever live in harmony.”
