Reluctant Queen

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘So this is your latest favourite?’ Catherine said, holding out a hand to be kissed as she looked down her long Bourbon nose at Gabrielle. ‘And I thought she was reputed to be a beauty.’

  Gabrielle took the proffered hand and kissed one of the princess’s rings, wisely saying nothing to this put-down.

  Henry, however, was his usual jovial self. ‘As you see, rumour did not lie.’

  Catherine saw that it would be difficult to dispute the beauty of the girl before her, or her naïve sweetness and youth. ‘If you care for a pale and wan complexion,’ she caustically remarked, as if Gabrielle were deaf as well as silent.

  ‘She is my angel,’ Henry proudly declared, ‘and I am sure you welcome the opportunity to make the acquaintance of one who is soon to be related to you, Madame.’

  ‘I seem to recall having heard numerous similar promises in the past.’

  ‘But none with the sincerity of this one, I do assure you.’

  The King was aware that his sister had brought with her as companion his erstwhile mistress Corisande, whom he now referred to more formally as Madame de Guiche, but he did not fear any further reprisals from that lady’s jealousy. He had already dismissed the pastor Cayet from the office of private chaplain to the princess, just to be on the safe side, along with several others from Catherine’s suite who had aided and abetted the plan for a secret wedding. He had even deprived his sister of the regency of Béarn. Yet Henry largely blamed Corisande for the mischief, as, despite their differences, he was still fond of his beloved Catherine.

  ‘I have even acquired the art of constancy,’ Henry proudly informed her.

  ‘Constant? You?’ The Princess Catherine raised her brow in ironic disbelief. But noting the way her brother tenderly caressed the girl’s cheek, and her long, shining fair hair, she held back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips. She was still in secret correspondence with Soissons and had pleas to make for her own future. It would do no good to alienate her brother from the outset.

  Thwarted in her desire to marry the man of her choice, she had written to Pope Clement VIII offering to abandon her Calvinist religion if he could persuade the King to sanction her union with the Comte. So far she’d heard no word on the matter. And so Catherine had decided to quit Pau, however reluctantly, and pursue the matter with Henry in person. Before leaving last October she’d given a fine banquet for her friends and subjects, who in vain had begged her to stay. Since then she’d suffered snow and ice, and all manner of severe weather as she’d progressed north, spending Christmas Day with precious little in the way of comfort at Partheney. Now it was February and, as instructed, she’d obediently waited for her brother at Saumur.

  But Catherine could tell, simply by his demeanour, that her cause was lost before it had barely begun. His next words proved her to be entirely correct.

  ‘Since the Scottish alliance has come to nought, I am delighted to receive an offer for your hand from the Duc de Montpensier. What say you to that, sister?’

  Catherine lifted her chin in mute defiance.

  ‘Well?’

  The tension was so great Gabrielle would have crept away had not Henry kept a firm hold upon her arm.

  The Princess finally responded in icy tones. ‘I say that you are the most heartless of brothers.’

  ‘Why so? He is young, wealthy, handsome and gallant. Allow me to introduce him and you can judge for yourself.’

  The Duke eagerly stepped forward, would have taken the Princess’s hand had Catherine not refused to allow it. ‘I fear,’ she said, fixing him with a cold glare, ‘that you are too young, too wealthy, too handsome, and too gallant for my taste. Now I must beg to be excused. It has been a long and tiring journey.’

  The Duc de Montpensier tactfully withdrew his suit and paid court instead to the youthful heiress of the Duc de Joyeuse, who was far more amenable.

  Henry, irritated beyond endurance by his sister, continued to argue and press her to change her mind throughout the ten days of their stay in Saumur, and she as steadfastly refused to be bullied. He longed for peace between them, as there had been in days gone by, and on one occasion when Henry entered her apartment, he unthinkingly joined in the singing of a psalm.

  Gabrielle quickly placed her fingers to his lips. ‘Do not display your religion so openly,’ she warned him in a whisper, and Henry frowned, taking in the earnestness of her expression and wondering if she might be right. He needed to be ever careful.

  It was with some relief that he finally escorted Madame Catherine to Tours, and, determined to put a stop to any more secret meetings, he warned the governor of the town not to allow the Comte de Soissons to even enter.

  The King and Gabrielle then continued on to Chartres. Although Henry did not relish the prospect of yet more battles, the time was fast approaching for one last decisive attempt to take Paris and claim his crown. In the meantime, irritated by his sister’s dismissal of Montpensier and still determined to win the House of Lorraine over to his side as part of his peace mission, Henry wrote instead to the Duc de Bar. He was the son of Claude, Catherine de Medici’s second daughter, and Charles, Duke of Lorraine. Henry duly offered him the Princess’s hand, for, like it or no, his sister would do as she was bid.

  The misery of the people of Paris was great. Trade was at an all time low, public buildings such as the Louvre and the Tuileries were fast falling into decay, food continued to be scarce and all public amusement forbidden for fear of riots. Madame Montpensier, the so-called Fury of the League, could as easily be greeted with hisses and catcalls now as cheers. Posters of the King, and then of Madame Gabrielle, began to appear in shop windows. It seemed that the citizens were indicating their willingness to think again about this king of theirs. Many of the citizens were for petitioning Henry to give freedom to their city.

  This time as the King departed for the camp at Dreux, Gabrielle wept. ‘I too am weary of these long campaigns which take you constantly away from me, and I fear for your safety.’

  Henry held her close in his arms. ‘I will write to you, my love, as I always do, and come to you when I can.’

  Gabrielle conceded that perhaps he did over-indulge her by dashing home to see her far too often, which may well have reflected the outcome of a battle on occasions. It had ever been his flaw.

  His letters, as loving as ever, arrived daily. In June, he wrote, ‘I have sent a magnificent bouquet of orange flowers by a special envoy.’

  A week later, ‘I found only an hour ago a means of completing your set of plate: see how I take care of you.’

  ‘Was ever a woman more adored,’ sighed Madame de Sourdis.

  He begged Gabrielle to meet him at Anet, ‘where I shall have the felicity of seeing you every day’.

  But on that occasion he was unable to keep his promise, due to constant skirmishes with the Leaguers and the Spanish.

  When he did finally come, Gabrielle fell into his arms with sobs of relief. ‘I have been out of my mind with worry.’ It astonished her how very much she did miss him when he was away, and how anxious she became that something terrible might happen to him. Her love for this man whom she had once so avoided was growing by the day. Later, after they had made love, they talked. ‘Why not disarm, Henry. I say again, is it not time to end the war and reconcile yourself with the Mother Church?’

  His passion for her was such that Henry listened to her advice, and knew she was right. The war was destroying the nation and could not go on indefinitely. He also recognized that once he had the crown he could petition more forcefully for a divorce from Queen Margot, and make Gabrielle his queen. Only then could he ensure the succession and gain the security he needed for his reign. Whatever scruples he felt about letting down his mother, Jeanne d’Albret, could be overcome by ensuring the people of Béarn gained a more prosperous kingdom, and tolerance for their religion. He would insist upon that, at least.

  Henry sent for Rosny. ‘I have come to the conclusion that I should renounce the Huguenot f
aith and reconcile myself with the Catholic Church. It will have multiple benefits: thwart Spain and the Princes of Lorraine, secure the nation’s fortunes sadly depleted after so many years of civil war, win Paris, a crown, and most of all, bring peace to the realm.’

  Rosny was unsurprised by this announcement, having sensed it was coming for some time. ‘You did only what you had to do in order to protect the principality of Béarn.’

  ‘And I wished to be a good son to my mother, but I never did share her passion for Puritanism, nor placed great store upon the tenets of any religion. It is the same God we worship, is it not?’

  ‘That is indeed true, Sire. We are all God’s children. I am sure your heroic mother would forgive the necessity for change, in the circumstances.’ Rosny privately vowed not to convert to Catholicism himself. He fully intended to remain a Protestant, although he had no quarrel with his sovereign doing whatever was necessary for political purposes.

  Henry said, ‘Perhaps the difference between the two religions only appears to be so great by reason of the animosity of those that preach them.’

  As always Rosny added a cautious warning. ‘The difficulty lies in pleasing the Catholics without alienating your Huguenot followers.’

  ‘I agree.’ Henry was thoughtful. ‘Can it be done?’

  ‘The prize is surely worth the risk.’

  Henry nodded his agreement. ‘Indeed it is, Rosny. Paris is worth a Mass.’

  Aubigné, Henry’s old Puritan chamberlain, bitterly contested this decision.

  ‘Would you abandon your people? Would you dare to turn them into papists?’

  ‘I would hope that all religions could live in peace together,’ Henry calmly informed him. ‘It is time to have done with warfare, and for that reason alone it is worth my surrendering the reformed faith, which is no sacrifice at all since I promise to ensure the freedom of the Huguenots to worship as they choose.’

  The old man’s lip almost curled with disbelief. ‘You think they will have confidence in such a promise from a turncoat king? I very much doubt it. They will see only that you have abandoned and betrayed your much revered mother.’

  Henry went pale, firmly holding his temper in check. ‘Mind that sharp tongue of yours, old man. I have given my life to the cause, as my mother asked. Now it is a time for change, to look forward to a new future for France. I trust my people will see that peace with Spain will soften the blow.’

  ‘They will see that you have lost all affection, goodwill and gratitude for the Calvinists of your realm, that you no longer care to preserve the lives, faith and liberty of your subjects.’

  Tight-lipped, the King icily responded. ‘Their honour and freedom will remain intact, if not enhanced. I swear it. The question you have to answer is: will you support me in this?’

  The pause while Henry waited for his chamberlain’s reply was telling. At length, the answer came. ‘I request that I may retire to Béarn to reflect upon the matter at my leisure.’

  ‘Take as long as you please,’ snapped the King. ‘I am sure we can manage perfectly well without your presence at court, for as long as it takes for you to search your conscience.’

  Finding himself thus dismissed, Aubigné made a hasty departure south.

  The ceremony for abjuration took place in July, 1593. The streets all around the Cathedral of St Denis were hung with garlands and lined with the royal bodyguard. Inside, Gabrielle was provided with a seat beneath the canopy of state, together with other ladies of the court, from which she had a good view of the altar.

  They did not speak to her, nor she to them, feeling as always that they mostly viewed her with a degree of contempt. Mademoiselle de Guise was particularly cool, and had deliberately provoked her by flirting outrageously with Henry at a recent banquet, leaving Gabrielle quite burning up with jealousy. It hadn’t helped that she had then moved on to enamour Bellegarde, who fell into a veritable passion over her.

  Not that Gabrielle cared who Bellegarde chose to marry. She had her eye on a higher destiny now.

  The Swiss Guard entered first, banners carried aloft, followed by the King accompanied by a cortége of nobles and princes of court. Gabrielle’s heart swelled with pride at the sight of her royal lover. Henry looked so splendidly regal in a doublet and jerkin of white satin over which he wore a cloak of black velvet. Trumpets sounded, kettle-drums beat a steady rhythm and the whole building seemed to vibrate with the majesty of the proceedings. The bishops of Digne, Mantes, Angers and Chartres stepped forward, gorgeously arrayed in their copes and mitres. The abbot of St Denis with his cross of gold, the aconites bearing the vessel of holy water and the book of the gospel, hovered close by, ready to do their part.

  The King’s voice rang out loud and clear. ‘I promise and swear, in the name of God Almighty and Omnipotent, henceforth to live and die in the communion of the Catholic Apostolic and Roman faith …’

  Gabrielle listened, entranced. The promise and the words of absolution and reconciliation continued, followed by the kissing of rings and laying on of hands. No ceremony could have been more splendid, and when it was done, the Te Deums sung and Mass celebrated, the King pardoned for his long transgression, a great rousing cheer rose to the rafters, the ladies waved their handkerchiefs in delight, and the people cried, ‘Vive le roi!’

  Afterwards, Gabrielle was one of the first to sink to a low curtsey and offer obeisance to His Majesty, her blue eyes shining as she lifted her gaze to his.

  ‘Now we can look to our own happiness,’ he whispered, as he raised her with a kiss.

  It was the end of August before Henry left St Denis, having dealt with various pressing matters. The King and Gabrielle then progressed to Fontainebleau for a much needed rest. Princess Catherine was staying in the palace and Henry thought it would offer him the opportunity to clarify matters with his sister.

  The royal party stopped en route at Melun where Henry was urged to stay close indoors. ‘A Dominican monk has warned of a likely attempt upon Your Majesty’s life.’

  Henry laughed off the threat. ‘I have heard such before but I will not cower in some corner, or live in fear of mad monks.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Sire, it would be wise to be cautious,’ his nobles urged.

  Fortunately the man was arrested as soon as he entered the town, and was found to be carrying a long sharp knife.

  Gabrielle was beside herself with fright when she heard. ‘What if he had succeeded?’

  ‘But he did not succeed, my angel. My men protected me, although we should perhaps be ever wary. No doubt there will be other attempts upon my life. It is the lot of kings to be pursued by fanatics.’

  ‘But you are so tolerant, so reasonable. Who was this man and why would he wish to kill you?’

  ‘His name is Pierre Barriére. He is a wheelwright from Orleans, and apparently helped Queen Margot, under the command of Guise, to escape from the Marquis de Canillac. He later entered Margot’s service as a soldier at the garrison of Usson, and has taken it into his foolish head to avenge the Queen for some perceived injustice by killing me, her husband.’

  Gabrielle was appalled. ‘The Queen, your own wife, attempted to have you assassinated?’

  ‘No, no, my love, she did no such thing. Margot herself also warned me he may make an attempt. She had already rejected his proposal with horror, and dismissed the knave from her service. You are not to fret, all is well, I do assure you.’

  The Palace of Fontainebleau had been much neglected during the reign of Henry Trois as he had not cared for country pursuits. Henry Quatre, however, thrived on them, and loved nothing more than hunting in the thick forests that surrounded the chateau. The royal lovers rode side by side, ahead of the rest of the court, savouring an opportunity to be at last alone.

  Gabrielle was dressed in a devantiere, which was a divided skirt, as she loved to ride astride. It was green, her favourite colour, with silver embroidery both on the hem of the skirts, and on the cuffs of the jacket. Her mantle was lined with g
reen figured satin, and the buttonholes too embroidered in silver, the matching hat sporting a fine feather. The outfit had cost all of two hundred crowns, and Gabrielle thought it very fine.

  Every now and then Henry would lean over and whisper some witty nonsense, and Gabrielle’s eyes would sparkle and she would laugh out loud.

  ‘I would recommend, my love, that since you seem to be starting a headache, you would be well advised to retire to your room early.’ This surprising statement was accompanied by a broad wink.

  ‘But I feel perfectly well,’ Gabrielle protested.

  ‘Even more good reason for you to remain in your apartment, for I have news to impart to the Princess Catherine, and her reaction may well give me a headache before the discussion is ended.’

  Gabrielle looked instantly troubled. ‘Ah, then I must beg leave to take supper with my ladies in my room this evening. I fear I may have caught a chill.’

  ‘Very wise, my dear, very wise. The temperature in the dining salon may be somewhat too cold for you.’

  Exactly as Henry had predicted Catherine erupted in cold fury to the news that she was to be betrothed to the Duke of Bar.

  ‘There will be no further argument over this, the matter is settled. You are to marry Henri, Duke of Lorraine and de Bar.’

  Catherine had not been present at the ceremony of abjuration as she had declared it too painful to witness her own brother abandoning his true religion. This now seemed to her like a double blow.

  ‘If you wished to adhere me to the House of Lorraine for the sake of peace with your enemies, why not accept the Comte de Soissons? He is a Bourbon too.’

  Henry carved himself a second slice of ham and ignored the remark, since his sister refuted any charge that Monsieur le Comte nursed ambitions of his own. ‘De Bar is a fine young man. I am sure you will do well together.’