The King was determined to have his way.
Some time later, Rosny spoke of these concerns to Varenne. They were walking in the gardens at Fontainebleau, safe from wagging ears, having just witnessed the departure of the Cardinal-legate, Alessandro de Medici, who had assisted in the Edict of Nantes. The subject of the royal divorce had arisen with the King attempting to justify his position, but the Cardinal had tactfully declined to comment, at least publicly.
‘I doubt his eminence will aid the divorce unless it were to place his relative, Marie de Medici, on the throne of France,’ Rosny commented.
La Varenne nodded. ‘He sees only evil consequences coming from the “royal infatuation” as he calls it. The ruin of the realm, no less.’
‘I have often defended Madame Gabrielle when some have spoken against her in council, if only because she was once instrumental in gaining me the post of keeper of finance, but I am not in favour of her elevation.’
‘You do frequently mention her kindness and gentleness, it is true,’ agreed Varenne, ‘often siding with Cheverny who, as the lover of her aunt, naturally hopes to see Henry marry the girl.’
Rosny regarded his friend with a shrewd eye. ‘I believe Zamet is very much in favour of an Italian marriage for the King.’
‘He seems to like the Medici match, yes.’
‘Yet he claims to be Madame Gabrielle’s friend.’
‘He ever puts his own interests first,’ Varenne dryly remarked.
‘And you?’
Varenne paused. ‘The King has been good to me, but I see no advancement for myself in commending he marry his favourite whore. The woman has a shady past, nought to recommend her but three healthy children. Nor is she universally popular.’
‘I cannot see the people of France accepting a harlot as queen,’ Rosny bitterly remarked. ‘Let alone put her bastards on the throne. It is unthinkable.’
‘The Italian alliance would at least have dignity, and ensure an easy divorce from Queen Margot.’
Rosny nodded, deep in thought. ‘The Jesuits too would not be in favour of the King succumbing to this infatuation, and the treasury is in dire need of a rich bride, as you well know. I believe we must do everything in our power to bring about the right conclusion to this dilemma, and, as the Cardinal said, turn the King from a resolve degrading to the realm of France.’
‘And if we fail to turn him?’
Rosny looked Varenne steadily in the eye. ‘Then we must find some other way.’
Henry and Gabrielle were returning from a brief visit to St Germain, crossing the river on the ferry close to Quai Malaquais. The King was simply dressed, accompanied by only two attendants, as he liked to travel incognito. Even Gabrielle was in her plainest gown, not wishing to attract attention. Being the friendly soul he was, Henry cheerfully struck up a conversation with the ferryman, asking what he thought of the peace.
‘I do not comprehend it,’ replied the boatman in grudging tones. ‘There are still taxes on everything. Even this miserable boat from which I must eke out a livelihood is taxed.’
‘Does not the King intend soon to amend all those taxes?’ Henry asked.
‘Oh, the King is a good enough fellow,’ said the ferryman, ‘but he has a mistress who needs so many fine gowns, jewels and gewgaws that there is no end to his expense, and we poor fools have to pay for it all. It might not be so bad if she wasn’t a woman with a past, but it’s said that she has had many lovers, and who knows how many she lets caress her still.’
Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open in shock at the man’s effrontery. But before she could say anything, Henry burst out laughing, and, as they’d reached the landing stage, began to help her out of the boat. Turning to the ferryman he said, ‘You can do without your toll for having such little faith in your King.’
Still laughing, Henry strode away, but the man ran after him.
‘Here, you can’t do that. I need that money. You think I can afford to give free rides to gentlemen and their lady friends? You’ve no right to steal from a poor ferryman.’
At this point a passer-by, seeing the commotion, seized the ferryman by the collar and gave him a shake. ‘You stupid fellow, do you not see that it is the King himself you are insulting?’
The poor man fell to his knees in consternation, certain his head would soon be parting company from his body.
‘The fellow should be hanged,’ Gabrielle cried, furious at being so maligned. ‘Arrest the scoundrel, Your Majesty.’
‘No, no, my love,’ Henri chuckled. ‘This is only a poor devil soured by poverty. Here’s your toll, fellow, and I willingly pardon you. Moreover, you shall pay no more taxes on this ferryboat. There Madame, I am certain he will sing every night: “Vive Henri and Vive Gabrielle!”’
The incident so amused Henry that he related it to anyone who cared to listen. Gabrielle silently fumed.
But then one afternoon Henry came to Gabrielle with news. ‘A letter has come in which the Queen writes with a promise to cooperate in every measure that will be good for the realm, and to my personal benefit. She even offers to present a petition herself to the Holy See, if required, in order to attain a divorce. An agreement is in sight at last.’
‘Oh, let us hope so,’ Gabrielle cried, clapping her hands in delight. ‘Only when I am respectably married will these slurs upon my name cease.’
Two men stood close together in the shadows of a palace corridor, their voices hushed and hissing with anger. ‘This is the worst news imaginable. It must not be allowed to happen. If the King gains his divorce he will be married to his whore before the month is out.’
‘I agree, urgent action is needed. I too have heard from Queen Margot. She writes to ask for my advice in this matter, but is so desperate for funds that she might agree to sell her soul, let alone a crown, if only her debts are settled and her property returned to her. I must spell out the reality such freedom would bring.’
Varenne grunted. ‘I have never known the King so constant.’
‘Not so constant as you might imagine,’ Rosny demurred. ‘He still dallies with other women, but none possess his heart as does Madame la Duchess. She has bewitched him.’
‘Then we must find one who can match her for beauty, wit and charm. One who will distract the King with a seductive smile.’
Rosny was instantly alert. ‘And redirect him from this path he has chosen, down which he leads France to disaster and mayhem. Could you find such a woman?’
‘I believe I could. Leave it with me.’
Henry wrote a reply to Margot, saying how he was convinced he could rely upon her goodwill not to retract her promise. Rosny also wrote, saying quite the opposite. But these concerns soon had to be set aside as the King fell ill again.
Gabrielle had returned to St Germain to offer comfort to the Princess Catherine who was still putting up a determined resistance to her brother’s plan for her betrothal to the Duke de Bar. Her one remaining hope was that even if a dispensation was granted, no priest would dare perform the ceremony. Catherine was aided and abetted in this by her Huguenot friends, who, rather than see a Lorraine alliance would prefer their princess retire to Béarn and remain chaste.
The King was in Monceaux, and as soon as Gabrielle heard he was sick she was beside herself with worry, fearing not only for Henry’s health, but for herself should anything happen to him. It was October, the King was no longer a young man and the chills of autumn, together with the heavy burden of kingship, had brought on the fever and exhaustion from which he so often suffered.
‘It is all too much for him,’ Gabrielle cried to her aunt. ‘The siege of Amiens, his campaign in Bretagne, and since then all the excitement of celebrating the peace. He is depressed and exhausted.’
‘Not least by his concern over the imminent divorce,’ added Madame de Sourdis, equally anxious.
‘He knows full well how the nobles are out to thwart his plan for us to marry. What am I to do, Aunt? How can I possibly win against them?’
Gabrielle went white and cried out in terror. ‘Send for his doctors at once.’
‘It has been done. Monsieur Bellegarde has already sent for Marescot, Martin and Rosset. His Majesty is in good hands.’
‘I must go to him at once. Quickly, Aunt, order my litter to be prepared, my belongings packed while I fetch the children.’
Rosny stepped in front of her, blocking her way. ‘Madame, I would recommend that you wait a while before embarking upon your journey. The King is unconscious, he would not know you, and it is feared he may not last the night.’
Gabrielle felt her heart jerk with fear. ‘That cannot be so. I could not bear to lose him. Pray step aside, Baron, I must go to him.’
Again Rosny protested. ‘Etiquette and propriety demand your absence from what could sadly be the deathbed of the King of France.’
Gabrielle stiffened with outrage and fresh fear. How dare this upstart keep her from Henry’s side? Summoning all her dignity, despite the fragile fluttering of her nerves and the grim expression on Rosny’s face, she bravely continued. ‘His Majesty is staying at my château. No one can deny me admission to my own house. Let my lords of the privy council exclude me from the chamber of my King at their peril!’
Rosny knew when he was bested and, stepping back, allowed her to pass.
Gabrielle hurried to the King’s side and met his joy at her arrival with triumph in her heart. Try as they might to separate them, Henry’s great love for her would ever win through.
As Henry slowly recovered Gabrielle never left his side. She brought him peaches, which he loved, Spanish oranges and nectarines grown in Béarn. She sang to him in her soft voice, and they talked of their children as loving parents do.
‘Our daughter is growing pretty, just like her mother.’
‘And our new son will be as handsome as his father, I think,’ Gabrielle laughed. ‘He is such a delightful imp. And what of his baptism, will it be soon?’ Gabrielle was anxious that Alexandre receive all due honours befitting un fils de France.
The King was tired, wishing to sleep not talk of baptisms. ‘Speak with Rosny. Make the arrangements, but do not let him bully you, my love. See that everyone of importance is invited to the christening of my fine boy.’
Gabrielle sighed with relief, but, as she expected, there was indeed opposition to the plan, not only from Rosny, but from Villeroy, Belliévre, Varenne and others. Within hours she was quietly sobbing in the arms of her aunt, protesting about their attitude.
‘They are dubbing it a scandalous spectacle, one to which the King should hesitate to invite foreign ambassadors and half of Europe. How dare they speak of our son’s baptism in such terms?’
‘My dear, the nobles make no secret of the fact they want a royal princess for His Majesty. But you need have no fear of his accepting one, for it is you he loves.’
Gabrielle looked at her aunt in alarm. ‘How can I be sure of that?’
Madame de Sourdis smiled. ‘You only have to see how he looks at you to know that he adores you. And has not Monsieur de Sillery embarked on a mission to Queen Margot, with instructions to negotiate for the immediate dissolution of their marriage? He carries with him all the necessary documents, which the Queen has promised to sign. Is that not so?’
‘That is what she said in her letter. Henry is convinced that she will sign.’
‘There we are then. All will be well. Do not let these nobles have the satisfaction of seeing that their opinions trouble you. You have the King’s heart and he has legitimised your son, so show not a trace of fear or concern for these malcontents.’
Gabrielle wiped away the tears with her kerchief. ‘You are right, Aunt, as always.’ And with grave dignity, showing nothing of the tumult that raged within, she continued making her plans.
By early December, the news that came back from Usson was not as Henry had expected or hoped for. Margot had changed her mind. The Queen point blank refused to consent to a divorce, alleging she had only just learned from Rosny that Henry intended to marry his mistress.
‘Although I continue in the will to meet His Majesty’s desires relative to a divorce, my indignation is greatly kindled that the King intends to give my place to Madame la Duchesse – a lady lost in repute.’
Henry was furious and railed at Rosny. ‘This is your doing. She promised me she would sign. Why does she prevaricate when she knew full well my intentions to marry the Duchess.’
‘I assure you, my lord, you have my full support,’ lied his favourite minister. ‘Certain nobles, however, do ponder over the words of the Cardinal, particularly since their wives refuse to curtsey to Madame Gabrielle.’
The King exploded. ‘Ventre Saint Gris, I will not have it. I shall divorce Margot on the grounds of her own adultery. She has had so many lovers I could take my pick. I shall dispense with her permission and choose a different route. See to it, Rosny, with all speed.’
Instead, Rosny showed the Queen’s letter to Cheverny, who in turn passed it on to Madame de Sourdis, who showed it to her niece.
Gabrielle cried many bitter tears of disappointment. ‘The Queen has changed her mind and refuses to divorce him after all. What am I to do?’ she wailed to her aunt.
‘Hold faith in the King,’ Madame de Sourdis insisted. ‘And have you not more joyous news for His Majesty?’
Gabrielle shyly nodded.
Madame smiled. ‘I thought so. All will be well, take my word for it. This child will be born in wedlock.’
Rumours of Gabrielle’s fourth pregnancy flew round the court like wild fire, exciting yet more rumours and scandal. Since Bellegarde had recently separated from his wife, his hasty marriage now in ruins, he was as good a target as any to fix upon for their malice. Just as it had been whispered when César had been born, rumour had it that the child was not the King’s.
For once Henry showed no sign of jealousy, but simply laughed. ‘I hear this child has a different father.’
Gabrielle sank to her knees before him. ‘Sire, do not believe the tales they spread about me. I am innocent of the charge and ever loyal to Your Majesty, whom I love more than life itself.’
‘I know it, my angel. Your lovely face tells me so. Let us proceed with the baptism and prove our resolve and loyalty. You have been as a wife to me all these years, and will be so in truth very soon, I promise, with or without Margot’s consent.’
Gabrielle fell into his arms, weeping with joy. ‘Oh, Henry, you are the sweetest, dearest man. I do love you so.’
Henry took her to his bed and demonstrated, very ably, how much he cared for her.
On 13 December, Alexandre was baptized at St Germain-en-Laye, with all the ceremonial due to the baptism of a Prince of France. Cardinal de Retz and Archbishop of Paris officiated. The godfather was the Comte de Soissons, who, knowing that Catherine, his lost love, was about to be married, deemed it wise to obey this request from the King.
Gabrielle was filled with excitement, so caught up with the magnificence of the proceedings that she gave no further thought to the murmurs of discontent, not even those whispered among the citizens of Paris. Her friends and supporters encouraged her to disregard those nobles who spoke against her. She was the beloved wife, in all but name, of His Majesty, and therefore untouchable. Even the King saw no reason why every honour should not be heaped upon her and his new son.
Little Alexandre was placed, with all dignity, upon a huge bed hung with white satin and covered with cloth of gold bordered with ermine. Royal guards lined the staircase and corridors of the chateau, and the archers of the Scotch guard stood at the door of the church. The font was from Fontainebleau, the platform draped with velvet on which was featured the fleurs de lis of France. Gabrielle herself wore a mantle studded with the same symbols, which caused much gossip among the ladies pr
esent.
At the ball and banquet that followed she looked the perfect picture of beauty, for all she was now twenty-seven and grown a little plumper from her several pregnancies. And the King was as adoring as ever, insisting that all due homage be paid to her.
Gabrielle sat back, happy and content, revelling in the ballet and the adulation from Henry and her friends. The baptism had been a marvellous success.
And then Rosny received the bills for this momentous event.
When the Baron saw what must be paid to the heralds, trumpeters and hautboys, archers and guards, clergy and choir boys for their services, he absolutely refused to honour them. ‘This is outrageous! Far too much money. That spoiled madam has gone too far this time.’
He paid instead a much reduced amount, a sum Rosny deemed to be fair. The archers and heralds, and others owed money, were not happy and an official representative was sent to complain.
‘Monsieur, the amount you have paid is incorrect. The sums payable at the baptisms of Children of France has long been regulated.’
‘What does that signify?’ retorted the Superintendent of Finance. ‘There are no Children of France!’
The official went away to complain to Gabrielle and, seeing that he needed to protect himself, Rosny hurried at once to the King.
‘Do you see these figures, Sire, they are quite scandalous and reckless in the extreme.’
Henry read the accounts and paled. Ever careful with money himself he saw that he may well have made a grave mistake in giving Gabrielle such a free hand. He ruefully rubbed his chin. ‘The final sum does seem excessive. You must speak to the Duchess de Beaufort on this matter, and suggest she do all she can to get it reduced.’
Rosny hurried to obey. Here, at last, was his chance to humiliate the favourite.
Gabrielle was staying with her aunt at the Deanery, quite close to the Louvre, and met the impertinent suggestion that she had overspent with barely concealed contempt. ‘If that is the sum due, then it must be paid. I will not be dictated to by some valet,’ she said.
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