Reluctant Queen

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Do not pucker your brow so. Keep smiling, my sweet,’ her aunt warned her. ‘It is but a dance.’

  Henry was gazing entranced into the dark, flashing eyes of Henriette d’Entragues. ‘Your dancing was most charming,’ he told her, totally captivated.

  ‘I thank you, Sire,’ she said, rewarding the compliment with a dazzling smile, not seeming in the least unnerved to find herself dancing with the King.

  Watching from the fringes of the room as the pair talked and laughed together, Gabrielle quietly fumed. How fat and frumpy she felt, like a fishwife, while this young, lithesome beauty tantalized the King with her charms.

  When, after two dances, Henry returned to her side Gabrielle did not fail to notice that he still watched her rival. ‘See how that little madam flirts with everyone. There is hardly a gentleman in the room she hasn’t danced with or attempted to seduce. Her gown is very brightly coloured, almost garish, do you not think?’

  At length, when the King made no response to her criticisms, Gabrielle put a hand to her head and leaned against him. ‘I fear I am starting with a headache, and feel quite faint. Will you conduct me to my chamber, my lord?’

  Henry was at once all concern. Gabrielle’s health had not been as robust with this pregnancy and she’d suffered several fainting fits. ‘But of course, my angel. We want no accidents with this precious burden you carry.’

  The King escorted his maîtresse en titre to her bedchamber, and at her request, stayed with her the rest of the night.

  The following day Madame d’Entragues was requested to depart from court, and take her son and daughter with her.

  The court nobles were sorry to see the entrancing dancer leave, unanimously declaring her ‘une femme toute charmante’. The King tactfully agreed with Gabrielle that she was nothing more than ‘une baggage’.

  ***

  February 1599

  Gabrielle’s nerves were in shreds, and her health fragile. Worried that she might be losing her hold on Henry’s love and fearful for the future, she consulted astrologers, crystal-gazers, palmists and other necromancers.

  They offered little in the way of comfort. One informed her that she would only be married once, another that she would die young. A third warned that she would be betrayed by friends, and that a child would destroy all her hopes.

  ‘What am I to do?’ Gabrielle was in black despair and spent much of that night in tears. Even the solicitude of her aunt failed to restore her.

  Days later a messenger arrived from Usson.

  Henry brought Gabrielle the news in person. ‘You know that I sent Sillery to solicit the Pope, but that His Holiness refused to annul my present marriage.’

  Gabrielle nodded, hardly able to catch her breath. Was this yet more bad news? She could hardly bear it. ‘I remember.’

  ‘Sillery made it abundantly clear to the Holy Father that I am in earnest and would issue a state prosecution against Queen Marguerite if she further opposed my will. This naturally caused much consternation and the Pope finally suffered a change of heart as such a trial could only end with the Queen’s decapitation, or else captivity in a fortress for life. Margot has now signed the divorce papers. They reached the Louvre this morning, as have I, and they have already been despatched to Rome. An early annulment is expected.’

  Gabrielle almost fainted with joy. Laughing, Henry caught her up in his arms and kissed her soundly. ‘What say you to that, mistress?’

  ‘I am speechless. I can hardly believe this long battle is finally over. Are there no conditions? The news seems almost too good to be true.’

  ‘None, Margot is in no position to bargain, although she asks for a sum of two hundred and fifty thousand crowns to pay her debts, and a life pension of fifty thousand crowns per annum, to which I gladly agree.’

  When the King left, Gabrielle ran at once to her aunt to tell her the good news. ‘Nothing, save for the hand of god or the demise of the King, can now prevent me from becoming queen. All is well, and I shall soon be the happiest, most respectable woman in all of France.’

  Madame de Sourdis hugged her niece in excitement. ‘And its queen.’

  Gabrielle’s black mood instantly lifted, the sun shone and she felt light-hearted and utterly content.

  On Shrove Tuesday, Henri gave her his coronation ring, a large diamond estimated to be worth 900 crowns, as a betrothal ring. Even more thrilling, no time was to be lost as the marriage was to take place on the first Sunday after Easter.

  As usual in the weeks before Easter, Henry stayed at Fontainebleau for Lent. Gabrielle usually remained at her own hôtel during this period, but with the arrangements to make for the wedding, and her recent uncertainties, dark moods and jealousy, she was loath to leave him.

  ‘I am having strange dreams,’ she told him. ‘Of losing you, of being lost myself.’

  Henry only laughed at her fears. ‘You will not lose me, my love. All is well. Doesn’t a woman who is enceinte often have odd notions? You must rest, for you are not perhaps as strong as you should be.’

  It was true that this pregnancy was proving far more difficult than the others, probably because Gabrielle hadn’t properly recovered from her previous accouchement, so she wisely took plenty of rest. She was delighted with her bridal robe, made of carnation velvet elaborately embroidered with gold and costing over a thousand crowns. The King presented her with a pair of diamonds valued at 1,300 crowns apiece to be made into earrings.

  What further proof did she need of his love and loyalty?

  It was also considered necessary that the future Queen Consort, and her son the new Dauphin of France, should be surrounded by powerful supporters. It was therefore arranged that the second Duke de Biron should marry Gabrielle’s sister Françoise, and her brother marry Madame de Guise. Various other alliances were agreed; properties, land and appointments made for the D’Estrées family. César de Vendôme’s own recent betrothal to the wealthy young Françoise de Moncoeur was to be annulled, and instead he would be allied to the daughter of the Duke of Savoy. The House of Vendôme seemed destined to be the next royal house and many were anxious to offer their support.

  Not a day passed without some new excitement or plan set in place. There was so much to be done and so little time as the King was determined that this next child be born in wedlock.

  ‘You realize the Pope is against the notion of legitimising the royal bastards?’ Rosny and Varenne were speaking in low whispers as they watched the King stroll through the gardens of Fontainebleau, the hand of his future queen upon his arm. ‘His Holiness believes that having finally achieved peace at great cost, it would be a dangerous folly to plunge France once more into civil war.’

  ‘I believe His Holiness is also displeased with Madame la Duchesse for supporting the Huguenots during the discussions over the Edict of Nantes.’

  ‘The King will lose all he gained by converting to the true faith if he goes through with this marriage, and risk his reputation as an honest man.’

  ‘But the divorce is now going through?’

  ‘It is. The papers are signed.’

  Varenne winced as Henry leaned over to kiss his beloved full on her rosy lips while he smoothed one hand over the full curve of her belly. ‘He is very determined, so what can be done to stop it now?’

  ‘There is always something to be done.’

  ‘While avoiding the risk of blame?’

  ‘Blame can be deflected to more appropriate quarters. Sancy, for instance, has detested Madame la Duchesse since she drove him from the treasury and set it in my hand. We owe it to the people of Paris, to France, to prevent what would be almost certain strife between this child, about to be born in wedlock, and young César.’

  Varenne was intrigued and excited, seeing advancement for himself here. ‘Then you have a plan?’

  A pause before Rosny answered. ‘I do.’

  Easter was fast approaching and the King was concerned not to offend the religious scruples of his people.


  ‘My confessor, Benoit, insists that as the Jesuits do not approve of my way of life, I cannot receive Easter Communion while living with my mistress.’ Henry was holding Gabrielle in his arms while he explained this to her with an apologetic smile. ‘Aubigné and Rosny agree that it would be more fitting for you to return to Paris. For a short time we must live apart, my angel, just until Easter is over.’

  ‘Oh, but how shall I bear it?’

  ‘I too can hardly bear the thought of your leaving,’ he said, kissing her softly, holding himself carefully in check because she was so far gone in her pregnancy. ‘It is but temporary, then we will never be separated again, for thereafter you will be my wife and queen.’

  Henry escorted Gabrielle as far as Melun, meaning to leave her there, but, unable to tear himself away, after they’d dined he travelled further on to Savigny where they stayed the night of Monday, 5 April. Even then his courtiers had to almost force the King to leave.

  ‘Perhaps I should go with her to Paris, in view of her condition?’

  ‘Sire, it would not be fitting,’ warned the nobles. ‘The Duchess should conduct her devotions alone, as must you. The people already suspect she is too secular and not sufficiently devout. We want no charges of heresy.’

  ‘Indeed not. Then you must go alone, my love, as arranged,’ Henry sadly informed her.

  ‘Take care of my children,’ Gabrielle begged, weeping a little in his arms as they said their farewells. ‘And provide for the needs of my servants.’

  ‘My love, it is but for one week, after that we will be together for all time.’ Henry kissed her tears away till she was smiling again. ‘I leave you in the capable hands of La Varenne and Montbazon, who will see that you receive all honours due to you.’

  Then he helped her into the boat which was to take her along the Seine to Paris. Gabrielle kept her eyes on his beloved face as it sailed away, waving occasionally and trying to show her bravest smile.

  Only when the vessel was quite out of sight did Henry agree to return to Fontainebleau.

  Gabrielle landed close to the Arsenal, the official residence of her father, at three o’clock on Tuesday, 6 April, where she was met by her sister Diane and her brother Annibal, among others. As well as Varenne and Montbazon, Gabrielle had with her several ladies-in-waiting and her midwife, Madame Dupuy.

  ‘Why is our Aunt, Madame de Sourdis, not with you?’ Diane wanted to know, hugging her sister.

  Gabrielle pulled a face. ‘She is spending Lent at her Castle of Alluy. Sadly, the King has decided dear Aunt is a bad influence upon me, and has banished her for a time.’

  Diane’s face fell, and then she laughed out loud. ‘Bad influence? Greedy little magpie more like. Then you must stay with us,’ she insisted.

  Gabrielle smilingly shook her head. ‘Do not fuss. I have a house of my own, remember, that stands at the corner of the Rue Fromenteau. I stay there whenever the King is not in Paris, although I’ll admit it needs some refurbishment.’ As the sisters strolled arm in arm to their father’s house to take refreshment, Gabrielle described the magnificent bed with hangings of velvet in crimson and gold she had acquired. ‘What more do I need for my comfort, save for rest and peace? Life will be hectic soon enough.’

  ‘You will stay with us for tonight at least,’ Diane decided, ‘and there is an end to the matter.’

  Later that same day, a letter came from the King. Gabrielle kissed it and pressed it to her breast, then laughingly showed it to her sister. ‘See how he misses me. He must have written this missive almost the moment we parted. He speaks of our children, and that he is about to take communion. Oh, do listen to this: “You entreat me to carry away with me as much love as I left with you. Ah, how that has pleased me, for I feel so much love that I thought I must have carried all away with me, and feared that none might have remained with you. Good night, my dear mistress. I kiss your beautiful eyes a million times.” What think you of that?’

  ‘I think you most fortunate to be so loved,’ said Diane. ‘And considering how reluctant you were at first to accept his suit, it is astonishing that you return the King’s love so generously.’

  Gabrielle gave a rueful smile. ‘It is true that I did not care for him at first. But all that has changed. As well as a king he is a man, one who is easy to love. I am indeed the most fortunate of women.’

  After resting overnight with her family, Gabrielle went the next morning to her own hôtel. It felt disappointingly unprepared for her stay, somewhat damp and neglected from being so long empty. That morning she received several visitors, including Mademoiselle Guise, who prattled on in her silly way, admiring Gabrielle’s gown and saying how she would adore to own one exactly the same colour and style. No sooner had she left than Madame de Rosny arrived. This doughty dame came more out of duty to her husband than a desire to honour the future queen.

  Gabrielle received her with some trepidation. She was a little in awe of this woman who seemed as stern as her husband, and somewhat older than herself. She was, in any case, not in the mood for court niceties. Gabrielle nevertheless smiled and tried to be welcoming in what she believed to be a suitably dignified fashion, as one would expect from a queen.

  ‘I am delighted to see you so well, Madame. I did not realize you and your husband were in Paris at this time.’

  ‘Rosny had some business to attend to.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Gabrielle was at a loss to know what to say next, and, feeling guilty at her own lack of manners, attempted to be generous while hoping to put an end to the interview as quickly as possible. ‘I trust I will see you more often in the capital in future. You may attend my levées whenever you choose.’ Surely such a favour would bring a smiling response?

  Madame de Rosny appeared unappreciative of the honour offered, and, mumbling something incomprehensible by way of reply, quickly took her leave. Later, as the good lady and her husband left Paris for their own château, she told Rosny what she thought of their future queen.

  ‘Her attitude was somewhat haughty and condescending, and she had the gall to invite me to her levées. I’m sure I have no wish to bend the knee to a harlot.’

  ‘I doubt you will be troubled with an invitation,’ Rosny enigmatically replied.

  Gabrielle, meanwhile, attended a musical service at the chapel of St Antoine where the beau monde of Paris gathered. With her were the Princesses of Lorraine: Madame and Mademoiselle de Guise who accompanied her there, together with several other ladies, each travelling in their own coach. The royal party was escorted by La Varenne and Monsieur de Montbazon, and protected by a number of the royal archers.

  During the lengthy service Gabrielle sat with Madame de Guise, and at appropriate breaks between the music or the preaching, showed her letters from the King, all full of passion and impatience to make her his queen. Nothing but this much longed for wedding occupied her mind.

  That evening, Gabrielle called upon Sebastien Zamet who had invited her to dine. His residence was close by, a handsome edifice in red brick and stone, surrounded by capacious grounds with statues and beautiful fountains. For a short time in her youth, under an agreement made by her notorious mother, Gabrielle had been his mistress. She had looked upon it as nothing more than a business arrangement, over which she’d had no control, but they had remained on good terms ever since. It would be foolish to be otherwise as the Italian had great influence and was a useful man to know, being both rich and powerful.

  The financier had made his fortune by loaning money to the Paris bourgeoisie at high interest, had invested wisely, and would readily accept diamonds, fans, perfumes or furs in settlement of debts, which he then sold on at a profit.

  Gabrielle knew that Henry had often availed himself of Zamet’s residence, enjoying the convivial social life there, the parties and gambling, which were far more lively than the more formal gatherings held at the Louvre. She suspected he’d met women there too, the sort he was unlikely to come across at the palace, but Gabrielle never asked for detai
ls.

  Now she smiled and offered her hand.

  ‘You are looking deliciously fecund, Madame la Duchesse. I trust you are well.’ Zamet kissed the proffered hand, privately thinking she seemed rather tired, and somewhat overblown. Had she been over-indulging at the table, or was this pregnancy taking its toll? He had heard it wasn’t progressing as well as it should, with fainting fits and the like, which was surely all the better for their cause. ‘I am glad to see that your beauty shines forth undimmed.’

  Gabrielle laughed. ‘Perhaps that is because I was able to reclaim the jewels I pledged to you at the time of the Siege of Amiens.’

  ‘Your beauty needs no gems or artifice to enhance it.’

  ‘Flatterer. I think you enjoy your notoriety, and your intimacy with the royal house.’ She was nonetheless charmed by his words.

  Zamet inclined his head with a wry smile, his shrewd little eyes taking in every detail of her pale complexion, the clumsy way she moved and thankfully sank into the chair he offered. ‘You know that I am happy to lend the King money whenever it should be necessary. Now, Madame, can I fetch you a little refreshment?’

  ‘My appetite is not good,’ she warned him, as he brought her dish after dish.

  ‘Then eat only what you wish, perhaps a little sea food?’

  Gabrielle smilingly declined.

  ‘You must eat. It is necessary for the baby.’ Zamet clapped his hands. ‘Come, let us have music so that our future queen may relax and enjoy herself. How we have longed for the day of your wedding, Madame, almost as much as you have yourself. I swear your beauty will set tongues wagging the length and breadth of the realm.’

  She had ever been a pretty little thing, with a heart too soft for her own good. Zamet knew how she ached for respectability, longed to shuffle off the tawdry memory of a youth tarnished by the control of a licentious mother. He would dearly like to see Gabrielle achieve her dream, and yet … He was Italian and favoured the Medici match, which would surely be more fitting, and in the national interest. Far safer for France than to have their king marry his mistress, put a bastard on the throne and risk civil war, however pretty and sweet she may be. In addition, Marie de Medici would bring much needed wealth to the treasury.