FIVE
The King honours her and confides in her
1548–59
Almost a year before Catherine’s coronation a very important young personage had arrived in France seeking refuge. In August 1548, during Henry’s short absence in Italy, the five-year-old Mary, Queen of Scots had fled her troubled kingdom. The young Queen had come at Henry’s invitation following the urgent entreaties of her Guise uncles. Their sister, the widowed Queen Mother, Marie of Guise, finding herself increasingly embattled by English invaders, had sent her daughter to safety at the French Court.
Since her birth Mary had been the object of a planned marriage alliance with Henry VIII’s son, now King Edward VI of England, but the French had no wish to see England and Scotland united. The Scots, always fearful of what they called the ‘English bear-hug’, decided instead to ally their child Queen by marriage to Henry’s and Catherine’s eldest son, the Dauphin Francis. Henry agreed to bring up Mary at the French Court and, if necessary, to fight for her inheritance. The project did not delight everyone; in particular, Diane and the Constable felt uncomfortable about the added prestige that Mary’s presence would afford the Guise family. French opponents of the match kept quiet, however, and as the English threatened to overwhelm the Scots militarily, Henry sent Catherine’s cousin, Leone Strozzi, with fifteen galleys carrying an armed force to her aid. He succeeded in capturing the Castle of Saint Andrews and among his prisoners was the Scots fiery protestant reformer John Knox, condemned to the galleys, something that may have added grist to his furious hatred of the Queen later on.
By September 1547 the Queen’s and her mother’s lives were in danger as the kingdom came within a whisker of being ‘utterly lost and totally ruined’. Henry, anxious to avoid ‘such a wound at the beginning of his reign’, began earnest talks about evacuating Mary to France.1 According to Knox, Mary was ‘thus sold to the devil’ and dispatched to France ‘to the end that in her youth she should drink of that liquor, that should remain with her all her lifetime, for a plague to this realm, and for her final destruction’.2
The formalities settled, Mary arrived off Roscoff in Brittany on 13 August 1548, having survived several narrow escapes from English ships and dreadful storms. Aside from the four young attendants she brought with her who shared their Queen’s name and were known as the four ‘Maries’, among her retinue came her governess, Janet Fleming, a bastard daughter of King James IV of Scotland.fn1 Lady Fleming was a highly attractive blonde widow in her early thirties with a flawless white complexion. While the French rhapsodised about Mary’s appearance and behaviour, they found the rest of her suite (apart from Lady Fleming) vile-smelling, dirty and barbarous. The Scots, largely unused to the refinements of Renaissance France, looked totally out of place and viewed the frills and sophistication surrounding them with the greatest mistrust. As though expecting an ambush or attack at any moment, the men kept their hands close to their weapons at all times. Most of Mary’s attendants did not remain on French soil for long, however. Her grandmother, Antoinette of Guise, though delighted with her granddaughter from the first, determined she must erase all traces of the primitive kingdom from its young Queen so that she might adopt the ways of her new country. After a leisurely journey through northern France, Mary arrived at Saint-Germain in mid-October 1548, there to join her princely ‘brothers and sisters’.
When Henry first saw the young Queen of Scots he declared her ‘the most perfect child I have ever seen’, and henceforth Mary was to enjoy a share in the huge fuss and attention lavished upon the royal children. Catherine and Henry were devoted parents by the standards of the day. Not only did Catherine spend hours writing letters to the children’s ‘gouverneur’ giving detailed orders and asking for news, but Henry involved himself quite as much as his wife. There also came a steady flow of instructions from Diane tod’Humières, who must, at times, have dreaded the sight of yet another royal ‘laquey’ (footman or courier) and his heavy postbag. A typical example of the triplicated instructions from Catherine, Henry and Diane came nine months after the birth of Charles-Maximilien. On 15 May 1551 Catherine wrote to Madame d’Humières about her son’s wet-nurse saying ‘her milk is not good enough’.3 Five days later Diane wrote about the same wet-nurse, ‘I hear that her milk is not good and the milk makes the baby emotional.’4Three days after that Henry wrote, again about the wet-nurse, saying, ‘You must make sure that she has fed more than one other child before, so that we can be certain that her milk is of good quality.’5
Though Catherine had amply demonstrated her ability to have children, none but Margot had inherited their mother’s rude health. The Dauphin had been sickly from birth and the two girls, Elisabeth and Claude, constantly suffered from childhood ailments. The King and Queen feared plague and other contagious diseases, and the children were often moved further from any chance of infection during the summer months when outbreaks of plague were common. For example, in 1546 Catherine arranged for the children to be moved ‘to a pavilion by the water where they will be better lodged’.6 After the Dauphin had suffered from smallpox and was not quite ‘bien guary’ (restored to health), the King ordered d’Humières, ‘Keep your eye upon him for anything that he requires and keep me constantly informed about the health of my daughter.’7 Catherine loved to receive pictures of her children, always asking for new ones to be painted. ‘I would like’, she wrote to M. d’Humières, ‘to have paintings of all the children done … and sent to me, without delay, as soon as they are finished.’8
Mary could not have come to a more welcoming place. As well as the kindness of the King and Queen towards the royal children, of whom she was now counted as one, she enjoyed the zealous protection of her Guise family. After all, she would bring them and their House a glorious future when she eventually became Queen of France. Mary enjoyed a particularly close relationship with François, Duke d’Aumale and his brother Charles, soon to become Cardinal of Lorraine. Her grandmother Antoinette continued to keep abreast of Mary’s progress and soon received the gratifying news that the child’s French, non-existent when she first arrived at Roscoff, now progressed well. The courtiers found Mary’s native Scots tongue so hideous a noise they could hardly believe such ugly sounds were possible from her pretty mouth, and though it was not entirely forgotten, for the rest of her life Mary’s first language became French, as did her habits.
Over the question of rank, Henry wrote the following instructions: ‘In answer to your question as to the rank which I wish my daughter the Queen of Scotland to occupy … it is my intention that she should take precedence over my daughters. For the marriage between her and my son is decided and settled; and apart from that, she is a crowned Queen. And as such it is my wish that she should be honoured and served.’9 Diane wrote on Henry’s behalf to d’Humières, ‘The said Lord wishes Madame Ysabal [Elisabeth] and the Queen of Scotland should be lodged together; wherefore you will select the best chamber … for it is the said Lord’s wish that they get to know one another.’10 Mary attended the marriage of her uncle François to Anne d’Este, which took place early in December of 1548, and Henry took great pleasure in writing to Marie of Guise describing how the four-year-old Dauphin and his intended bride aged five danced together at the wedding banquet. Henry often wrote to Marie giving ‘tidings of our little household … so that you may experience yonder something of the pleasure which I enjoy constantly’. His letters, filled with touching details, resemble those of a sentimental Victorian patriarch more than a Renaissance king.
One man who viewed the little couple dancing at the Este–Guise wedding with scant comfort was the English ambassador. The pair incarnated the accord between England’s two traditional enemies. Shortly after the Guise wedding in Paris, in the spring of 1549 the English were ejected from Scotland, and Henry decided that it was time to recapture Boulogne from England. Should there be a war against the Emperor, the town would prove a great strategic advantage and, besides, Henry did not relish the idea of paying the huge sum due in five years’ time when the English were supposed to surrender the town back to the French. During the early summer the Constable amassed a large army near Ardres, which lay inland between Calais and Boulogne. On 8 August 1549 Henry declared war on England and left Catherine at Compiègne, travelling north to lead the attack upon the heavily-fortified town. After disappointing skirmishes, fighting continued in a desultory fashion until early the following year when peace talks began. On 24 March 1550 peace was signed, and at the cost of 400,000 écus Boulogne, having been in English hands since 1544, was ceded back to France.
The peace-making policy largely led by the Constable resulted in an alliance between the two countries that would be sealed with the eventual marriage of King Edward VI of England to Henry’s eldest daughter Elisabeth. Montmorency saw his efforts rewarded when Henry raised his barony to a duchy in 1551, the same year as the full treaty was signed. Boulogne hardly represented a tremendous military victory, but rather a sound move for Henry who needed peace with England in order to devote his full attention to problems looming with the Empire. The situation in Italy also remained unsettled. In November 1549 Pope Paul III, upon whom Henry had lavished such efforts, had died and was replaced by Julius III, a pacific man with no dynastic ambitions of his own. Naively believing he could put matters straight between the Habsburgs and France, practically his first act as Pope accidentally ignited a war involving both, this time over Parma.
Just before Paul III’s death, Henry and Catherine suffered a personal tragedy. On 24 October 1549 their nine-month-old son Louis died suddenly at Mantes. Henry hastened to his wife in the Loire valley and most of the winter was spent at Blois. Just one month after losing her son Catherine announced that she was pregnant again. The following spring saw significant changes at Court after the death of Claude, first Duke of Guise, followed shortly afterwards by the demise of his brother Cardinal Jean of Lorraine. This put the two brothers, François and Charles, at the head of the family. They became second Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine respectively, and were to lead their dynasty to hitherto undreamt-of heights, and depths.
On 27 June 1550, at Saint-Germain, the Queen gave birth to her fifth child, a son, Charles-Maximilien (later Charles IX). Henry had arrived at Saint-Germain at the end of May and assisted at the birth as usual. Mercifully for the Queen, Diane was not present with her tiresome attentions, as she had taken a fall from her horse at Romorantin and fractured her leg. She decided to stay at her fabulous palace at Anet, where she could both recuperate and keep an eye on her business transactions, pressing for the titles to yet more properties and generally advancing her huge business interests.
At Saint-Germain Catherine lay recovering from the birth of her son while the King seemed, even by his standards, to be spending an unusual amount of time with his children in the royal nursery. During Henry’s long stay there the Guise brothers, who kept their precious niece under close observation, heard rumours that Montmorency – their principal rival with the King – had been noticed paying lavish attention to Lady Fleming, Mary’s governess. Told that he paid frequent visits to ‘court’ her, many believed that the Constable ‘was going very much further with the lady’. The Guises quickly informed Diane, making the excuse that their niece risked being dishonoured by the Constable’s affair with her governess. The favourite’s instructions were clear; she sent the Duke of Guise and his brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine, a key with which they could enter the lady’s apartment and catch the Constable in flagrante. To their consternation they discovered that it was not Montmorency who was making love to the Scots beauty, but the King himself. Montmorency, having seen Henry’s eye alight upon Lady Fleming, had decided to encourage an affair, which he hoped might even topple Diane herself.
According to the Ferrarese ambassador, the Guises reported all this back to Diane who, having barely recovered from her fall, made the journey to Saint-Germain and brazenly posted herself outside Lady Fleming’s door that night. She told the brothers to stay away and to say nothing to anybody. After a short wait Diane saw the King and the Constable coming out of Fleming’s apartment. Placing herself squarely before Henry she cried, ‘Sire, from where do you come? How you betray your devoted friends and servants the Guises, their niece, the Queen and your son the Dauphin! He is to marry the child who has that woman for a governess! As for myself, I say nothing, for I love you honestly – as I always have done.’ Henry, who thought Diane was still at Anet and was too overcome with shock to think clearly, mumbled only that he had been chatting to the governess ‘and that there was nothing evil in it’. His lame reply confirmed everything and Diane, scenting an opportunity to disgrace her rival Montmorency, proceeded to cover him with abuse. She accused him of betraying the Guises as well as the King by encouraging a liaison that dishonoured them, for now ‘their niece was being raised by nothing better than a whore’. Finally she told the Constable – and how she must have enjoyed it – that she wished neither to see him ‘in her path, nor should he address a single word to her in future’. Henry made a pathetic attempt at appeasing his incandescent mistress but realising that this only made her more furious implored her not to mention the matter to the Guises. So this French farce continued, Diane promising faithfully to keep the matter secret from the very men who had warned her of it and the Constable in ‘disgrace’, which suited Diane perfectly, since she wanted to share Henry with Montmorency as little as he did with her.11 Henceforth, until the very last months of Henry’s reign, Diane used all her influence with the King to aid the Guises.
As for Catherine, she played her role in the pantomime to perfection. While acting the outraged wife, she enjoyed watching Diane suffer a tiny soupçon of the humiliation she herself had had to endure for nearly fifteen years. Nor did the matter rest there, for the King continued his secret assignations with Lady Fleming who eventually became pregnant; indeed, she and the Queen both found themselves with child at around the same time. Fleming behaved outrageously, announcing her condition in excruciatingly bad French to anyone who would listen. Brantôme quotes her saying, ‘God be thanked. I am with child by the King, and I feel very honoured and very happy about it,’ adding that the royal ‘liquor’ must possess magic properties for she had never felt so well.12
As in all things at the French Court, royal love affairs had certain unspoken rules attached to them. Fleming’s barefaced and vulgar declaration that the King was her lover and the father of her child meant the game of polite pretence had to be abandoned. For once Catherine and Diane worked harmoniously together to make the King’s life so intolerable that in the end he sent Lady Fleming away. When her child, a son, was born, the King recognised the boy as his own and gave him the name of Henry, Chevalier of Angoulême. He was brought up with the other royal children and eventually became Grand Prior of France. Aside from an ability to write lyrical verse, he was noted for his extreme cruelty, particularly during the Saint Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, and was finally killed in a duel in 1586. Henry had a further royal bastard, born in 1558. The child’s mother, Nicole de Savigny, was married, and this is probably why the King did not legitimise the boy, who nonetheless received the name Henry and took the title of Saint-Rémy, which was that of the cuckolded husband. Many years later Henri III gave his half-brother a payment of 30,000 écus and the right to wear three gold fleur-de-lys on his coat of arms.fn2
Years after the Fleming scandal, Catherine mentioned it in a letter to her son-in-law, Henri of Navarre, who was conducting a flagrant affair with one of his wife Margot’s ladies. Margot had dismissed the woman for her shameless exhibition of the liaison, and Henri was furious. Catherine’s letter is of particular interest because there are so few that survive in which she mentions Diane de Poitiers, Duchess of Valentinois. Rebuking Navarre, she wrote,
You are not, I am aware, the first husband who is young and of little prudence in such matters but I believe that you are the first, and only one, who, after an affair of this nature, would venture on such language to his wife. I had the honour of marrying the King, my lord and your sovereign, but the thing which annoyed him the most in the world was to discover that I had heard news of this kind; and when Madame de Flamin [sic] was with child, he considered it very fitting that she should be sent away and never showed any temper, nor spoke an angry word, about it. As for Madame de Valentinois she, like Madame d’Étampes, behaved in a perfectly honourable manner; but when there were any who made a noise and a scandal he would have been very displeased had I kept them near me.13
The child Catherine was carrying at the same time as ‘La Flamin’ was born on 19 September 1551. The birth actually took place at twenty minutes past midnight on the 19th though his birthday was always celebrated on 18 September and this was henceforth given out as the birth date. This baby, named Edouard-Alexandre, later to be known as Henri, Duke of Anjou and then Henri III, was the child she was to love more than the others and for whom she nursed an obsessive devotion as he grew up. His birth coincided with France’s renewed hostilities against Charles V and disgrace for Catherine’s dear cousins, the Strozzi. Although Henry had been much preoccupied with his domestic life, the festering hatred he bore for his erstwhile captor, the Emperor, now found full opportunity for expression. Henry was also encouraged to act by the Guises and Catherine, the Queen’s latent political and patriotic feelings aroused since the matter concerned her homeland.
Henry had started his reign by deliberately offending the Emperor. As Charles V was also Count of Flanders and in this capacity technically a vassal of the King of France, Henry demanded that Charles come and pay allegiance to him at his coronation. This impertinence infuriated the Emperor who replied he would be delighted to attend, but only at the head of 50,000 men to teach Henry a lesson in manners. Shortly afterwards, when the King was preparing to take Boulogne, Charles sent him a message warning that if he proceeded he would come and ‘treat him like a young man’. Henry replied by calling the Emperor ‘an old dotard’. While trading insults with his enemy, the King set about organising the army and his defences. Upon the election of Julius III, the question of Parma re-emerged when the new Pope backed Charles’s demand that Ottavio Farnese return Parma to him. The Farnese appealed to Henry who, encouraged by the Guises and Catherine, signed a treaty in May 1551 promising to help the family to hold on to their duchy.
Catherine saw military intervention in the peninsula as an opportunity to reclaim her rightful inheritance from Cosimo de Medici, Duke of Florence and vassal of the Emperor. The idea of capturing his wife’s rightful patrimony inspired Henry, who hoped either to re-establish a nominal republic there supervised by the Strozzi and dependent upon France, or to put one of his own sons on the ducal throne. Some provision clearly had to be made for the ever-increasing number of Valois boys in the nursery. The Guises were always more interested in Italian conquests than those against England, for their ancestors ‘fancied themselves as kings of Naples, Sicily and Jerusalem through their lineage of the Dukes of Anjou’.14 Though it is fair to say that Henry’s eyes were generally turned to the northern parts of Italy and his wife’s ‘possessions’ in Tuscany, he was not unsympathetic to the interests of the Guises further south.
Julius III declared Ottavio Farnese a rebel and officially deprived him of the right to the Duchy of Parma, demanding it be returned to the Emperor. When war broke out between Parma and the Papal States in June 1551, both sides were backed by their superpower rivals. Among the soldiers sent out from France was Piero Strozzi. Military matters drifted without conclusion into the winter with both France and the Empire still not yet officially at war with one another. Technically they were only involved in the conflagration as allies of the two principal parties, the Papal States and the Farnese family. Only the slightest excuse was needed, however, for both parties to go to war openly.
As no conclusive successes were scored by the French and the Pope announced his desire for peace talks, military efforts in Italy grew unpopular. Montmorency, sensing his moment, denounced the Italians at Court who had encouraged Henry to become involved in a pointless struggle. This was a barely veiled attack on the Strozzi, the Guises, and of course Catherine herself. Two days before Catherine gave birth to the Duke of Anjou, a mysterious incident occurred involving her cousin Leone Strozzi. Stationed at Marseilles, he had fled to Malta taking two French galleys with him, having had one of his subordinates – known as Il Corso – killed. The man had apparently been plotting against him. By fleeing his post, Strozzi left himself open to accusations of treason, murder, cowardice and desertion. The consequent odium threatened not only the rest of his family but also the Queen herself, who had promoted her cousins whenever she could. Little is known about what actually took place and what the motives of the protagonists were, but Catherine well understood that the whole family risked having its honour and standing at Court impugned by Leone’s flight. Dragging herself from her maternity bed, she took swift action to limit the damage; throwing herself at the mercy of the King she also managed to coax the Constable into helping her by showing herself to be as outraged as he was.
In her terror she wrote to Montmorency that she was ‘la plus, la plus ennuyée’ (most, most vexed) adding, ‘I wish to God that he had drowned … if only God had taken him from this world before he fled, but I believe that he will recognise his mistake and not linger in this world which would be the greatest news I could have, for I am certain he would not act in bad faith.’15 Unfortunately Leone did not have the good manners either to drown or kill himself, but had, she soon learned, arrived safely in Malta. This prompted another emotional letter to Montmorency saying that her ‘grant ennuye et deplesyr’ was daily increasing and asking that Leone should be allowed to explain himself to the King.16 Catherine also wrote a nervous rant to her husband: ‘I beg you to forgive me if I annoy you with so long a letter, and to excuse me, considering the grief I feel that the person of whom I have spoken to you so much, and who is what he is to me, should have wronged you at a time when I hoped that he would serve you so well, and the only thing that would console me would be to hear that God had drowned him.’17 Her loud protests against her cousin and supplications to Henry and the Constable must have had good effect for Leone was allowed back to Court two years later and, thanks to Catherine, Piero’s reputation remained unaffected by the scandal.
Apart from seeing her cousins extricated from a potentially disastrous situation, Catherine had another reason to feel more cheerful. Henry had for some time now been showing the Queen great tenderness and affection. The marked change in the King’s behaviour was quickly noted by the Court. One observer wrote, ‘The King visits the Queen and serves her with so much affection and attention that it is astounding.’ It is likely that a combination of reasons caused Henry’s growing esteem for his wife: she had borne him six children and had been as undemanding as she was loyal. Diane, now fifty-one years old, had probably never been very interested in sex and grew increasingly tired of the highly athletic King’s frequent attentions. What better than to send him to his wife’s side where the King might chafe, but where he would be fairly safe from other predators? Henry had also begun to seek Catherine’s political counsel, particularly in the latter half of his reign as the international situation grew more fraught. She now entered her second regency as head of the ruling council when, once again, Henry went to war with the Emperor.
On 15 January 1552 Henry signed the Treaty of Chambord, supporting the German Lutheran princes straining against Charles’s political and religious yoke. France had eagerly stepped in with promises of help and in February 1552 Henry declared war on the Emperor, announcing that he himself would lead his troops as the ‘Defender of German Liberties’. In return he received the administration as ‘Imperial Vicar’ of Toul, Metz, Verdun (known as the three Bishoprics) and Cambrai. These strategically valuable French-speaking towns on France’s north-eastern border were a key acquisition and the project was warmly received by the French people.
When Catherine heard of her second regency, she was in raptures to find that Henry had placed such confidence in her. Her joy turned to consternation and then disappointment, however, when she discovered that her powers were to be shared with one of Diane’s cronies, Jean Bertrand, the Keeper of the Seals, with whom she was to sit as joint president of the ruling council. Upon reading the document promulgating the council she remarked, ‘In some places I am given a great deal of authority but others very little, and if this power had been cast in the full form which it pleased the King to say that it would be framed, I should have been careful to use it soberly.’18 When this polite protest evoked no response, Catherine – whose main responsibility would be, in effect, to act as quartermaster-general and raise troops in case of need – remonstrated with Montmorency. Unmoved, the Constable made the dour reply, ‘You should not incur any expense nor order any additional disbursement of money without telling him [Henry] first and knowing his pleasure.’19 Exasperated, Catherine insisted that the brevet describing her powers should not be published for it ‘diminished rather than augmented the authority and esteem she was believed to enjoy, having the honour of being who she is to the King’.20Catherine had her way, and the King ordered that the document be modified.
A month after Henry had departed on his German expedition Catherine fell seriously ill with scarlet fever. Diane nursed her diligently at Joinville-en-Champagne, and as soon as she recovered Catherine put aside any chagrin over her circumscribed powers and set about her duties with such brio that she nearly drove her fellow councillors mad. She wrote proudly to the Constable in one of her many letters, ‘If everyone does his part and what he promises, I shall soon be past mistress, for I study nothing else all day long, and I employ most of the time of … the members of the council on this question, for fear there may be some slip, though it is difficult when matters are so hasty and precipitate to avoid some confusion and disorder, but I hope … you will be satisfied; at least you may count on me to press and push.’21 At last given an outlet for her talents, Catherine slaved to please Henry when, for once, he asked something of her. Ever vigilant, she heard of some preachers speaking seditiously in Paris. Writing immediately to warn the city’s governor, she recommended that the preachers be quietly apprehended and replaced with men who spoke favourably of the King’s policies. The preachers, she wrote, ‘have nothing better to do than incite the people to mutiny … their arrogance is so great in the face of the goodness, prudence and religion of their Prince … that under colour of their zeal and devotion they can move the people to rebellion’.22 The Cardinal of Lorraine warned that arresting the preachers would only exacerbate a relatively minor problem, but Catherine had not yet the experience to know how to deal with critics of the regime.
Working hard on Henry’s behalf, Catherine discovered that she enjoyed the power that came with her rank and the untapped resources she possessed in the exercise of it. By late June Henry and his armies returned home after successfully occupying the new territories with almost no loss of life. From now until just before the end of his reign Henry, Catherine and France were to enjoy only the briefest respites from consequences of the Habsburg–Valois enmity. The battlegrounds for their almost continuous feuding would be Italy and the north-eastern border between France and the Holy Roman Empire.
In November 1552 the Emperor, armed with a huge force and determined not to allow Henry to hold on to his prestigious gains in the north-east, laid siege to Metz. There followed a ferocious six-week bombardment of the city, the defence of which was led by François of Guise. Though he had only 6000 men and a handful of guns, Guise, helped by Piero Strozzi and Jean de Saint-Rémy (a superb artillery officer and specialist in fortification), set about improving the city’s lamentable defences. Guise’s leadership was so inspiring, as he himself laboured with a shovel alongside his men rebuilding vital walls, that he even persuaded the citizens to lend a hand in the demolition of their own houses and churches to fortify the city. Vieilleville wrote of Guise’s industry, ‘He was not seen to waste a single hour’ and his efforts were rewarded as the town held out until the bitter cold of winter decimated Charles’s exposed troops. The Imperial soldiers died in scores every day; dysentery, typhus, hunger and cold were France’s allies at Metz. When Charles called off the siege in January 1553, Guise showed humanity rare in sixteenth-century warfare when he ventured out from the city and organised humane treatment for the sick and dying enemy soldiers. His reputation for saving Metz with such puny defences was already that of a hero defying impossible odds; such charity to the defeated foe added further lustre to his name.23
While the Metz problem was being satisfactorily resolved, an opportunity arose for France when the Tuscan city-state of Siena rebelled against the Empire. In July 1552, shouting the war cry ‘Francia! Francia!’, the Sienese revolted against the Spanish garrison that had been stationed there for twelve long years. The rebels asked to be taken under Henry’s protection, who needed little prompting to accept the offer. Siena provided a perfect springboard from which to launch attacks on both Florence – where they hoped a popular uprising from within would aid them – and the Papal States. Catherine felt overjoyed; the situation brimmed with promise for the overthrow of Cosimo and the ‘liberation’ of Florence. Without wasting any time Henry sent the Cardinal d’Este as his representative to Siena with a ‘bodyguard’ of nearly 5000 men, which really constituted a small army.
Catherine, passionately energetic in her support of the Italian venture, became fearful when Henry’s bastard daughter Diane of France married Orazio Farnese in February 1553. She worried that his attention might once again favour Farnese projects at the expense of her Florentine ambitions. Angry and tearful, Catherine went before the King while he gave an audience to the Tuscan ambassador; she declared that no one had any regard for her or for Florence. She had no cause for concern; the King was more than alive to his matrimonial rights with respect to that city. The episode marks a further step in Catherine’s increasing importance to Henry and her growing confidence; such an outburst from the Queen would have been unthinkable only a few years earlier. As for Diane of France, married shortly after the victory at Metz, she was widowed within a few months. Her husband Orazio died fighting for France against Imperial troops at Hesdin, a French stronghold near Boulogne which had fallen to the Empire. With Henry’s natural daughter now widowed, she became a tempting prize for one of his ambitious circle.
Just before his daughter’s short-lived marriage to Farnese, Henry replaced d’Este in Siena with Piero Strozzi, who arrived there on 2 January 1554. With the financial support of the fuoriusciti he was to lead an attack on Florence, bringing Tuscany under French control. Catherine busied herself raising money from the Italian financiers in France and even added 100,000 écus of her own by mortgaging properties in the Auvergne inherited from her mother. She also received the Constable’s grudging backing for the campaign. This not inconsiderable achievement was due largely to Montmorency’s jealousy of the military laurels being won by François of Guise and his desire to garner some for himself. As well as her activities on behalf of the campaign in Tuscany, at Rheims Catherine was accorded her third regency while Henry went off to fight against the Imperial troops now stationed in Picardy.
The arrival in May 1554 of Charles V’s army to besiege Siena and Strozzi’s invasion of Florentine territory spelt disaster for France. Strozzi suffered an overwhelming defeat at the battle of Marciano on 2 August 1554, but eventually managed to reach Siena despite being badly wounded. Catherine raved about the cowardice of the Italian soldiers and despatched Piero’s valet to find his master and nurse him. There followed a long hard siege of Siena by Imperial and Florentine troops before the city fell in April 1555. By then Piero’s brother, Leone, who had returned to favour after the Malta fiasco and been given command of the galleys in the Mediterranean, had been killed in action. The news of Leone’s death was, on Henry’s express orders, withheld from Catherine for a few days because of the imminent birth of their child. The King initially felt sorry for Strozzi upon losing his brother and created him a Marshal of France, but when Siena fell Henry finally lost patience with Catherine’s favourite cousin for his brave but ultimately ineffective action in Italy.24 When Piero managed to escape and return to France he was received with such froideur by Henry that Catherine advised her cousin to stay out of the King’s sight.
Even before Siena had fallen, Henry was putting out tentative peace feelers to Cosimo de Medici, at the same time as assuring Catherine that he would not abandon the campaign. The Queen wrote to the Italian exiles and allies urging them not to give up hope and promising that the King would not turn his back on them. Her relentless efforts proved futile as the constant fighting in the north and in Italy began to tell on both protagonists. Some dramatic changes on the international landscape now also took place. On 8 July 1553 Edward VI of England had died and was succeeded by his half-sister Mary Tudor. Charles V, now infirm and suffering from crippling gout and piles, had seen his dream (and France’s nightmare) realised when his niece, the new Queen of England, married his son Philip of Spain. After failing to retake Metz in 1553, Charles had observed that it was clear he had ‘no real men left and must take leave of the world and get him to a monastery’.25 Accordingly, he started preparing to hand the mantle to his son. His unwieldy and almost bankrupt Empire had broken him, but he wanted accord with France before he withdrew from public affairs altogether. The French, too, were in a poor financial position and the people now rapidly grew disenchanted with the interminable warring. Both Montmorency and Diane de Poitiers had their own pressing reasons for an agreement to be reached since the Constable’s son, François, and Diane’s son-in-law, Robert de la Marck, had both been taken prisoner during the hostilities. They were waiting to be ransomed when informal peace talks opened at Marck, near Calais, in May 1555.
A glistening temptation now presented itself before Henry, which even distracted him from the peace talks. Following the death of Julius III on 23 March 1555, and that of his successor Marcellus II (who wore the tiara for just twenty-one days before dying), a pope openly hostile to the Empire was elected. Paul IV (Gianpietro Carafa) succeeded Marcellus II on 23 May; he hated the Emperor and nursed fantastic ambitions for his nephews. His favourite, Cardinal Carlo Carafa, was a particularly loathsome character. A vicious one-time soldier of fortune now masquerading as a prince of the Church, Carafa received the position of His Holiness’s Secretary of State, the papacy’s most senior minister. The new regime in Rome made seductive overtures to the French for an alliance in which each would support the other’s claims.
Catherine urged Henry not to let this opportunity slip; with papal backing, she argued, their Italian ambitions could hardly fail. Most people at Court supported this view, especially the Guises. Naples formed a crucial part of Paul IV’s tempting promises to Henry. It was agreed that the Pope would bestow Naples upon Charles-Maximilien, Henry’s second son, and Milan was to go to Edouard-Alexandre, his third boy. Guise expected to become regent of Naples during Charles-Maximilien’s minority. In addition the Pope pledged his support for the overthrow of Cosimo de Medici, ensuring Catherine’s formidable assistance and her remobilisation of the fuoriusciti. The Venetian ambassador, Michele Soranzo, wrote confirming Catherine’s growing importance, ‘The Queen will have all the merit should Florence be liberated.’26 Diane, too, had been promised a fine harvest for herself, so she also threw her weight behind the war party. Practically the only dissenting voice to be heard in this ambitious chorus was the Constable’s. He argued that Paul IV was not in a position to fulfil his promises, that the papal treasury was empty and that the Pontiff lacked allies within Italy. Everyone who mattered ignored Montmorency’s doom-laden muttering, however, and the Franco–Papal alliance was signed on 15 December 1555. A few months later the odious Cardinal Carafa arrived in France, ostensibly in ‘the holy task of peace’ but really with only the most bellicose of intentions.
The treaty frightened Philip of Spain, still inexperienced and ruling without his father to guide him. Charles had abdicated by January 1556 and broken up the Empire. Philip was now King of Spain, Duke of Milan, King of Naples and sovereign of the Low Countries; Charles’s brother Ferdinand was elected Holy Roman Emperor later that year. After much blustering and brinkmanship, Henry and Philip signed the Treaty of Vaucelles, a five-year truce, in February 1556. Given that France had just allied with the papacy and Philip had recently been excommunicated for not awarding Cardinal Carafa the See of Naples, it is highly unlikely that either party really viewed the treaty as more than a chance to draw breath before the outbreak of further hostilities. Philip felt so unnerved by events, however, that he wrote asking his father to ‘help and aid me’, adding that his enemies ‘would behave differently’ if they knew Charles were there to counsel him. Despite this filial plea, Philip soon established that he was equal to the challenges Henry now threw at him in what proved to be the military climax of his reign.
Having given birth to a boy, Hercules, during the last days of the siege of Siena, in March 1555, Catherine made her final maternal oblation to France by giving birth to twin daughters, Jeanne and Victoire, on 24 June 1556. She had borne Henry ten children in twelve years, but the arrival of these twins nearly cost Catherine her life. After the first baby was born, the second failed to emerge and the Queen began to weaken. To save her life the unborn infant, already dead or dying, had to have its legs broken to remove it from the womb. The surviving child was optimistically called Victoire, a name that would soon ring hollow in the year that Henry suffered the worst military defeat of his reign. In any event she died only weeks after her birth.
On 15 September 1556 the Duke of Alba, Philip’s viceroy in Naples, launched an attack on the Campania region, provoked by the Pope who wanted to spark off a war in order to commit France to support him without further delay. Yet the unexpected speed of Alba’s approach towards Rome terrified Paul IV, and he appealed for help from Henry as Imperial troops once again threatened the Eternal City. Henry despatched François of Guise who, aside from rescuing the Pope, intended to take Naples. Catherine immediately set to work raising money and men from the Italian exiles to aid the Guise expedition. The duke’s Italian allies, Este and Cardinal Carafa, argued about what his campaign goals should be when the three men met in February 1557, each resolutely promoting his own interests. Thwarted by his shambolic allies and checked in an attempt to take Florence, Guise marched south to Naples, but he still lacked support, funds and men. Hearing that the perfidious Pope was now seeking a separate peace with Alba, Piero Strozzi brought Carafa’s two great-nephews back to France with him as hostages. When he arrived at Senlis, where Henry and Catherine were expecting him, the Queen, who was at dinner when she heard of his arrival, dropped all protocol and rushed to embrace her cousin. The King and Queen spent the rest of the evening poring over campaign plans with Strozzi, now rehabilitated in the King’s eyes, before he returned to the mess in his homeland.
While Guise struggled with the maze of obstacles in Italy, Philip’s ally Emmanuel-Philibert of Savoy invaded northern France. Montmorency and his army stood before him at Saint-Quentin in Picardy. This vital stronghold approximately eighty miles from Paris is situated near the end of the river Somme as it flows towards France’s north-eastern border with the Empire. On 10 August 1557 battle was joined, and the Constable suffered a catastrophic defeat. Although Saint-Quentin itself had not fallen, it was completely surrounded and the French army routed. Montmorency had been taken prisoner and those nobles who were not killed went into captivity with him. Among them were some of the most important men in France, including many of Henry’s coterie.
Forty-five miles away, alone at Compiègne, Henry received the news with calm. Catherine, who had been made regent again, was already in Paris, a city gripped with panic as people scrambled to escape from the enemy who now had nothing to bar their advance to the capital. The Queen, displaying exemplary composure and fortitude, helped quieten the terrified populace. Henry, separated from his usual circle of advisers and alone but for two remaining secretaries to write out the essential orders, issued two vital commands. Knowing his wife’s ability for rallying support, he sent her word that she must get money out of the Parisians without which he could not hope to raise more troops. He also issued immediate orders to recall François of Guise, his finest soldier, from Italy.
Catherine and her sister-in-law Marguerite appeared at the Bureau de Ville (Paris Town Hall) on 13 August 1557. Both women and their attendants wore black mourning, Catherine ensuring that their appearance evoked sombre drama. In her first significant public address she played her hostile and frightened audience with consummate skill. She did not command them to help their King, she appealed for their support, flattering them with her humble speech. Speaking of the peril which threatened them all, she asked the people to ‘aid their King’. Unused to such gentle tones from a sovereign, the ‘good bourgeois’ of Paris requested that the Queen withdraw while they debated the matter. She was kept waiting for only a moment before returning to a unanimous vote that they would raise men and money from the ‘said city and faubourgs, with no exemptions, the sum of three hundred thousand livres’. Tearfully Catherine thanked them, her voice trembling with emotion.
On 29 August the town of Saint-Quentin fell despite the confident assurances of Montmorency’s nephew Admiral Gaspard de Coligny that it would hold out for at least ten weeks (in France, ‘Admiral’ was a rank that originally applied to commanders at sea, but had long been used for army officers too). Henry had counted on Philip not daring to advance on Paris with the still-uncaptured garrison to his rear. This fresh blow caused further panic as the route to Paris now lay clear before the enemy. He issued commands that precious items and sacred relics in the capital should be taken away from the city to avoid being looted, and those people who could, fled.
The return of Guise from Italy put heart into all. At their first encounter the duke fell to his knees before the King. ‘He was received by His Majesty so lovingly, and with so many embraces, that he seemed unable to detach himself from his neck.’27 Guise came with some of France’s best soldiers, including Monluc and Piero Strozzi. He was made Lieutenant-General of the kingdom, and his brother the Cardinal of Lorraine undertook many of the captured Montmorency’s responsibilities. Philip, who had been unable to believe the success at Saint-Quentin, failed to push home his victory and drive on to Paris. He dallied, taking defenceless towns in the area, and started to release some of his troops, never imagining that the French would be able to recover as fast as they did. His father, the ex-Emperor, sat in retirement in Spain asking one question over and over again: ‘Is he in Paris yet?’ Perhaps Philip feared that he would overreach himself by pressing on to the capital and suffer the same fate as his father had once done: ‘He might march into France eating pheasant and leave it eating only roots.’28 The campaign season over and mistakenly expecting no serious trouble from the French for some considerable time, Philip returned to Brussels.
Henry then decided upon a course that would avenge the humiliation of Saint-Quentin and remove the last English thorn remaining in France from the Hundred Years War. He would recapture Calais, so long in enemy hands. This foreign foothold was especially dear to Philip’s wife, Queen Mary of England, and as an added bonus its loss would thus also wound the Spanish King deeply. It was a bold and unexpected move. The town was considered impregnable and the weather unfavourable for such an expedition; even Guise felt sceptical about the plan. Strozzi was sent to examine the fortifications and after reporting his conclusions back to the King, Henry decided to press ahead; the element of surprise would be so great that he ignored the caution of his commanders. Guise was to lead the force against the town, whose banner above the city gate bore the unfortunate prediction, ‘Then shall the Frenchmen Calais win; when iron and lead like cork shall swim.’29 After a brilliant attack the garrison’s commander surrendered on 8 January 1558. Henry and Catherine were in the midst of a wedding banquet at the Château des Tournelles in Paris when news arrived of the victory. The people’s joy was unbounded. Henry departed for the front, taking the Dauphin with him, leaving Catherine in charge of government matters during his absence.
Piero Strozzi had particularly distinguished himself during the attack and fought with great courage. His valiant but often hopeless past failures were forgotten as he received honours and rewards from the King. Catherine was vindicated for the support she had always extended to her cousin. The hero of the hour, François of Guise, received the greatest reward of all: Henry agreed that the marriage between his niece, Mary, Queen of Scots, and the Dauphin Francis should now take place. Catherine brought all the royal children to Paris for the lavish wedding on 24 April 1558. Montmorency, still in captivity, had tried to prevent this ultimate alliance between the House of Guise and the Crown. He suggested to Henry that Philip’s sister become the Dauphin’s bride and Elisabeth of France be engaged to marry Don Carlos, Philip’s increasingly mad son. While it gave Henry something to reflect upon, he nonetheless decided to proceed with the original plan, not least because the Constable’s proposal had received no encouragement from the Spanish and the victor of Calais must be rewarded.
Guise himself oversaw the details of the celebrations. Particular attention was given to ensuring that the common people could see the brilliant beauty of the fifteen-year-old bride and her fourteen-year-old groom. The puffy-faced, sickly-looking Dauphin, with a constantly running nose, standing beside his much taller lovely new wife, must have made an unprepossessing sight. It had been decreed that the couple should henceforth be known as the Queen-Dauphine and the King-Dauphin to remind people that the Dauphin Francis was also King of Scotland. Among the fantastic entertainments laid on for the wedding was a banquet at which twelve man-made horses covered in gold and silver cloth were led in to be ridden by the royal princes and the small Guise children. The shimmering horses pulled carriages carrying singers glittering with jewels, who entertained the guests with their music. These were followed by the arrival of six silver-sailed ships that appeared to float over the ballroom floor; on board sat the gentlemen who were allowed to bring a lady of their choice. Francis invited his mother to join him and Henry chose his new daughter-in-law.30
On 13 May 1558 a Protestant demonstration lasting several days presaged the religious trouble to come when 4000 reformers staged a march at the Pré-aux-clercs in Paris. To the outrage of the general population there were seen among the crowd a number ofnoblemen and the psalm-singing marchers were led by Antoine de Bourbon on horseback. On 18 May Henry responded by publishing a decree that prevented demonstrations by those singing and praying in public. Nine months earlier a furious mob had broken up a prayer meeting of Calvinists in the rue Saint-Jacques and 132 people had been arrested, among them a few noblewomen. Henry was disgusted at the contamination of the nobility by the reform movement; to him it was a gross perversion and utterly incomprehensible. Although he had issued the Edict of Compiègne in July 1557 against the Calvinist reformers – sparing the Lutherans because so many of his allies, mercenaries and bankers were German Lutherans – he had been hampered from putting the edict into effect by resistance within the realm and by continued international hostilities.
Calvin operated from Geneva and had created a far more effective proselytising organisation than earlier Protestants; his agents were now slipping into France and spreading the new doctrine. Among the repressive measures were the death penalty with no right of appeal for preachers and those coming in from Geneva distributing Protestant literature. This also covered anyone fomenting religious unrest. At the same time Henry had asked the Pope’s permission to create a French Inquisition. Three cardinals were chosen to lead this body: Lorraine, Bourbon (Antoine’s brother) and Montmorency’s nephew, Châtillon. The Cardinal of Lorraine was the de facto leader of the French Inquisition, but Henry had difficulty with the magistrates who balked at the Inquisitors’ authority. Secular courts were given additional powers to act against the Calvinists, but progress was slowed by confusion as to which legal body had the jurisdiction to enforce the harsh new measures. One thing was quite clear, however: in order to stop the canker within his realm, Henry needed peace to implement the edict and wage his war against heresy.
At Thionville on 20 June, Guise recaptured the town which had been held by Philip, though the military triumph brought personal tragedy to Catherine. Her adored Piero Strozzi was killed by a shot from an arquebusier while launching an attack on the stronghold. He went to his death in a manner quite as unconventional as his life. When Guise saw his friend and comrade mortally wounded he held the dying Strozzi in his arms saying, ‘Pray to Jesus that you will be received by him.’ To which Strozzi replied, ‘What Jesus? For God’s sake don’t try to convert me now. I renounce God, my joys are over [ma fête est finie].’ The pious duke, appalled at this outburst, redoubled his efforts and begged Strozzi to ask God’s forgiveness for he would stand before Him that very day, to which Strozzi answered, ‘But for God’s sake! I will be where all the others are who have died over the last six thousand years’ and with that the Italian expired leaving Guise deeply afflicted.31 Catherine and Henry were both devastated and took great pains over the welfare of Strozzi’s widow and son.
Montmorency’s continued imprisonment was a source of great distress to Henry. Diane also regretted the loss of the balance that he brought to counter the weight of the House of Guise. The Venetian ambassador wrote of the shift, ‘At the present there is open rupture and enmity between her and the Cardinal of Lorraine, she being so united with the Constable that they are one and the same thing.’32 A useful function that the Constable could perform from his captivity at Ghent was to hold informal peace discussions. After all, there was no one who knew his master’s mind better than he who had helped form it. Philip was short of money and knew that Henry needed peace as badly as he did, and welcomed the use of Montmorency. The Constable fretted at the thought of what might be happening at Court without him, despite the fond handwritten letters he received from Henry full of love and assurances. Diane joined with Henry and added her own soothing words in a letter to the old man. Saint-André had also been taken prisoner, as was the Constable’s nephew Coligny.
The King began to show his disaffection with the Guises who, now unchecked, were promoting their interests marvellously. He blamed the duke for talking him into the last war with Italy and openly declared himself exasperated with the family’s limitless aspirations. This was largely irritation on Henry’s part at the predicament in which he found himself and for which he was ultimately responsible, though the Guises were the obvious party to blame. Catherine remained, for her part, stout in her defence of the Guises and the Italian campaign. She was so overwrought at the concessions she feared would jeopardise French hopes in Italy for ever that for the first time in her marriage she chose to stay away from Henry for a full three months. She only rejoined her husband in October 1558 shortly before the return of the Constable, who had been paroled by Philip.
The reunion between Henry and his old mentor on 10 October 1558 was pathetic and moving. Henry had been restlessly kicking his heels all day looking out for the Constable; finally he decided to ride out in the hope of catching sight of him. At last Montmorency appeared alone on his horse. The two men embraced like father and son. Much to the relief of the Constable, they touched only briefly on the disaster of Saint-Quentin, his staggering military failure of Pavia-like proportions, before the two proceeded to denigrate the Guises, their greed, hawkishness and ambition. The Constable slept in the King’s chamber, and Henry was inconsolable when Montmorency had to return to captivity two days later.
After tremendous haggling and changing his mind at least once, Henry agreed to a peace treaty, the merits of which have been hotly debated ever since. The most important terms of the Treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis were, broadly, that France retained Calais for eight years, after which an indemnity must be paid or Calais returned. She also kept the three bishoprics of Toul, Metz and Verdun. All French positions in Tuscany were ceded to the Duke of Mantua or the Duke of Florence, Cosimo de Medici. Spanish rights to Milan and Naples were recognised, and Bresse, Savoy and Piedmont were handed back to the Duke of Savoy. The only French possessions left in Italy were the Marquisate of Saluzzo and five strongholds in Piedmont, including Turin.33 Two marriage alliances were brokered to shore up the treaty. Henry’s and Catherine’s eldest daughter Elisabeth was to marry Philip of Spain, a widower since Mary Tudor had died on 17 November 1558. Meanwhile the Duke of Savoy agreed to take Henry’s sister Marguerite as his bride. In short, Henry was surrendering gains and expensive possessions in Italy for territory and strength on the north-eastern border of his kingdom, although that is not at all how his subjects perceived the treaty at the time. Today the view that Cateau-Cambrésis ‘was a strategic retrenchment that made France less vulnerable’ is the one most widely held.34
Catherine was appalled when she first heard the terms of the treaty. Falling on her knees before her husband, she begged him not to ratify it. She denounced the Constable, saying, ‘He has done us nothing but harm,’ to which Henry retorted, ‘All the harm has been done by those who advised me to break the Truce of Vaucelles.’35 Guise announced to the King himself that he would rather have his head cut off than ‘say it is honourable or advantageous to Your Majesty’. A few months later he repeated his convictions to Henry: ‘I swear to you, Sire, that there is evil in taking this road. For if you do nothing but lose for the next thirty years you would not give up as much as now at a single stroke.’36 The duke left the Court in disgust at Christmas 1558. Henry’s most senior military commanders were incredulous at the treaty; their feelings were shared by many. Catherine felt much of the blame could be laid at Diane’s door. When the latter walked into the Queen’s presence and found Catherine reading, she asked politely what the book was. The Queen is said to have answered, ‘I am reading the chronicles of France, and I find that from time to time, at every period, the affairs of Kings have been governed by whores.’
The Guises enjoyed a moment of glory when Henry’s and Catherine’s daughter Claude married the young Duke Charles of Lorraine. There was a splendid ceremony at Notre-Dame on 22 January 1559. A few days later Montmorency sealed his pact with Diane by marrying his son Henri to her granddaughter, Antoinette de la Marck. Catherine accompanied her husband for the celebrations at the Constable’s château of Écouen. Earlier in 1558 the King had honoured the Constable by marrying his widowed illegitimate daughter Diane to the old man’s eldest son François. Montmorency was quite overcome to be so closely allied to the royal family. Much loved by her royal half-brothers and sisters, the Constable’s new daughter-in-law was not only beautiful and sweet-natured but of all his children she had inherited the most of her father’s finest traits.
The unpopular Treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis was officially ratified on 3 April. Now Henry could concentrate on eliminating the ‘Protestant vermin’ from his realm. On 10 June, shortly before the two treaty weddings of his sister Marguerite and his daughter Elisabeth, Henry appeared without warning at a mercuriale, a quarterly examination of members of the judiciary, many of whom were suspected of heretical leanings. The magistrates could not hide their astonishment when they saw the King arrive, bringing with him the Cardinal of Lorraine, the Constable and other nobles. The King spoke first, saying that now that the country was at peace heretics must be brought to trial and punished according to the law. He then asked the assembled men to proceed with their meeting. What he heard left him dumbfounded. Some councillors, notably Anne du Bourg, were critical of the rich ecclesiastics who ignored their flock. The cardinal remained silent, but Montmorency sharply interrupted du Bourg’s insolence. The magistrate, unheeding, went on to denounce the burning of heretics: ‘It is no light thing to condemn those who from the midst of the flames call upon the name of Jesus Christ. What! Crimes worthy of death – blasphemy, adultery, horrible debaucheries … are committed day by day with impunity … while day by day new tortures are devised for men whose only crime is that by the light of the Scriptures they have discovered the corruptions of the Church of Rome.’37 Furious, the King ordered the arrest of du Bourg and four other councillors as soon as the session was over. Although the others were released, du Bourg was put on trial and condemned to death. Henry had taken the tirade as a personal insult on his relationship with his mistress.
Although Diane still dominated his private life, Henry’s sexual appetites were now more often met by discreet liaisons with courtesans whom he met in secret, disguising himself in a cloak and covering his face. His valet, Griffon, kept guard outside the bedchamber where His Majesty entertained these belles inconnues. His fifty-nine-year-old mistress turned a blind eye to the King’s romantic sorties, and Catherine minded them far less than she minded Diane’s continued pre-eminence. The Venetian Giovanni Capello (also an envoy to the French Court) gives a picture of the Queen as she reached her fortieth year. Her dress was always magnificent and her manner regal, though he qualified this somewhat crushingly by saying she could not be considered good-looking except ‘when her face is veiled’. He continues, ‘Her mouth is too large and her eyes too prominent and colourless for beauty, but a very distinguished-looking woman, with a shapely figure, a beautiful skin and exquisitely shaped hands; her manners are charming, and she has a pleasant smile or a few well-chosen words for each of her guests.’38 The Venetian ambassador, Michele Soranzo, described Catherine in a despatch during 1558. He wrote, ‘Queen Catherine has an extremely large face though her body is well proportioned. She is extremely generous, particularly with the Italians. She is loved by all and more than anyone else she loves the King, for whom she overcomes all fatigue to follow. The King honours her, and confides in her … the fact that she has borne him ten children counts very much for his attachment to her.’39
The children were Henry’s joy and he was a kind and affectionate father. He played with them and watched their games, following their achievements with pride. Catherine, emotionally hampered by Diane’s jurisdiction within the royal nursery, was a viscerally protective and devoted mother, concerned with health, education and upbringing, but she suffered from an inability to be intimate with her children in the same way as Henry. After he died, however, she was to lavish unrestrained love upon one child, her favourite, Edouard-Alexandre, later Duke of Anjou, whom she alone called her ‘chers yeux’ (my precious eyes). To find that the many little treasures of motherhood such as the nicknames she and the King invented for their brood were also used by his mistress tarnished their magic for her. Nothing, it seemed, belonged to Catherine without Diane’s corrupting inclusion. While the Queen instilled awe, respect and a desire to please in the children, it was their father to whom they turned for warmth.
The couple presided over a Court noted for its relative decorum. Unlike his father, Henry insisted upon courtiers keeping up a show of respectability, and should a young man attempt to take liberties with one of her filles d’honneur Catherine ferociously protected her ladies’ virtue and reputation. Many an over-ardent suitor would have to cool his passion away from Court until the Queen’s fury had abated. Equally, when Catherine discovered that any of her young women had abandoned their dignity, her wrath could be terrifying. One luckless girl, Mademoiselle de Rohan, was asleep with her lover when she awoke to hear people entering her chamber. She opened her eyes to find the Queen, Diane and the Constable’s wife standing beside the bed. Outraged, the Queen exclaimed ‘How you shame me!’ and the indignant matrons marched the young woman before the King, the Constable and the Cardinal of Lorraine who backed up Catherine’s demand to have the girl, who was pregnant, sent away from Court.40 In later years the decorum the Queen expected from her filles d’honneur was to become far more elastic as she needed their seductive qualities to further her own political ends.
Catherine still loved to hunt and lavished a fortune on her horses and stables. Brantôme wrote of her, ‘She was a very good and fearless horsewoman, sitting with ease, and being the first to put her leg around a pommel … until she was over sixty she loved riding, and after her weakness prevented her, she pined for it. It was one of her greatest pleasures to ride far and fast, though she fell many times.’41 When out riding she often carried a crossbow in case she came across any game, and used it with considerable skill. Perhaps the other reason she loved to hunt was that it afforded a rare opportunity to be with her husband without Diane. For all the allegorical connections that the favourite liked to make between herself and the goddess of the chase, Diane now only rode out in the morning for exercise and despite wearing a mask for protection (which was common practice at the time) did not want to risk acquiring the ruddy complexion of a huntswoman.
On hunting days the Queen held a cercle in her chambers, which Henry punctiliously attended. The Constable, Diane and the Guises also made a point of appearing at these rather staid gatherings during which no music was played nor any entertainment offered. The assemblies were Catherine’s way of getting to know the courtiers. By three o’clock the cercle had usually finished and the courtiers often went to play games such as pell-mell or watch the King and his nobles tilt, or play tennis. In the evening after dinner the Queen frequently arranged another party, though these were made jollier by music and dancing. Henry had also begun to make a practice of spending an hour or so alone with his wife before he went to bed, which he did at ten o’clock most evenings.42
Now with tensions running high between the Guises and the Montmorencys, and between Diane and the Queen, the date for the wedding celebrations to seal the peace approached. Diane, allied by the marriages of her daughters and granddaughter into both rival factions, felt herself insured by these links. Most important of all, she still held Henry’s complete devotion safely in her possession. Yet the divisions created by the new religion had permeated even this close circle around the King. Montmorency’s nephew d’Andelot had embraced the new faith and it was rumoured that his brother Gaspard, Admiral de Coligny had also converted during his captivity, though he had not yet come out into the open with his beliefs. The King often chose to ignore these transgressions when they affected those so close to his heart, but it made for increased difficulties. The line between heresy and treacherous sedition was – as yet – a faint one.
Catherine had the great joy of watching her fourteen-year-old daughter Elisabeth – given the popular name of Isabel de la Paz – married, by proxy, to Philip of Spain. The merchant blood of the Medici was now to be mingled with the blue blood of the Habsburgs, the grandest dynasty in Europe. Catherine’s matronly breast felt any stain of her origins erased by this glorious connection. But her unease at the coming jousts to celebrate the wedding was manifest. Henry had not felt well all summer, suffering from vertigo, and showed signs of the strain he had been under since the defeat of Saint-Quentin. The Queen’s sleep was horribly disturbed on the night of 29 June, the day before Henry was to take part in the joust: she dreamt that he lay wounded, bleeding in the face. Her entreaties that he should not take part went unheeded and she watched as he fell, mortally wounded in his contest against Gabriel de Montgomery the following day. For the next ten days she kept vigil beside her dying husband, who finally expired on 10 July 1559. Her grief was penetrated only by the knowledge that she must now ensure the safety of their children’s future and do all she could to keep Henry’s memory and legacy alive. Although Henry had only nominally belonged to Catherine during his lifetime, she was now to make him her own for ever.
The power-hungry favourites of her late husband, already manoeuvring for position, would threaten her place if she allowed them the opportunity. The Guises, only months before in semi-disgrace for opposing the Peace of Cateau-Cambrésis, now saw that their time had come. They held the person of the new King, Francis II, with their niece, Mary, now Queen of France, and decided to remove them from the Château des Tournelles to avoid any intervention from their enemies. Montmorency, deprived of the powers he had enjoyed, could only watch as the de facto new rulers of France set out for the Louvre Palace leaving him and his party behind. Diane quit Paris, fearful of what was to become of her and her fortune.
Catherine, mastering her agony, decided not to risk remaining with the body of her late husband as tradition dictated. She would lend her tragic presence to the Guises in what has been called their ‘elopement for power’ and, as the mother of the fifteen-year-old King, make herself an indispensable element in their plans for him and the ruling council that France now required. It was clear to all that the sickly boy did not possess the maturity to reign alone. One wag called the death of Henry and accession of his son ‘the eve of the three kings’, alluding to Francis II, François of Guise and Charles, Cardinal of Lorraine. Yet France could not be ruled by such a triumvirate for long and Catherine was determined that, with her help, her son must be the ultimate victor in the power struggle that lay ahead.
fn1 The four Maries were Mary Seton, Mary Livingstone, Mary Beaton and Mary Fleming.
fn2 There is an interesting later connection with the French royal family, for it was the Comtesse de la Motte-Valois, a descendant of this bastard son of Henry II, who played a leading role in the scandal of Marie Antoinette’s famous diamond necklace, the ‘collier de la reine’.