The Reluctant Queen (35 page)

Henry laughed, ready to brush off their disagreements, as was his way. ‘You should have trusted me more. See that you do not stay away so long next time.’

But the fear of a repeat of the St Bartholomew massacre did not go away.

The dissatisfaction of the rebel Leaguers intensified and they went to see the Duke de Mayenne, begging him to rise again and resume his old role of battle chief, claiming they would take up arms again at a moment’s notice. Mayenne prudently declined to get involved, and called the guards so that the malcontents were marched to the Bastille and suitably dealt with.

But unlike his predecessor, Henri Trois, who never had any intention of upholding a peace treaty, Henry Quatre was determined that this one would stand. He wasted no time in turning the edict into law.

‘It is my unalterable will that this, my edict, shall be accepted, registered and punctually executed.’

The council accepted this decision in silence, and the matter was closed. The Edict of Nantes would hold, at least for the foreseeable future.

Princess Catherine was in despair. The Pope had refused the dispensation unless she agreed to abjure the Protestant faith, which she had no intention of doing. Nonetheless, the Duke de Bar had arrived in Paris, bringing with him a retinue of three hundred gentlemen, determined to marry her and take her back with him to Lorraine.

‘Once married, Madame, I am certain you will conform. I appreciate it is difficult for you, but will you not at least talk with the chaplains?’

Catherine held fast to her dignity. ‘I appreciate the courtesy and respect you offer me, and will do as you ask. But I should not be expected to ask questions or listen to their arguments while sitting in state. Such talks must be held in private.’

‘Very well, it shall be arranged.’

Two doctors of divinity discussed with the Princess at some length what would be involved in her conversion. Catherine remained unmoved. ‘My conscience would not permit me to accept your doctrines.’

‘Your brother the King has found no difficulty,’ protested de Bar, fearing he may lose his bride even yet.

‘In every circumstance I follow my brother’s guide, excepting in matters concerning the law of God.’

The Duke of Lorraine, father of the intended groom, was growing increasingly irritated with the delays. ‘I will not tolerate heresy in a future daughter-in-law.’

But Catherine remained adamant and refused to submit.

The Lorraine family was for returning home forthwith, but all protests abruptly ceased when Henry increased the dowry to 300,000 crowns. ‘In appreciation of your patience, and because such a sum is commensurate with my sister’s standing as a Daughter of France.’ He also gave 40,000 crowns to Catherine herself.

‘What is this for?’

‘To defray the cost of the royal mantle you must wear for the ceremony.’

‘There will be no ceremony. I refuse to convert.’

Henry smiled patiently at his rebellious sister. ‘Ah, but there will. I am no longer prepared to wait for a dispensation. We shall go ahead without the benefit of the Pope’s blessing.’

Catherine was devastated. She could no longer see a way out. The only thing which stood in the way of the marriage was finding a priest to conduct the ceremony. Catherine felt numb inside as she watched the arrangements being made. It was as if they were happening to someone else, and not herself at all. Yet a part of her went on fighting.

‘I would prefer to be married by one of my pastors.’

The Duke de Bar was outraged by this request. ‘I will not accept a Protestant minister, my children would be declared bastards.’

‘That is only your interpretation, not mine,’ Catherine pronounced.

Her remarks caused great consternation in the Lorraine household, and de Bar, being highly strung, almost wept with frustration over the obstinacy of his bride. But Henry was weary of the argument and had reached the end of his tether.

‘The marriage rites will be solemnized by the Catholic Church, as is only right and proper. I want no one to question its authenticity.’

The King sent at once for Cardinal Gondy to officiate but he firmly declined. ‘The veto of Rome prevents any orthodox clergy from performing such a ceremony. It cannot be done.’

Henry was furious and sent for another priest. He too refused to become involved, and no other clergyman would risk alienating the Pope by disobeying the Holy Father’s wishes in this delicate matter.

Catherine stood quietly by and smiled as de Bar was now the one to fall into despair. ‘With no dispensation from Rome, how can we proceed?’ he cried. ‘All is lost.’

‘I am safe,’ Catherine laughed, hugging Gabrielle in delight. ‘I am to be spared. What think you of that?’

Gabrielle said nothing, merely offering what comfort she could to the Princess, knowing that even now Henry’s fertile mind was working on a solution.

One was found in the person of the Archbishop of Rouen, the King’s illegitimate brother. His morals were questionable as he’d been involved in a long
liaison
with an abbess, and his licentious behaviour had precluded him from high office. The Archbishop had only gained his exalted position by the personal intervention of the King. Now Henry called upon him to return the favour. Rouen did his best to wriggle out of it, but the threat of losing his beautiful mansion, his crozier and mitre, and the revenue that accompanied both, was too dreadful to contemplate. He finally agreed.

He was ordered to attend the King’s levée on the last Sunday in January, 1599, at St Germain en Laye, where the court had gone for a few days.

Catherine was sitting in her apartment quietly weeping when the King and Gabrielle came to see her after early Mass. She was still in her
robe de chambre
, although resigned now to her fate.

‘Why are you not yet dressed?’ Henry asked, a false brightness in his tone. ‘Come, I will wait while you prepare yourself. Hurry, hurry, there is no time to be lost.’

Her maids-of-honour scurried about, gathering up linen and silks. Gabrielle too rushed to assist and the ladies withdrew to the dressing room. But even at the last the Princess refused to meekly comply.

‘I will not wear finery for a ceremony of which I do not approve.’

‘My dear Catherine,’ Gabrielle pleaded. ‘I pray you do not offend your new husband at the outset. It is an honour that he wishes to make you his wife.’

‘Marriage may be something you long for, but not I, at least not with the Duke de Bar.’

When she emerged, dressed in her plainest blue gown, Henry smiled and kissed his sister. ‘You look splendid, my dear, if pale and very Puritan. Pinch your cheeks and smile a little.’

Catherine had never felt less like smiling in her life.

Then taking his sister’s hand Henry led her to his closet where the Duke de Bar, together with his brothers and father, the Duke of Lorraine, patiently waited along with several gentlemen supporters.

‘You may begin,’ Henry ordered the Archbishop of Rouen, fabulously garbed in his mitre and rochet.

The Archbishop protested. ‘I pray you excuse me from conducting this nuptial service since we do not yet have the pontifical dispensation. Nor is this an appropriate place to conduct such a ceremony, since it has not been sanctified.’

Henry’s expression was grim. ‘Proceed Monsieur de Rouen, as agreed. My royal presence alone is a sufficient and solemn guarantee, and the King’s closet as sacred as any church.’

Seeing no help for it, and surrounded as he was by the Princes of Lorraine who had long since run out of patience over the delays, the Archbishop opened his missal and began to pray. Henry placed the trembling hand of his sister into that of her fiancé and with all due ceremony the Princess Catherine was at last married to the Duke de Bar.

The Comte de Soissons did not attend but quietly retired to his
Château
of Maileé. Witnessing the marriage of his beloved was too much for him to bear.

The celebrations continued for an entire week following the nuptials. There were banquets and dances every evening, games, jousts and hunting parties during the day. Catherine sat through them all in a state of numbness, paralysed by the sudden turn of events. She had thought herself safe so long as she refused to convert, not expecting Henry to go against the wishes of Rome. As always, when in distress, she retreated into herself, spending every spare moment she could at her
prêches
, reading her bible, or talking with the pastors, much to her new husband’s despair.

‘I doubt she will ever agree to convert,’ he complained to his father.

‘Wait till you get her home, son. Wives learn to obey their husbands, given time.’

Gabrielle, on the other hand, took as full a part as she could in the jollifications. Though she was filled with sympathy for Catherine, she had long known what the outcome would be. Besides, she always loved any opportunity to wear her prettiest gowns and jewels. Unfortunately, she didn’t possess her usual degree of energy, feeling somewhat below par as her latest pregnancy was not proceeding quite as easily as the previous ones. Secure in the King’s love, however, she was content to sit and watch, so long as Henry sat beside her, holding her hand and caressing her as he so loved to do.

‘Are you enjoying the ballet?’ she asked the King one evening as a particularly fine display of dancing was underway.

‘It is magnificent, as always. But who is the young maid who dances with such grace?’

Henry was riveted by the girl’s beauty. Her vivacity shone almost as brightly as her auburn hair, which, despite the demands of fashion, was only lightly sprinkled with powder. She seemed so lively, exchanging witty comments and laughing merrily with her partner as they danced.

Gabrielle frowned. ‘I believe that is Mademoiselle d’Entragues, dancing with her brother the count. Her mother was the once famous Marie Touchet, the mistress of Charles IX.’

‘Ah, was she indeed?’ Henry laughed. ‘She does not appear as mild and biddable as that gentle lady. But she has most certainly inherited her mother’s stunning beauty.’

Gabrielle looked sharply at him, and, sensing her troubled glance, Henry caressed her cheek and kissed her. ‘Do not fret, my angel, no beauty can match your own. You are enchanting, and my one true love.’

Gabrielle smiled and relaxed, letting him slip his hand inside the neck of her gown to fondle her breasts, even if some of the courtiers did scowl disapprovingly at her.

‘Do you wish to dance, my love?’ he asked.

‘I fear it best if I do not, in view of my condition.’

‘You do not object if I do?’

‘Of course not, Your Majesty.’

But when Henry invited the pretty young dancer up on to the floor, Gabrielle minded very much indeed. She had once flirted and teased in that fashion with her two lovers, Longueville and Bellegarde, delaying accepting either one of them, and too late had discovered which one she truly loved. She’d been most reluctant to abandon her lover and accept the role of mistress to a king, even with the promise of a possible crown one day. She had laughed when the King had been jealous of her love for Bellegarde. Now the opposite was the case and Gabrielle very much feared losing Henry.

‘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