Jean Plaidy - [Queens of England 01] Read online

  “The King was desolate. He was mad with grief and threatened to follow her. Now a king cannot move far without everyone’s knowing, and who would have believed that a king who had been on most excellent terms with so many women at the same time, should take such steps for one. People were saying that it was a secret move to go to war. So the King found himself in the center of a controversy. The Duc de Sully was worried and he told the King that his conduct over the Princesse de Condé was destroying his reputation…not his reputation for being a rake…that was unimportant and he already had that in any case. It was only when his amours intruded into statecraft that there was danger.

  “The affair had made the Queen more restive than ever. She was demanding her coronation, and the King, feeling he owed her some recompense, at length agreed that it should take place.

  “Now at this time the King had a strange presentiment. Kings’ lives are always in danger so perhaps it is natural for them to have presentiments. Well, some time before, the King had been told that he would only survive a few days after the Queen’s coronation, and it was for this reason that he had never wanted her to be crowned; and if it had not been for his guilt about the Princesse de Condé, he would never have agreed to it. However, now that she was to be crowned, the feeling of disaster grew and grew and he became so certain of his imminent death that he went to see the Duc de Sully about it, which shows how strongly he felt, for the Duc was not the man even a king would go to with a story like that.

  “So the King went to the Arsenal where the country’s weapons were stored and where the Duc de Sully had his apartments.” She was acting again; the same role for the King, but Bassompierre had been replaced by the Duc de Sully. “‘I don’t understand this, Monsieur le Duc, but I feel in my heart that the shadow of death is right over my head.’ ‘Why, Sire, you alarm me. How can this be? You are well. Nothing ails you.’ The Duc de Sully had had a special chair made for the King to sit in when he visited him. It was low and very regal. The King sat in it, and looking very grave, he said: ‘It has been prophesied that I shall die in Paris. The time is near. I can sense it.’”

  “Did he really say that?” I asked. “Or are you making it up?”

  “It is all true,” Mamie assured me.

  “Then he must have been a very clever man to see into the future.”

  “He was a very clever man, but this is apart from cleverness. It is the special gift of clairvoyance, and magicians and sorcerers had been saying that the King would meet his death in Paris, and if ever the Queen was crowned, then the blow would fall.”

  “Then why did he allow my mother to be crowned?”

  “Because she would give him no rest until he did; he felt guilty about the Princesse de Condé and he hated to deny a woman anything—even the Queen. He thought: Once I have given the Queen her coronation—which is what she wants more than anything—she will leave me to pursue my heart’s desire.”

  “But if the prophecy was coming true how could he have his heart’s desire with the Princesse de Condé?”

  “I can tell you no more than what happened. In fact, the Duc de Sully was so impressed that he declared he would stop the preparation for the Queen’s coronation as the thought of it so filled the King with foreboding. The King said: ‘Yes, break if off…for I have been told that I shall die in a carriage, and where could it be more easily done than at such a ceremony?’ The Duc de Sully gazed earnestly at the King. ‘This explains much,’ he said. ‘I have often seen you cowering in your carriage when you pass certain places, and yet I know that in battle, there is not a braver man in France.’”

  “But they did not stop the coronation,” I pointed out, “for my mother was crowned Queen of France.”

  Mamie continued with her narrative. “When the Queen heard that the coronation was to be canceled, she was furious.” Mamie did not attempt to imitate my mother. She would not dare go as far as that. But I could imagine my mother’s rage.

  “For three whole days the matter was disputed. There will be a coronation. There will not be a coronation. And at last the King gave way in face of the Queen’s demands and the coronation was fixed for the thirteenth of May at St. Denis.”

  “Thirteenth,” I said with a shiver. “That is unlucky.”

  “Unlucky for some,” agreed Mamie portentously. “So she was crowned and it was arranged that on the sixteenth she should make her entry into Paris. Now…”

  She paused and I watched her with rounded eyes for I had heard the story before and I knew that we were approaching the terrible climax.

  “Now…on Friday the fourteenth the King said he would go to the Arsenal to see the Duc de Sully. He was not sure whether he wanted to go or not. He hesitated. First he would go and then he thought he would not…but in the end he made up his mind. It was just to be a short visit after dinner. ‘I shall soon be back,’ he said. When he was about to get into his carriage, Monsieur de Praslin, Captain of the Guard, who always attended him even on the shortest journeys, came forward. ‘No need,’ said the King. Mamie waved her hand imperiously. ‘I don’t want any attendance today. It is just to the Arsenal for a brief visit.’ Well, he got into the carriage and sat down with a few of his gentlemen. There were only six of them, not counting the Marquis de Mirabeau and the equerry who sat in the front of the carriage.

  “Now comes the dramatic part. As the King’s carriage came into the Rue de Ferronnerie close to that of St.-Honoré, a cart came into the road, and because this blocked the way a little, the King’s carriage had to go near to an ironmonger’s shop on the St. Innocent side. As the carriage slowed down, a man rushed forward and hoisted himself onto the wheel and thrust a knife at the King. It entered right here….” She touched her left side. “It went between his ribs and severed an artery. The gentlemen in the carriage cried out in horror as the blood gushed forth. ‘It is nothing,’ said the King. Then he said that again so quietly that it could scarcely be heard. They took him with all speed to the Louvre. They laid him on his bed and sent for the doctors—but it was too late. To the sorrow of France, the King passed away.”

  I had heard the story many times and it never failed to move me to tears. I knew how the Duc de Sully had made everyone swear allegiance to my brother and how the entire country mourned, and that the mad monk Ravaillac was caught and torn apart by four wild horses to whom his body had been attached before they were sent off in different directions.

  I knew that my mother had become Regent of France because my brother was only nine years old and too young to govern.

  Had my father survived the assassination everything would have been different. As it was, I, a baby in her nursery, was to live my early years in a country torn by strife.

  I attended a great many ceremonies of which I was unaware. Mamie told me of these later. Sometimes I tried to delude myself that I remembered—but I could not have done so. I was far too young.

  The whole of France was mourning my father and calling vengeance on the madman who had killed him. There must have been a certain relief that he was a madman and that no revolutionary coup was intended. France had been satisfied with her King while he lived and when he was murdered he became a near saint. That was good because it augured well for my brother who was such a boy at the time, and ministers are always afraid of boy Kings. They mean too many people near the throne jostling for power.

  I was taken in the procession with my brothers and sisters. People wept, I was told, when they saw us. It was the impression the Duc de Sully wished to create. He was one of the greatest statesmen in the country and my father had recognized him as such. Now all his allegiance was for my brother who had slipped from the role of Dauphin to that of King.

  How maddening it is that I cannot remember anything of what passed and had to rely on Mamie’s accounts. She made me see it clearly but I was never sure that she was absolutely accurate; but it is the custom for children, however young, to be present at their dead parents’ obsequies and naturally I, as one of the Chi
ldren of France, must have been there. “You rode in the carriage in the arms of my mother,” Mamie told me; and I could imagine that child sitting there held firmly by a stern-faced Madame de Montglat and later being with her at the bier on which my dead father lay.

  Madame de Montglat would have guided my hand while I sprinkled holy water on my dead father’s face. I hoped I performed the act with dignity, which must have been rather difficult in the arms of Madame de Montglat; but presumably I made no protest which was surely all that could have been expected of me.

  My next public appearance was at my brother’s coronation, but as I was then only eleven months old I remember nothing of that either. The ceremony in the Cathedral of Rheims must have been very impressive. Louis was nine years old then and a boy King is always so appealing. I never really knew Louis well for he was no longer in our nursery after he became King. Even my elder sister Elizabeth was almost a stranger to me. Christine was with us for a while, but Gaston and I were closer than any of the others because we were near in age of course.

  Mamie told me afterward that on the great occasion I was carried by the Princesse de Condé who, now that the King was dead, had been allowed by her husband to return to Court.

  So these great happenings took place when I was too young to know what was going on. It was a little frustrating afterward to have known I was there and have no recollection of it.

  But I was not going to remain a baby forever and I began to grow up in the nursery which I shared with Gaston and Christine, presided over by the stern Madame de Montglat and with Mamie there to bring laughter into our days.

  My first real memory is of going to Bordeaux with a great cavalcade led by my mother to deliver my eldest sister Elizabeth to the King of Spain that she might marry his son and heir. At the same time she was to receive Anne of Austria, the daughter of the King of Spain, who was to marry our brother Louis. The importance of this occasion can be imagined, but at six years old this was just an exciting adventure to me. I did not know, of course, that the country was seething with discontent.

  I loved ceremonies—all the pomp and glitter and the fine clothes, even though these were often uncomfortable to wear. I can remember Gaston often tore off his ruff and cried because it hurt his neck. He was severely beaten by Madame de Montglat who made him wear even stiffer ruffs to teach him a lesson. All people must be taught discipline, said Madame de Montglat, and none more so than royal children.

  Poor Gaston! He was very rebellious in those days but I was even worse and gave way to my infantile furies by kicking, screaming, biting any hand that came near me, and lying on the floor and kicking.

  “Disgraceful!” said Madame de Montglat. “What would the Queen say?”

  Those words could always sober us. “I am afraid,” Madame de Montglat would warn, “that if your behavior does not improve I shall have to tell the Queen.”

  The Queen paid visits to the nurseries very rarely and when she did it was a great occasion. She seemed enormous to me and was like a great battleship—invincible. One knew that she was the Queen as soon as one set eyes on her. When she arrived everybody changed—even Madame de Montglat—and became watchful, making quite sure they observed every trick of etiquette. They dared not forget for one instant that they were in the presence of the Queen. Not that she would let them! Gaston and I would come forth and bow low. She would incline her head, accept our homage and then take us onto her ample lap and kiss us.

  Sometimes we thought she loved us dearly. She would ask what we were learning and remind us that we must never forget that we had had the good fortune to be brought up in the Holy Catholic Faith. I learned later that there was trouble in the country between the Catholics and the Huguenots and that when my father had been alive he had held that trouble in check. Now that he was dead the same leniency was not shown to Huguenots and in view of the fact that the country was less prosperous than it had been—owing to my mother’s less effective rule—trouble loomed.

  But what did a six-year-old girl sheltered in her royal nursery know of these matters?

  Gaston and I would vie for our mother’s interest while she was with us, and talk about her for days after her visit; we looked up expectantly every time a visitor came but after a while we ceased to expect her. I never did understand my mother. She was fond of us, that was clear—but whether as her children or the Children of France, I was never quite sure. But I was fascinated by her—and Gaston was too. She was the Queen as well as our mother and we saw the effect she had on everyone in the nursery and we thought it must be wonderful to have people bow when you came into a room and show such respect for you.

  It was always impressed on us that we must not forget that we were the children of a King and a Queen—and a King of France at that. Royal dignity must be maintained throughout our lives; and we must never forget that we were Catholics and we must uphold the true Faith wherever we found ourselves.

  In our games we played Kings and Queens, and Gaston and I used to fight over which one should sit on the throne—an improvised chair—and receive the homage of the other.

  “A King,” said Gaston, “is more important than a Queen. In France a Queen cannot be Queen in her own right, because of the Salic Law.”

  I was not going to allow that.

  “A Queen is more important,” I said.

  “No, she is not.”

  My temper flared up. There were times when I hated Gaston. Madame de Montglat said I must learn to curb that temper of mine or it would destroy me one day. That made me think. I wondered what it was like to be destroyed. She made it sound terrible and sometimes when I remembered her words they did sober me a little—but not for long. I could never resist the joy of letting myself fall into a rage. It was the only way I could express my anger.

  But I had an irrefutable case on this occasion and I let my rage simmer. “What of our mother, eh? She is a Queen and the most important person in the land. She is greater than the Duc de Sully who used to be so important and is no longer so. Why? Because our mother does not like him. A Queen can be as great as a King…greater perhaps. What about wicked Queen Elizabeth of England who defeated the Spanish Armada?”

  “You mustn’t speak of her. She was a…” He put his lips to my ear and whispered the terrible word: “Heretic!”

  “Queens can be as good as Kings and this is my throne, so kneel to me or I shall send you to the torture chambers. But first I will tell our mother that you think Queens are of no importance.”

  It would have been wiser to play at puss-in-the-corner or blind-man’s-buff.

  But for all our quarrels we were fond of each other.

  Monsieur de Breves, who was a very learned man, came each morning to give us lessons in the nursery. These were for my elder sisters Elizabeth and Christine, but Gaston and I took part. Perhaps Monsieur de Breves was too learned to understand young children; perhaps Gaston and I were incapable of giving our minds to anything for long. (My sister Elizabeth said our minds were like butterflies flitting here and there and seemed incapable of settling anywhere long enough to absorb everything.) In any case Gaston and I were not academically inclined and while we sat listening to Monsieur de Breves and making futile attempts to grapple with the problems he set us, we were waiting impatiently for the time when we could go off to our dancing lessons.

  At least our dancing master was pleased with us—and particularly with me. “Ah, Madame Henriette,” he would cry folding his arms across his chest and raising his eyes to the ceiling, “but that was beautiful…beautiful. Ah, my dear Princesse, you are going to enchant the Court.”

  I was never happier than when dancing—unless it was singing.

  I noticed one day when we were in the schoolroom listening—or trying to listen—to Monsieur de Breves, and I was thinking how pretty Christine’s dress was and wondering whether I might ask Madame de Montglat if I could have one like it, that Elizabeth was looking rather sad and very preoccupied and was not paying any attention at all
to Monsieur de Breves.

  I thought: I believe she has been crying.

  How strange! Elizabeth was seven years older than I. She and Christine were great friends although Christine was a good deal younger than she was. Elizabeth had always treated Gaston and me with a kindly tolerance. She had always seemed far beyond us—almost grown up. It was difficult to imagine her crying. But yes. Her eyes were red. Something had happened. I wondered what.

  Monsieur de Breves was standing close to me and had picked up the paper on which I was supposed to have written something—I was not sure what and I had been so concerned with Elizabeth that I had not thought to look at Gaston’s and copy his, although this was always risky for what he wrote invariably displayed as great an ignorance as mine.

  “Ah, Madame la Princesse,” said Monsieur de Breves sadly, shaking his head, “I fear we are never going to make a scholar of you.”

  I smiled at him. I had for some time realized that when I smiled in a certain way I could melt the anger or disappointment of a number of people. Alas, neither my mother nor Madame de Montglat was among them.

  I said: “No, Monsieur de Breves, but my dancing master says that my dancing will delight the Court.”

  He smiled faintly and patted my shoulder. That was all. No reprimand. What a smile could do! If only I could turn the magic on Madame de Montglat.

  My thoughts went back to Elizabeth and later on I came upon her sitting alone.

  She had gone back to the schoolroom expecting no doubt to find no one there at this hour, and she was sitting on a window seat, her hands covering her face.