She demanded a report from Adami. Who in the Riksdag would support her? He sent a diffident reply. There were people, he said, some quite important people, who regarded the ban on Catholic worship as unjust. Some of them would, or might, support her, if it came to a vote. He had made the acquaintance of the French Ambassador Extraordinary, Monsieur Arnauld de Pompoñne. Monsieur was very friendly, and yes, Louis favoured neutrality in the war, and he was paying the Swedes to ensure it. But the drums were beating, and the Danes were a very old enemy; friendship between the two had never lasted for long.
Christina began her preparations, and in May 1666 she set off northwards, with money from Azzolino speeding her on, shod in her sturdy little men’s boots, girded with imaginary influence. She spent a sleepless first night away from Rome, weeping bitter tears to be apart from the Cardinal, but the next day she rallied, and sprang to her stirrup to begin the dusty, month-long ride to Hamburg.
Her departure from Rome coincided with the return of Gualdo Priorato, who had finally completed his tour of some 150 courts, seeking support for the Queen’s plan to raise an army against the Turks. He had been been away for eighteen months, more than long enough for Christina to have forgotten all about him. All his efforts had come to nothing, and, to add insult to injury, it had made no difference at all to her, for by now she had forgotten not only him but the whole Ottoman project. Azzolino dismissed him from the household, and he went off to seek a steadier fortune. ‘The Queen frequently undertakes things,’ he commented sadly, ‘and then forgets them in the middle.’1
Christina arrived in Hamburg in bright midsummer, and took up residence in the house of a friend of Texeira’s. She did not plan to stay long. Stockholm was her goal, and she now wrote a mischievous letter to her Governor-General, Seved Bååt, to say that she was thinking of returning to live in Sweden for good. She had no real intention of doing so, but she could not resist setting the cat among the pigeons; Bååt would naturally pass the news on to the regents, and it would give them all a good fright. It did, but the cat rebounded. The alarmed regents postponed the Diet, and sent word to the Queen that she would be better not to come to Sweden at all. The ban on her priests would in any case not be lifted. Christina riposted with a duplicitous instruction to Adami, who was still in Stockholm. He was to inform the regents that she did not want to return to Sweden permanently, after all, and he was to tell her friends that, in fact, she did. The sensible Marchigiano did neither, but, having spoken with a number of local grandees, he advised the Queen that the ban on her priests was largely for public consumption: one priest in her entourage would be accepted, provided he was disguised, and provided the Catholic rites were practised ‘with modesty and discretion’. It was not quite encouragement enough, and Christina remained in Hamburg, waiting for the Diet to be summoned, longing to be in Stockholm, and longing even more to be in Rome, for the Pope had been ill for some time, and his death was regarded as imminent.
The excitement of a conclave to elect Alexander’s successor was already gaining momentum, and Christina was eager to be part of it all, but, to general disappointment, the Pope suddenly rallied. Contenders for the tiara got back on their knees, and the Roman flock submitted once again to the tending of their too-pious shepherd. Christina’s feelings were mixed. The whole business had now to be delayed, and delay was never to her taste. On the other hand, had it been sooner, she could not have been there in the thick of it, for here she was, nearing the end of 1666, and still exiled in Hamburg. She shrugged, and sent off a resigned letter to her friend Hugues de Lionne, the French Chargé d’Affaires in Rome with the ‘no longer appropriate’ words in code:
As far as the conclave is concerned, I agree with you that it is no longer appropriate to discuss it. The coffin we were expecting has been transformed into a wheelchair, and I am convinced it will be in use for some time yet in this world. It is certainly not a suitable vehicle for the next world.2
Her letter of the same period to Azzolino is a neat mixture of political satisfaction and girlish piety. The Cardinal would have been well able to weigh the merits of both: ‘It is the best news in the world,’ she wrote. ‘I asked God to allow me the grace of being back in Rome by the time of the next conclave, and He has granted it. That shows that one’s prayers are granted if one doesn’t ask too often.’3
Though Alexander had treated Christina kindly, she was now looking, as no doubt he was himself, to the time beyond his earthly sojourn. Together with Azzolino and the Squadrone Volante, she wanted a pope who would do away with the ancient practice of papal nepotism. It had been a heavy charge on the Vatican’s coffers, and had stifled administrative reform as well. Bored in Hamburg, Christina allowed herself a relieving rant, waxing lyrical to Azzolino about ‘the prejudice and disorder that this plague of nepotism brings to the Church’:
Don’t you think it’s pitiful to see so many millions from the Church treasury used for luxuries and unseemly gratifications for absolute nobodies who turn up to suck the blood and sweat of the poor? Where would we be if that money had been used for the State, or for its defence, or to root out heresy? The whole Turkish Empire would have been conquered – or at least, the Church would have been feared and respected throughout Europe. How many fine opportunities have been lost while private greed gobbles up public money! These popes have ruined Church and State.4
Christina’s objection was in fact based on one of her most dearly held convictions. The practice of nepotism, she felt, was gradually diluting papal power. It was incompatible with absolute rule, which was quite obviously the best form of government. The Cardinal’s stand, by contrast, was pragmatic, though overlain by principle. Nepotism was unjust, for it valued birth over merit. The Queen was mistaken in thinking that it was diluting the Pope’s power; on the contrary, it was concentrating power in his hands, when it should have been being diffused to his clever cardinals. Besides, the practice was too firmly entrenched to be ever rooted out. Some form of accommodation was inevitable. He and his Squadrone might speak against nepotism, but they were not going to adopt any formal position against it.
Jesuitical ambivalence was not Christina’s way. She carried on berating ‘these popes’ and bewailing ‘poor Rome’ for several pages more, and in the end had to beg the Cardinal’s pardon ‘if my zeal has carried me away. I have gone on about this for too long’, she admitted. She calmed down sufficiently to bewail the fate of another ‘poor town’ – that of London, where ‘they say twelve thousand houses have been burned up in the terrible conflagration. Some say it was treachery, and others say it was an accident – we’ll know the news by next Friday, anyway, and I’ll be sure to let you know. It will be the ruin of that kingdom,’ she added, ‘but at least it may oblige them to make peace with the Dutch.’5
The Pope’s illness had brought Christina one certain benefit, at least: she was persona grata once more with Louis and the French. This she owed to an unwitting Azzolino and his unaligned Squadrone. Louis wanted their support for France’s candidate in the next papal conclave, and he now invited Christina to help ‘establish confidence’ between himself and them. She proved to be a good servant of the French King, composing regular summaries for him of all the small details of Vatican politics which Azzolino and others relayed to her. She was thrilled to play this new role, imagining herself a broker of political destinies. Louis encouraged the fantasy, praising all her little tableaux of people and problems. They were all ‘so well depicted’, he remarked to her. It was ‘a singular pleasure’ to read them. Christina wrote on, gullibly, assuring Azzolino at the same time that ‘I know how to dissemble, and how to keep quiet’,6 and so Louis ensured his supply of inside information, and revealed nothing at all in return.
It was not until the end of April 1667 that Christina began her journey to Stockholm at last. The Diet was scheduled for May, and, though the regents had sent word that she would not be welcome to attend it, nor indeed be welcome in the country while it was in session, she ignored it a
ll, and set off for her homeland with a vastly expanded retinue in tow. She had left Rome with a household of twenty or thirty servants, but in Hamburg she had acquired 120 extras, and of these all but two accompanied her into Sweden. Among them was the Queen’s new favourite, a Frenchman of sorts by the name of Clairet Poissonet. He had grown up and lived in four different countries, so that he spoke ‘neither French nor Italian nor Polish nor Swedish, but a horrible mixture of all these tongues – and he could not write a word of any of them’.7 He was a cook, or rather an expert in preserving fruits, and though he spoke no language well, he understood them all, and so had become a useful purveyor of other people’s secrets. In Christina’s service, he was quickly promoted to confidant-in-chief. His humble origins gave him access to the servants’ quarters of other great houses, and he was often seen over a bowl of wine, or two, or three, listening, though not saying much, for his nature was taciturn. Christina’s own secrets were safe, for while other servants grew livelier and more talkative as they drank, Poissonet became sullen and silent. The Queen had sent him on ahead to pave a sort of path for her, and although he lost his way and sent the whole entourage into a searching frenzy, he was soon back at her side, whispering his pidgin phrases into her fickle ear.
Christina made her Swedish landing in the newly acquired territory of Hälsingborg,8 where a large deputation had been awaiting her since February. It was headed by Count Pontus De la Gardie and Count Per Sparre, and with them the two counts had brought the ghosts of Christina’s youth, for Pontus was the brother of the Chancellor, Magnus, and Per the brother of Ebba, her now dead ‘Belle’. Hälsingborg was a tiny town, with the barest amenities and the bleakest distractions. Here the company had been obliged to wait for almost three months, their only consolation the fine carpets and tables and cups and plates which, like them, had travelled the long, cold road from Stockholm to make the Queen more comfortable. On they travelled now to Jönköping, six days’ ride in slow procession, armour glinting, banners waving, and Christina waving, too, from the window of her carriage. It was the first royal progress in the region since the days of Gustav Adolf, and the people turned out in force, cheering as the train went slowly by. It was a bright splash of colour in their drab and strenuous daily lives, but Christina persuaded herself that it was all and only for her. Their enthusiasm was proof, she said naively, of their longing for her personal return.
Little by little, she caught up with all the local news. Some of it pleased her. Magnus was not a very popular Chancellor, especially where the country’s finances were concerned. On the other hand, he was a good negotiator, and his charm had dispelled a lot of grumbling, and he was proving to be a fine patron of the arts. There was other unwelcome news, too. A new bridge was being built in the capital, and her own coronation arch had been demolished to make room for it. There had been more building as well, and the new Queen, Karl Gustav’s widow, had been behind it. A wonderful new palace had been built on an island near Stockholm, the palace of Drottningholm – the Queen’s Island – in Lake Mälaren. Hedvig Eleonora, Christina’s replacement, had given the commission to Nicodemus Tessin,9 and the palace was said to be a marvel in shining white stone, much bigger and much more spectacular than her own Riario in Rome. She heard news of three deaths as well, the first of Samuel Bochart, one of her philologists from the days when she had sat on Sweden’s throne. He had collapsed during a meeting of the Académie Française, and had died in the arms of his own protégé, Pierre-Daniel Huet, who had once carved a wicked addendum to the humble wooden plaque above Descartes’ grave. It was a fitting end for the pedantic and pious Bochart; Christina had not liked him, and she may have given in to a grim smile on hearing the manner of it – Bochart had had a fit while berating Huet for a supposed copying error in an Origen manuscript on transubstantiation. The second death relayed to her, and more important for her personally, was that of the Pope himself; this news, however, was false. And from Warsaw came news of the third death, of the Polish Queen Maria Ludwika. This was most significant of all, for Maria Ludwika had been the wife of Christina’s Vasa cousin, Jan II Kazimierz, and the couple had had no children. In Stockholm, fears had been roused that the widowed King might marry Christina and present a new Catholic claim to Sweden’s Protestant crown. Christina herself dismissed the idea outright, saying that while she might well succeed the King of Poland, she would certainly not succeed the Queen.10 Swedish fears had been allayed, in any case, by Jan Kazimierz’s swift decision to abdicate. His wife had been influential and popular, but he himself was weak and widely disliked, and at heart more a monk than a ruler. The Polish monarchy was elective, and Christina would soon be reminding the Poles of her Vasa blood, and seeking the crown for herself, but for the moment she was content to acknowledge the connection by entering a period of formal mourning for Maria Ludwika; she had more urgent fish to fry.
The fish were all financial, and, with patience, Christina might have fried them easily. But now, as so often, she allowed her pride to obstruct her better interest. She decided to defy the regents’ ban and ignore Adami’s suggestion that her Catholic rites be practised ‘with modesty and discretion’. Her priest, Father Santini, had entered the country officially as her secretary, though his true identity was no secret. Christina insisted on a daily mass – a provocation in itself, since she had not been in the habit of attending mass daily in Hamburg, or even in Rome. As long as it remained a private affair, however, no objection was raised, but before long, doors began to be left tactically open, and curious locals found their way inside. Information wended its way back to Stockholm, and in due course, Pontus De la Gardie received a stern letter from the regents. He was to issue a formal reminder to the Queen that the presence of a Catholic priest could not be tolerated.
Pontus performed his unenviable task with great care, but not with delicacy enough to prevent an outburst from Christina. She was outraged, she declared. She would leave the country at once. Pontus remonstrated, and she quickly changed her mind, realizing that it would not be in her interest to leave Sweden now. She decided instead to write to the regents to ask them to reconsider the matter, but the letter was anything but conciliatory. She wrote in French rather than Swedish, and, as if to emphasize her allegiance to Rome, she dated the letter according to the new Catholic calendar – her letters to Azzolino, by contrast, are dated in the old Swedish style. Though formally addressed to the twelve-year-old King, Christina’s letter was principally intended for the eyes of Magnus De la Gardie. It is technically a petition, but it reveals her fury that Magnus should have dared to try to restrict her behaviour:
My brother and nephew
His Lordship Count Pontus De la Gardie has just proposed something to me on the part of Your Majesty. It concerns the person of my priest, and it has greatly surprised me, and I assure you that I was not prepared for it, after all the honours and civilities paid me on Your Majesty’s behalf. Although these were no more than my due, nonetheless I was generous enough to be obliged to you for them. But Your Majesty has annulled all this by these latest, unjust steps. It is enough to make me forget all your civilities, and after such an offence, anyone but myself would feel cruelly insulted. However, as I know how to draw glory and benefit from whatever happens to me, I intend to retrace my steps, and so to show Sweden and the whole world that there is no advantage on earth for which I would deprive myself for a single moment of the profession and practice of my religion…I would have departed this very evening, had Count Pontus not begged me to wait for your reply, to see whether Your Majesty has enough friendship for me to alter this decision…In any case, to remind you of who you are and of who I am, understand that you were not born to command people of my kind.
Despite your peculiar proceedings, I remain, my brother and nephew
Your devoted sister and aunt Christina Alexandra11
There had in fact been no pleading from Pontus De la Gardie. By his own account, he had encouraged the Queen to agree to the regents’ demand, a
nd had even suggested a face-saving pretence of sickness on Santini’s part; the priest could be left behind in Jönköping, whence, after a few days, he could make his way quietly back to Hamburg. Christina would hear none of it. Sure of gaining her point, she announced that she would remain in Jönköping to await the regents’ formal reply, then make her way to Stockholm, with Santini still firmly in tow. But, restless as ever, after only three days she felt that she had waited long enough; she would press on to Norrköping, which lay conveniently en route to the capital.
Norrköping was her own place, a busy harbour and textile town whose rents Christina had retained in her settlement of abdication. Here she had intended to host a grand banquet to celebrate her return. She could not have afforded it, but she was spared the expense in any case by the arrival of the regents’ reply, addressed, as their previous correspondence had been, not to herself but to Pontus De la Gardie. Christina’s letter had failed to placate or to persuade them. It had in fact hardened their attitude, and now they not only repeated their demand that Santini be dismissed from the kingdom, but also informed the Queen that she herself would not be permitted to attend mass openly at the home of the French Ambassador in Stockholm – a subterfuge would be acceptable, however, and she might attend on the pretext of paying an ordinary visit to Monsieur Pomponne. There may have been mischief in this; Magnus would have known how insulting such a suggestion would be to Christina’s enormous pride. If so, it was the perfect riposte to her own disdainful letter, and if it drove her back to Hamburg, so much the better for him.
Pontus conveyed the news to her, no doubt with great care once again, and once again with insufficient delicacy to prevent an outburst. The idea of herself, the Queen, going to visit a mere ambassador, was insupportable to her, and she shouted back at the Count. ‘What!’ she cried. ‘I should pay a visit to Pomponne! If he proposed it to me himself, I would take a stick and beat the man, even if his own King were present!’12 She declared that she would leave Sweden at once, and vowed to accept no further civilities from the regents. Their representatives, with all their carriages and their courtesies and their keys to cupboard doors, were dismissed immediately. Christina would make her journey back unassisted. Having no means of travel of her own, she was obliged to send for hired carriages – they would be ready on the morrow. With great difficulty, Pontus managed to persuade her to allow him at least to accompany her to the border; without him, he insisted, the garrisons en route would not allow her to pass.
Christina Queen of Sweden: The Restless Life of a European Eccentric Page 37