In early June Henry rode out to meet the Duc de Bar in the park of St Germain with hope and optimism, and no small degree of relief, in his heart. The Duke was young with considerable military prowess, more recently engaged in trying to win the heart of a fair maiden, which he had ultimately failed to do. Or else he had decided that a royal princess was a better option. He seemed perfectly agreeable on first acquaintance, if a little too anxious to please.
Catherine received him with cool indifference, very much upon her guard, and her dignity. Once the niceties were swiftly dealt with, she cut straight to the point. ‘You know that we are of different religions and that my faith is important to me. Would you allow me freedom of conscience as the Duc de Montpensier agreed to do?’
‘Of course,’ the Duc de Bar pronounced.
The King intervened. ‘But would you not expect your wife to bring up any children you might have together in the Catholic faith?’
‘But of course,’ Bar said again, smiling nervously from one to the other, as if trying to decide which one he should attempt to please.
‘Perhaps you might wish my sister to change her religion too by then?’
‘Indeed, Your Majesty, that would seem wise.’
Catherine stifled a groan of repugnance. ‘And if I did not wish to?’
‘Oh, I am quite sure that you would,’ Bar insisted, smiling benignly upon her.
Catherine was dismayed. ‘But you said you would allow me freedom of conscience?’
‘I am sure that as a good wife you would recognize the wisdom of converting of your own accord, at an appropriate juncture.’
‘Well said, young sir,’ laughed the King. ‘No more vacillating, be firm and consistent with my sister. It is the only way to control her.’
Catherine made her excuses and walked away, trembling with silent anger. The following day, which was a Sunday, she attended prêche as usual, if even more ostentatiously than usual. ‘Let it not be said that I am about to abandon my faith simply to become the Duchess of Lorraine.’
In July and August the royal troops remained fully engaged with skirmishes as the Spanish were putting up a furious resistance. But early in July, just a few months after Henriette was legitimised, as her brother César had been, the King had a surprise for Gabrielle. He deeply regretted not being able to legitimize their last child with marriage, as he had so longed to do, particularly as Gabrielle had already confided that she was again enceinte. But Margot remained perversely obstinate, and Rome infuriatingly slow to provide the necessary lubricant to loosen the bonds that tied him to her. So, anxious to at least prove his goodwill, Henry instead conferred a new title and lands upon his official mistress. The domains were in the province of Champagne, which he’d purchased for 80,000 crowns.
Rosny was not pleased by this news, considering it a wasteful drain upon the public purse to create another duchy, and for such a reason. From now on Gabrielle was to be elevated from La Marquise de Monceaux, to Duchess of Beaufort.
Some called her the Duchesse d’Ordure.
No one was now allowed into her presence without having first made formal request for audience. Her levées were ceremoniously attended, the ladies jostling to dress her, hand over her book of hours, or hold the golden platter upon which was deposited her fan, rings, watch and handkerchief.
‘Do you notice,’ Rosny whispered to Varenne, ‘that she never rises, even when a Prince of the Blood addresses her?’
‘And she is always preceded by a chamberlain as she enters or leaves the royal salon.’
The two exchanged a speaking glance as Rosny added, ‘I fear the lady grows above herself.’
La Varenne sighed. ‘Ah, but she is a perfect beauty and the King, you will notice, is as besotted as ever. He can scarcely take his eyes from her.’
Rosny saw how even the King bowed to her, and watched the rest of the proceedings in thoughtful silence.
By January 1598, almost ten years from the date of the accession, Philip of Spain finally agreed to seek peace. Margot wrote to congratulate Henry, signing herself ‘your very humble and obedient servant, wife, and subject’. She wrote also to Rosny, again offering vague hints at divorce. ‘In the event of His Majesty consenting to espouse a consort of birth suitable to his august alliance, then my opposition of the Holy See would speedily vanish.’
Rosny, who had improved the Queen’s financial position by restoring her pension, considered the point to be a valid one.
In March, a betrothal was arranged between Francoise de Lorraine, the daughter of the rebellious Duke de Mercoeur, and César in a bid to reconcile the two sides. The children were of an age, being four years old, so it seemed a good match for all concerned, particularly as the Duke was the wealthiest noble in France. It also brought to heel Mercoeur’s haughty wife, which gave Gabrielle great satisfaction.
In April, Gabrielle gave birth to another son, Alexandre, and it was shortly after this momentous event that Henry finally plucked up the courage to confide his dearest wishes to Rosny.
They walked in the gardens at the Palace of Rennes, the ancient home of the Dukes of Brittany, Gabrielle remaining in Nantes for her lying-in. This was taking longer than usual as she was unwell following a difficult birth. Henry approached the subject with caution, aware of his advisor’s disapproval. He spoke first of the peace and the details of the settlement that must be made with the Spanish, and with the Huguenots who were feeling somewhat unsettled and concerned for their future.
‘I too am concerned for the future of France,’ Henry confided. ‘Who will continue my work when I am gone? The country needs an heir, and I am determined to free myself from Margot and find a new queen.’
‘I guessed that this matter was occupying your thoughts of late, Sire. You would then choose a suitable bride?’ Rosny had one or two princesses in mind.
‘If one could obtain wives according to one’s wish, I would choose one who, among other good points, would comply with several principal conditions, that is to say, beauty of person, modesty of life, complaisance of humour, shrewdness of mind, fruitfulness of body, eminence of extraction and greatness of estate.’
‘Such a woman would be hard to find,’ Rosny dryly remarked. ‘There is, of course, the Infanta of Spain?’
‘I would not necessarily reject her, if I might gain the Netherlands as part of the dowry.’
‘That is unlikely,’ Rosny conceded. ‘What of the Princess Arabella of England? If she were to be declared heir to the throne, you could win another crown.’
Henry frowned. ‘I would need to be certain Elizabeth had made her decision on an heir, which she shows no sign of doing, as yet.’
‘There are many German princesses.’
‘I doubt they would suit me. I do not fancy any one of them.’
‘Prince Maurice of the Low Countries has sisters.’
‘But they are all Huguenots and such an alliance would offend the court of Rome.’
Rosny worked his way across Europe, mentioning nieces of dukes in Rome and Florence, daughters of kings and princes, but none were quite right. They were either too young, too old, too ugly, too poor, or simply too insignificant. The King even found fault with their complexion.
The direction of Henry’s thoughts was all too clear, and Rosny could not approve. Apart from any other consideration, Madame Gabrielle had offended him by persuading Henry to give the post of Grand Master of the Artillery to her father, Antoine d’Estrees. It was an important position, one Rosny had coveted for himself.
‘I should prefer a flirting wife rather than an ill-tempered one. A wife to talk to and confide in, and to whom I can safely leave my regency after my death.’
‘Sire,’ said Rosny in exasperation. ‘What can I say? You wish to be married again, but the world does not contain a suitable princess! Do you expect a miracle, or for Elizabeth I to be rejuvenated? I counsel you to assemble the most lovely damsels of France and thus choose a consort to your taste. An heiress would be beneficial fo
r the treasury, but it is also important that you are content, and that she gives you children for France.’
‘True, mon ami,’ said Henry, all eagerness. ‘I need a queen who is gentle and good humoured, who would love me, and whom I could love in return. She must give me healthy children as there is no time to be lost. I am growing older, Rosny, by the day, and would wish to bring them up myself, make them brave and gallant princes. Do you know of such a lady?’
Stifling a sigh of resignation, Rosny admitted that he did not.
‘What if I should name her, avow that I can testify to the beauty, amiability and fecundity of said lady?’
‘Your Majesty doubtless alludes to some royal widow.’
Henry laughed out loud. ‘Cunning old fool, you know full well to whom I refer. Does the description not perfectly fit La Duchesse? What objections do you have to offer to my choosing Madame Gabrielle who has been as a faithful wife to me for many years?’
Rosny’s expression was grim. ‘I cannot answer such a question.’
‘I order you to answer.’ Henry good-humouredly slapped his old friend on the back. Buoyed as he was with the joy of victory, and blinded by his passion for her, Henry was certain he could put Gabrielle d’Estrées on the throne by the sheer force of his will. ‘You know me well enough for us to be honest with each other. You can say what you truly feel.’
‘Sire, fond as you are of Madame la Duchesse, what if after your death, or even before, your legitimate sons, born in wedlock, took issue with those born before your marriage to their mother. There could be civil war. It would not be good for France. In addition, the ladies of France would not willingly pay homage to Madame Gabrielle as queen, nor would foreign potentates do her the honour you would wish. They will never forget her origins. Ill feeling could grow, feuds and jealousies destroy the harmony between you.’
Henry listened in silence and at length said, ‘I will think on what you say, Rosny, but I am not convinced by your argument. I promise that I will make no firm decision until the divorce has been accomplished. I command you to resume negotiations with Her Majesty, and I will send another envoy to Rome to solicit His Holiness on the matter.’
Rosny knew that for the moment at least, further argument was futile. ‘As you wish, my lord. Might I request that you do not discuss the matter with the Duchess?’
Henry almost smiled at his ever-cautious counsellor. ‘Madame Gabrielle has done much for your own advancement, remember.’
‘I know it, even so we must put the needs of the realm first.’
‘She likes and esteems you, Rosny, but nevertheless distrusts the counsel you offer me as being against herself and the children. She says you put France before my own happiness and well being. Perhaps she is right.’
‘Sire, your virtue and great mind animate your realm,’ Rosny tactfully remarked. ‘The splendour and glory of this kingdom should recompense you for the sacrifices you make.’
‘Ah, but there are only so many sacrifices a king should be obliged to make for his people.’
Gabrielle was basking in the sun of the King’s affection, and revelling in the joys of celebrating the peace. Documents were signed, largesse distributed, and a banquet held in the Episcopal Palace for the King and the assembled courtiers, once the business of the day had been completed. The ladies joined them for fruit, wine and pastries, and as Gabrielle entered even the King rose to greet her, which meant everyone present was obliged to do the same. The accolade brought a smile of pleasure to her rosy lips.
Gracefully taking her seat beside the King, she spread her skirts with a satisfied little sigh. Madame de Guise stepped forward to offer a dish of sweetmeats, and Gabrielle sat contentedly picking from the plate while the King held her other hand, fondling and caressing it in his lap.
Many of the citizens watching seemed amused by the way in which His Majesty publicly indulged himself with his mistress. But others grumbled over how no less a person than the widow of Henri of Guise, King of the Barricades and Paris, was obliged to wait upon so low a woman.
‘Where is the Princess Catherine?’ Henry wanted to know.
‘She has sent her apologies as she is suffering from a headache,’ Gabrielle explained.
‘More likely ill temper.’
‘Nay, do not be too hard on your sister, Sire. Madame may have a swift and fierce temper, but you know she never harbours ill will. She soon forgives, as do you. You are very alike in that respect.’
Earlier, Gabrielle and Catherine had fallen into a slight disagreement over the matter. ‘Your absence will be noted. The King will not be pleased,’ Gabrielle had warned her.
‘I care not. You have urged him to take this stand against me.’
Gabrielle had gaped in stunned disbelief. ‘I assure you I have no say in the matter. This marriage plan is all Henry’s doing, not mine. If you could but use your charms upon your brother, I am sure you would win your case in the end. He is not an unfeeling man.’
‘I cannot resort to flattery and subterfuge, as you do. It is not in my nature to use such tricks. I can only be frank and open and honest.’
‘That is a great misfortune for Henry hates to see a woman weep and will ever play the gentleman rather than see those he loves hurt.’
‘Perhaps I lack your cunning and artifice,’ Catherine bitterly remarked.
‘If a woman has to use her arts in this way, it is because she cannot simply draw a sword. She must find other ways to defend herself,’ Gabrielle responded, keeping a tight hold on her patience.
‘It is easy for you,’ Catherine pouted. ‘You are so beautiful that any man would fall for your charms. I have no such benefits. I am plain and dull.’
‘Oh, Madame, that is not at all the case. Is not beauty in the eye of the beholder? And the Comte loves you dearly.’
But this only caused the princess to cry and, seeing the tears well in those sad dark eyes, Gabrielle’s heart filled with pity for her. Without thinking, she put her arms about Catherine to hold her close and offer what comfort she could. ‘I know how it hurts to lose a loved one, and I swear I have spoken often in your favour, sadly to no avail. But be assured that I am ever your friend.’
And with a tentative smile from the Princess, the first Gabrielle had ever been granted, it seemed that the olive branch she’d offered had at last been accepted.
Madame Catherine was not, however, yet willing to forgive her brother. She was still angry with Henry and holding fast to her determination to refuse de Bar, certain that the Pope would not issue a dispensation for their marriage.
In the days following, the Duke reiterated his devotion. ‘We must not let the papal interdict stand in the way,’ he told her.
‘Your solution then is for us to marry, and convert me later?’
‘I’m sure you will see the wisdom of that rather than risk having Rome declare any children we may have to be illegitimate.’
Catherine bit back a sharp reply, even she realizing it did no good to insult His Holiness and the Catholic Church, but as Gabrielle preened herself with her new glories, Catherine became increasingly melancholy and studiously avoided all the ballets and masques and court functions held to celebrate the peace. She preferred instead to debate dogma with the pastors, or read from ‘Calvin’s Institutes’, a favourite book, to her ladies. Or she would sit in her chamber in solitary contemplation.
Nevertheless, the daily battles between brother and sister continued. ‘I fear you will suffer perdition for taking the Mass,’ Catherine bitterly remarked on one occasion. ‘Our mother wished me to marry a prince of the same religion as myself. You owe it to her, and to me, to see that wish is carried out.’
‘I assure you, Catarina, that I have made all necessary provision for the Huguenots. I listened to the concerns of Aubigné and the pastors, and peace with Spain will not destroy their hopes for greater tolerance. Clauses have been inserted in the peace settlement to confer complete privilege of worship in almost all cities and towns. In addit
ion, all state offices, including judicial and those connected with the revenue, will be open to the Huguenot bourgeoisie. Even they have come to trust me and believe they will not suffer, why will not you? Times have changed from our mother’s day. We cannot live in the past.’
By way of retaliation Catherine again held a prêche in the courtyard of the Louvre, at which 3,000 Huguenots were present.
But once the Edict of Nantes was signed, Henry proceeded to have the articles of the marriage contract drawn up. He was sick of her obstinacy, her temper and her Calvinistic zeal, and vowed to be rid of the problem once and for all. He wanted a realm where tolerance prevailed, where peace was paramount. If that meant sacrificing his sister’s happiness, it was surely a price worth paying.
Rosny drew up the marriage contract for the Princess Catherine and the Duke de Bar, settling an agreed annual payment of 60,000 livres upon the King’s sister, plus a cash sum of 100,000 crowns. There was also various gold plate and jewellery inherited from her mother, Jeanne d’Albret. These included emeralds, a pearl necklace and a diamond tiara.
Catherine, wishing to delay matters for as long as possible, made many written demands, insisting that she wanted several items of furniture and valuables from the palaces at Pau and Nérac.
‘I pray you must needs take inventories of the said castles,’ Henry ordered Rosny, wearied beyond measure by her procrastinating. ‘I hasten as fast as I can to get her married, and so to add this blessing to the many which God has bestowed upon me in giving peace to this realm and to the reformed churches.’
The marriage contract was duly signed by Henry at Monceaux, where he happened to be resting with Gabrielle and the children, but he was losing interest as well as sympathy in his sister’s affairs as he was fighting a similar battle with Rome over the dissolution of his marriage.
Rosny wrote another official letter to Queen Margot, as instructed by the King, although also slipping in a note of his own saying how he hoped she would stand firm in her refusal. Meanwhile, he once more warned his royal master not to marry his mistress. Sancy too impetuously added his own arguments against Gabrielle, and was obliged to leave court as a result.
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