given Diane across the years of their association. Diane, an aging woman, was retired to a small estate in Normandy, stripped of everything which had made her one of the most glamorous women in history. This, too, Catherine found deeply satisfying.
She would wait for the Guises to overreach their limits in audacity, as she was sure they would eventually with the young King. She was an excellent waiter for the things she wanted. She would wait fifteen years to avenge the death of Henry II, her husband. For the moment she apparently was quite content to let young Captain Montgomery go free following Henry's courtly exoneration. The Captain became a soldier of fortune and was captured by the French Catholics when he led a Huguenot force in battle. Brought before Catherine, having been promised amnesty, he was beheaded at her command—and in her presence.
Elizabeth meanwhile was torn between grief over the death of the father whom she loved, and relief at the delay her brother's coronation was causing in her departure for Spain.
"Stay, please stay, little sister/' Francis coaxed the day before the coronation. "I do not want this crown they are giving me. Stay! Mayhap we can be children again. I like not the terrors at Amboise, nor do you. But my uncles, the Guises, say the country must be purged of all heresy—and I am afraid."
Afraid he might well have been, poor sick lad. The country was torn by religious civil war and, like all adventurers bent on making the best possible impression on the outside
world, the Guises were heading the most ultra-conservative, orthodox party of the Catholics against the Huguenots. In Amboise, a Huguenot stronghold, they were merciless as they tried to wipe out the Huguenot "heretics." Francis, still worn after the long solemn coronation rites at Rheims Cathedral, could only ask plaintively, "Sister, why do my subjects hate me so? What have I done that is wrong? I have obeyed my uncles in all things, which I know is right, but still something I do must be ill-chosen or I would not be so despised. What is it?"
The sick boy did not know that each death sentence was prefaced with the sovereign preamble: "In the name of His Christian Majesty, Francis . . ." and that thus he stood accused of perpetrating the very horrors from which he turned in loathing.
History has little to say about Mary Stuart's attitude toward the hideous carnival of death being celebrated at Amboise. She was a Guise with the practical outlook and iron nerves of her family, so she probably took it all calmly while trying to convince her husband that he was being very silly, indeed. As for Catherine, without any religious scruples, hoping that time would do what men's conflicting ambitions never could: bring peace, and that Catholic and Huguenot alike might each worship as he chose, Catherine did nothing. So much bloodshed she felt was in questionable taste.
Philip was growing impatient to have his bride at his side. He had returned from Holland, was now in Spain, and in August dispatched his closest friend, Ruy Gomez, Count of Melito, to Paris to notify Elizabeth of his return. By the Count he sent rare jewels that had been his mother's. With them came not one but a series of love letters which were a combination of stiff ceremonious discourses and ardent declarations of love to the beautiful girl whose portrait had captivated him.
Far from being reassured, Elizabeth found her terror growing. The gifts, the letters, all seemed to pre-establish his claim upon her, forerunner of the grim subjection she dreaded in the days to come. Adding to her panic were the
daily, almost hourly admonitions of the Spanish ambassador, Thomas Perrenot de Chantonnay, a shrewd, rather unpleasant individual who seemed to be everywhere, listening, interrupting, and quite obviously making notes of her every move. But at last the days of waiting ended. Francis was crowned, the Court returned to Amboise, and the date for Elizabeth's departure was set: November 17th. Antoine of Bourbon, King of Navarre, a distant relative, would accompany her as representing her family.
King Philip had insisted upon appointing or sanctioning the appointment of all members of Elizabeth's household. Then how is that historical fact reconciled with the other equally authentic one about the tremendous size of the retinue Catherine formed for the young Queen? Especially is this interesting as Philip's dislike of foreigners was well-known and the entire entourage was French. Catherine must have been very sure of herself. Did Elizabeth, dreading the displeasure of her royal husband, try to dissuade her mother from her course? Had she ever dared to try to dissuade her from any course?
Chantonnay, the ambassador, close to despair, tried to reason with Catherine, explaining that the amount of luggage such a vast company would require would delay if not completely disrupt the long trek over the mountains now smothered in snow. She shrugged aside his words.
There were two chief ladies-of-honor; seven ladies-in-waiting; four ladies of the bedchamber and a principal dresser. Three chaplains, a confessor, and the Queen's old preceptor, the Abbe de Saint-Etienne, were sent as her spir-
itual advisers, and Andre de Vermont was appointed her chief maitre d'hotel who in turn had his own trained kitchen staff. Two physicians, two apothecaries and a surgeon were included to look after Elizabeth's health; there were twelve valets de chambre, twelve gentleman ushers, a treasurer of the household, a treasurer of the privy purse, a band of musicians and a dwarf. Several of the ladies were princesses of the blood and these each had her own train of attendants, so the company which finally set out for Spain was gigantic, almost a moving town.
However, Philip with surprising generosity sent convoys of mules with enormous baskets as far as Bayonne to replace the elaborate, heavy chests for transporting the clothing of the Queen and her ladies across the mountains. He sent also additional litters and beds and furs, and a wealth of silver to be distributed at his Queen's discretion among the laborers and muleteers. Certainly His Majesty spared nothing to expedite his bride's journey, and had she been able to conquer her fear of this stranger, she must have sensed there was something kind in his nature to go to such pains for her comfort. All this in spite of the army of French retainers she was bringing against his express wishes.
But Elizabeth, heartsick over farewells yet constrained by etiquette from showing any signs of grief, sat in rigid misery as her litter moved slowly, ponderously across the miles separating her from all she loved.
Ever south and east the cortege moved as the December days shortened and the temperature dropped. Through Pau it wound, down to the frontier of Spain, and now the moun-
tains folded around it, the bleak Pyrenees with their forbidding pealcs and sudden drops into distant valleys.
Arrived at the frontier, Elizabeth asked that her palfrey be brought; so, mounted and riding in queenly dignity, she entered her husband's kingdom. The curtained litter with its snug furs and down cushions would have been vastly more comfortable, but now perhaps this reflective girl, coming out of her depression, was beginning to glimpse something of her husband's generosity. Perhaps for the first time she consciously made a major personal effort to win his admiration. Deep within her may have been the thought that her father would have approved.
That day the cold increased; the wind in gale force brought snow in stinging sheets beating about her or tumbling in great masses from high crags as she urged her horse forward. Again and again she reined in whenever a natural shelter appeared in the mountainside. At twilight, from a high plateau, her party was able through the white blur to make out the roofs of the monastery of Nuestra Senora de Roncevalles in the valley below. Not certain of their location, unaware that it actually was the monastery, fearful of the dangerous descent, the Queen's gentlemen urged her to dismount and return to the litter while they led her palfrey down to safety. But she refused their help, charmingly but definitely.
Slowly, painfully through the winter twilight, the cortege crept slowly down the precipitous slopes, lighted by flambeaux dancing along its length like so many fireflies. So at last they arrived at the chapel where the prior and the monks
were assembled to greet them. By sheer good fortune the cavalcade had arrived at the very s
pot where the ceremony of the presentation of the Queen to the King's ambassadors had been arranged. To the right of the assembled brothers stood a group of grandees all eager for a glimpse of the bride of their sovereign, all muffled to the eyes in dark cloaks.
Unconscious of the lovely picture she made, Elizabeth sat for a moment looking into the faces of the assembled company, thrown into bold relief by the light streaming from the open doorway. Her cheeks crimsoned by the storm, her eyes feverishly bright with fatigue, she brushed the snow from her lashes and leaning forward in the saddle, smiled her greeting. It was a smile so warm, so touchingly winsome that it drew a murmur from the somber groups facing her. Her head equerry stepped forward and lifted her from the saddle and as he did, he whispered something quickly which brought even deeper color flooding her cheeks. One of the heavily cloaked figures, he murmured, was none other than King Philip himself, too eager to wait longer for a glimpse of her.
The days spent at the monastery where the blizzard shut them in were a seriocomic drama of outraged protocol, sovereign punctilio, and the weather. The French courtiers and the Spanish grandees cordially disliked one another—and showed it. For the ceremony of presentation the Spanish contingent requested the French to bring the Queen to a designated spot in the open country nearby "since true sovereignty knows no limitation of walls builded by man/' The French retorted that their sovereign lady could not be ex-
pected to ride out nor could her ambassadors be expected to kneel in snow over three feet deep! But Elizabeth, determined now to leave no stone unturned to please the King, dressed for the weather only to undress again and have her robes of state put on as the Spanish ambassadors and an impressive group of the clergy were seen approaching, floundering half-frozen through the storm. For them there would be no "open country" ceremony, so the presentation was held indoors after all.
So many people wedged unexpectedly into quarters at best not spacious led to embarrassing complications. To add to the confusion, the ladies of the royal household who had endured the long journey and the bitter cold thus far without murmuring were now in tears because, through a misunderstanding, several chests containing their most sumptuous gowns had been sent on ahead in the impression that they contained household linen!
Weary and distraught, they fell to quarreling. There were arguments over precedence in relatively unimportant matters, such as who should bear which side of the Queen's train; the footmen carrying the litter of the Countess de Uruena, appointed by Philip as camar era-may or, head lady-in-waiting, to Her Majesty, jostled the litter of two French princesses in procession and there were shrieks and accusations. So the tempests in the feminine royal teapots raged and, in spite of the overwhelming number of gentleman ushers, advisers, and other supernumeraries, it was the fifteen-year-old Queen who had the responsibility of settling all differences. She did it with consummate dignity and tact.
Throughout the long journey Elizabeth had found herself thinking increasingly about one person she was bound to meet sooner or later at that journey's end: Don Carlos. Her mother had warned her to see as little of him as possible. "This youth is evil/' Catherine had said with a characteristic nod to emphasize her words. "Not only is he mad, but he hates his father for having, as he puts it, stolen you, his rightful bride. Do not encourage him to enter your presence chamber. Beware of him as you would the pox." Now, with the Spanish border crossed, Elizabeth was wondering just how she was to accomplish this.
On the 4th of February, mounted on her palfrey, Elizabeth arrived at the palace of the Mendoza family in Guadalajara where Philip awaited her. She must have been beautiful to look at. The housings of her palfrey were cloth of silver embroidered in a design of the lilies of France. Her habit was black velvet over an under-dress of white satin with deep gauntlet cuffs of heavy cream lace which also edged the high collar. Her hair was brushed back and up and caught in a caul of gold net set with precious stones, and perched jauntily on her head was a black, beretlike, velvet cap with a white ostrich tip curling over its left brim. Her gloves were softest cream kid.
No one watching her as she dismounted at the portals of the castle could have suspected the dread in her heart, the terrible nervousness that made her bite her lips to steady them. Surrounded by princes of the Church in their rich vestments, seeing on all sides the grim, ascetic faces of men high in the ranks of the Inquisitors, she crossed the great
vestibule to where Philip s sister, Dona Juana, waited with
her ladies.
There were courtesies and brief formal speeches, then the ranks opened to admit the King. Just what had Elizabeth expected? For an instant she shut her eyes. She opened them to see a rather handsome man smiling down at her. His eyes were very blue, his hair and beard red-gold, and Philip, being a Hapsburg, had inherited the outthrust chin and full lower lip of the family.
Long Journey '7
The young Queen sank in a profound curtsy, but before the obeisance could be completed, she felt herself gently raised by her elbows and pressed for a moment to the King's breast. What words of welcome he spoke no one knows, but fear drained slowly from Elizabeth's heart and when she answered him it was with rosy cheeks and smiling lips. The nightmare had passed.
According to Spanish law the marriage ceremony must be solemnized immediately and a beautiful temporary altar had
been set up in tLe great hall of the palace. There Cardinal Mendoza and Cardinal de Burgos read the service and celebrated the nuptial mass. A hidden choir of boys' voices sang the beautiful Te Deum Laudamus } a cloud of incense hung for an instant about her head, and so did Elizabeth of Valois become Her Most Catholic Majesty, the Queen of Spain.
Several hours later, rested and refreshed, and again in her bridal gown of cloth of gold, Elizabeth stood beside Philip, greeting their subjects. During a lull the King became conscious that Elizabeth had been staring at him for some time.
"What is it, dear Elizabeth?" he asked, smiling a little ruefully. "Did you expect to find me a graybeard?"
She could only smile, shutting in threatening tears of happiness as his fingers closed around hers.
Chapter 6 FACTIONS
WHILE the cortege of the young Queen of Spain wound its tortuous way across the mountains Catherine, her mother, faced many problems at home. The cause of the French Protestants, the Huguenots, was growing; more and more of the nobility and aristocracy were joining it and, as if in a hysterical hurst of retaliation, the Cardinal of Lorraine increased his horrible work of torture and slow death until even his own lieutenants sickened and begged him to stop. But apparently he could not.
Francis and his younger brothers, Charles, Henry, and Hercules and their sister Marguerite were forced to watch these frightful cruelties and one day, in order to keep from fainting, Francis deliberately focused his gaze upon his mother standing a few paces away. What he saw filled him with a new kind of awe. Far from showing any pity for the
slowly dying victims, Catherine was giving them her fullest, calmest attention. What Francis saw in her face was a look of concentrated wonder at their endurance, that was all. In businesslike fashion she was simply estimating the strength of the Huguenot cause. People who died so bravely, her expression implied, would make formidable enemies, and the fact remained that the greater the atrocities, the longer grew the list of Huguenot converts.
Somehow a rumor had started that the Huguenots were plotting to kill the King and the Cardinal of Lorraine, though such a plot was never proved to exist. It was, however, one more excuse for the continued executions.
Now the Duke of Guise and his brother, the Cardinal, feared only one rival force in France: the Bourbons. The Bourbons were princes of the blood royal, and Antoine of Bourbon, unstable King of Navarre, was not only very close to Catherine but an avowed Huguenot as well. He became the archenemy of the Guises and the Catholic party as did his younger brother, the Prince of Conde, and his cousin, Gaspard, Lord of Coligny and Admiral of France.
Desperately afraid of lo
sing her influence with the young King to the Guises, Catherine turned to the Bourbons. They were an excellent counterirritant to keep the Guises wondering. To make their uncertainty the more poignant, she sent the King of Navarre as the family representative to Spain with Elizabeth and prevailed upon Conde to accept a mission abroad. Thus playing both ends to the middle, Catherine felt comparatively safe. So a year passed.
However, she had not counted on that omnipresent ele-
ment, the unexpected. And the form it took was a sudden turn for the worse in the King s health. For so many years the wasted body of Catherine's eldest son had been wracked with many ills. But it was his ear, sensitive from babyhood, which gave him the greatest discomfort. Now suddenly the inflammation increased, and as though his physical pain was not enough, he was given a task before which even a robust man of mature years would have flinched.
The King of Navarre had recently returned from his mission to Spain and the Guises knew that here, for all his chronic indecision, was someone to fear. Should the King die, so ran their logic, it was quite possible that Catherine, acting quickly, would appoint Navarre Regent for Charles, the younger brother who would succeed him. Thus far they had been successful in keeping a tight rein on the King and if his health should improve and they had no interference from Navarre, they might look forward to years of continued sway at the Court of France. Keeping Catherine docile by flattery through her son, Francis, they saw nothing but clear sailing ahead, provided Navarre was disposed of.
With patient cunning the Duke and die Cardinal set to work poisoning the mind of the young King. Sick, tired, and weak, he listened. Did he suspect, they prompted, that Navarre was an archtraitor to the Crown? Would he believe that this prince of the blood royal could be capable of such treason? Incredible but true, they whispered. To avenge such infamy, they continued, who but His Majesty himself should be the one to dispatch the offender?
Dark Eminence Catherine De Medici And Her Children Page 5