Jeanne, his wife; and our Queen Marguerite is now in dispute and
separation from her husband; but God will some day happily unite them in
spite of these evil times.
I have heard a princess say that Queen Marguerite saved her husband’s
life on the massacre of Saint-Bartholomew; for indubitably he was
proscribed and his name written on the “red paper,” as it was called,
because it was necessary, they said, to tear up the roots, namely, the
King of Navarre, the Prince de Condé, Amiral de Coligny, and other great
personages; but the said Queen Marguerite flung herself on her knees
before King Charles, to implore him for the life of her husband and
lord.[15] King Charles would scarcely grant it to her, although she was
his good sister. I relate this for what it is worth, as I know it only
by hearsay. But she bore this massacre very impatiently and saved
several, among them a Gascon gentleman (I think his name was Léran),
who, wounded as he was, took refuge beneath her bed, she being in it,
and the murderers pursuing him to the door, from which she drove them;
for she was never cruel, but kind, like a daughter of France.
They say that the quarrel between herself and her husband came more from
the difference in their religion than from anything else; for they each
loved his and her own, and supported it strongly. The queen having gone
to Pau, the chief town of Béarn, she caused the mass to be said there;
and a certain secretary of the king, her husband, named le Pin, who had
formerly belonged to M. l’Amiral, not being able to stomach it, put
several of the inhabitants of the town who had been present at the mass
into prison. The queen was much displeased; and he, wishing to
remonstrate, spoke to her much louder than he should, and very
indiscreetly, even before the king, who gave him a good rebuke and
dismissed him; for King Henri knows well how to like and respect what he
ought; being as brave and generous as his fine and noble actions have
always manifested; of which I shall speak at length in his life.
The said le Pin fell back upon the edict which is there made, and to be
observed under penalty, namely, that mass shall not be said. The queen,
feeling herself insulted, and God knows she was, vowed and declared she
would never again set foot in that country because she chose to be free
in the exercise of her religion; whereupon she departed, and has ever
since kept her oath very carefully.
I have heard it said that nothing lay so heavily on her heart as this
indignity of being deprived of the exercise of her religion; for which
reason she begged the queen, her good mother, to come and fetch her and
take her to France to see the king and Monsieur, his brother, whom she
honoured and loved much. Having arrived, she was not received and seen
by the king, her brother, as she should have been. Seeing this great
change since she had left France, and the rise of many persons she would
never have thought of to grandeurs, it irked her much to be forced to
pay court to them, as others, her equals, were now doing; and far from
doing so herself, she despised them openly, as I well saw, so high was
her courage. Alas! too high, certainly, for it caused her misfortunes;
had she been willing to restrain herself and lower her courage the least
in the world she would not have been thwarted and vexed as she has been.
As to which I shall relate this story: when the king, her brother, went
to Poland, he being there, she knew that M. du Gua, much favoured by her
brother, had made some remarks to her disadvantage, enough to set
brother and sister at variance or enmity. At the end of a certain time
M. du Gua returned from Poland and arrived at Court, bearing letters
from the king to his sister, which he went to her apartment to give her
and kiss hands. This I saw myself. When she beheld him enter she was in
great wrath, and as he came to her to present the letter she said to
him, with an angry face: “Lucky for you, du Gua, that you come before me
with this letter from my brother, which serves you as a safeguard, for I
love him much and all who come from him are free from me; but without
it, I would teach you to speak about a princess like myself, the sister
of your kings, your masters and sovereigns.” M. du Gua answered very
humbly: “I should never, madame, have presented myself before you,
knowing that you wish me ill, without some good message from the king,
my master, who loves you, and whom you love also; or without feeling
assured, madame, that for love of him, and because you are good and
generous, you would hear me speak.” And then, after making her his
excuses and telling his reasons (as he knew well how to do), he denied
very positively that he had ever spoken against the sister of his kings
otherwise than very reverently. On which she dismissed him with an
assurance that she would ever be his cruel enemy,--a promise which she
kept until his death.
After a while the king wrote to Mme. de Dampierre and begged her, for
the sake of giving him pleasure, to induce the Queen of Navarre to
pardon M. du Gua, which Mme. de Dampierre undertook with very great
regret, knowing well the nature of the said queen; but because the king
loved her and trusted her, she took the errand and went one day to see
the said queen in her room. Finding her in pretty good humour, she
opened the matter and made the appeal, namely: that to keep the good
graces, friendship, and favour of the king, her brother, who was now
about to become King of France, she ought to pardon M. du Gua, forget
the past, and take him again into favour; for the king loved and
favoured him above his other friends; and by thus taking M. du Gua as a
friend she would gain through him many pleasures and good offices,
inasmuch as he quietly governed the king, his master, and it was much
better to have his help than to make him desperate and goad him against
her, because he could surely do her much harm; telling her how she had
seen in her time during the reign of François I., Mesdames Madeleine and
Marguerite, one Queen of Scotland later, the other Duchesse de Savoie,
her aunts, although their hearts were as high and lofty as her own,
bring down their pride so low as to pay court to M. de Sourdis, who was
only master of the wardrobe to the king, their father; yet they even
sought him, hoping by his means, to obtain the favour of the king; and
thus, taking example by her aunts, she ought to do the same herself in
relation to M. du Gua.
The Queen of Navarre, having listened very attentively to Mme. de
Dampierre, answered her rather coldly, but with a smiling face, as her
manner was: “Madame de Dampierre, what you say to me may be good for
you; you need favours, pleasures, and benefits, and were I you the words
you say to me might be very suitable and proper to be received and put
in practice; but to me, who am the daughter of a king, the sister of
kings, and the wife of a king, they have no meaning; because with that
high and noble rank I cannot, for my honour’s sake, be a beggar of
favours and benefits from the king, my brother; and I hold him to be of
too good a nature and too well acquainted with his duty to deny me
anything unless I have the favour of a du Gua; if otherwise, he will do
great wrong to himself, his honour, and his royalty. And even if he be
so unnatural as to forget himself and what he owes to me, I prefer, for
my honour’s sake and as my courage tells me, to be deprived of his good
graces, because I would not seek du Gua to gain his favours, or be even
suspected of gaining them by such means and intercession; and if the
king, my brother, feels himself worthy to be king, and to be loved by me
and by his people, I feel myself, as his sister, worthy to be queen and
loved, not only by him but by all the world. And if my aunts, as you
allege, degraded themselves as you say, let them do as they would if
such was their humour, but their example is no law to me, nor will I
imitate it, or form myself on any model if not my own.” On that she was
silent, and Mme. de Dampierre retired; not that the queen was angry with
her or showed her ill-will, for she loved her much.
Another time, when M. d’Épernon went to Gascoigne after the death of
Monsieur (a journey made for various purposes, so they said), he saw the
King of Navarre at Pamiers, and they made great cheer and caresses to
each other. I speak thus because at that time M. d’Épernon was semi-king
of France because of the dissolute favour he had with his master, the
King of France. After having caressed and made good cheer together the
King of Navarre asked him to go and see him at Nérac when he had been to
Toulouse and was on his way back; which he promised to do. The King of
Navarre having gone there first to make preparations to feast him well,
the Queen of Navarre, who was then at Nérac, and who felt a deadly
hatred to M. d’Épernon, said to the king, her husband, that she would
leave the place so as not to disturb or hinder the fête, not being able
to endure the sight of M. d’Épernon without some scandal or venom of
anger which she might disgorge, and so give annoyance to the king, her
husband. On which the king begged her, by all the pleasures that she
could give him, not to stir, but to help him to receive the said Sieur
d’Épernon and to put her rancour against him underfoot for love of him,
her husband, and all the more because it greatly concerned both of them
and their grandeur.
“Well, monsieur,” replied the queen, “since you are pleased to command
it, I will remain and give him good cheer out of respect to you and the
obedience that I owe to you.” After which she said to some of her
ladies: “But I will answer for it that on the days that man is here I
will dress in habiliments I never yet have worn, namely: dissimulation
and hypocrisy; I will so mask my face with shams that the king shall see
there only good and honest welcome and all gentleness; and likewise I
will lay discretion on my lips, so that externally I will make him think
my heart internally is kind, which otherwise I would not answer for; I
do this being nowise in my own control, but wholly in his,--so lofty is
he and full of frankness, unable to bear vileness or the venom of
hypocrisy, or to abase himself in any way.”
Therefore, to content the king, her husband, for she honoured him much,
as he did her, she disguised her feelings in such a way that, M.
d’Épernon being brought to her apartment, she received him in the same
manner the king had asked of her and she had promised; so that all
present, the chamber being full of persons eager to see the entrance and
the interview, marvelled much, while the king and M. d’Épernon were
quite content. But the most clear-sighted and those who knew the nature
of the queen misdoubted something hidden within; and she herself said
afterwards it was a comedy in which she played a part unwillingly.
These are two tales by which to see the lofty courage of this queen, the
which was such, as I have heard the queen, her mother, say (discoursing
of this topic), that she resembled in this her father; and that she, the
queen-mother, had no other child so like him, as much in ways, humours,
lineaments, and features of the face as in courage and generosity;
telling also how she had seen King Henri during King François’ lifetime
unable for a kingdom to pay his court and cringe to Cardinal de Tournon
or to Amiral d’Annebault, the favourites of King François, even though
he might often have had peace with Emperor Charles had he been willing
so to do; but his honour could not submit to such attentions. And so,
like father, like daughter. Nevertheless, all that injured her much. I
remember an infinite number of annoyances and indignities she received
at Court, which I shall not relate, they are too odious; until at last
she was sent away, with great affront and yet most innocent of what they
put upon her; the proofs of which were known to many, as I know myself;
also the king, her husband, was convinced of it, so that he brought King
Henri to account, which was very good of him, and henceforth there
resulted between the two brothers [-in-law] a certain hatred and
contention.
The war of the League happened soon after; and because the Queen of
Navarre feared some evil at Court, being a strong Catholic, she retired
to Agen, which had been given to her with the region about it by her
brothers, as an appanage and gift for life. As the Catholic religion was
concerned, which it was necessary to maintain, and also to exterminate
the other, she wished to fortify her side as best she could and repress
the other side. But in this she was ill-served by means of Mme. de
Duras, who governed her much, and made, in her name, great exactions and
extortions. The people of the town were embittered, and covertly sought
their freedom and a means to drive away their lady and her bailiffs. On
which disturbance the Maréchal de Matignon took occasion to make
enterprise against the town, as the king, having learned the state of
things, commanded him with great joy to do in order to aggravate his
sister, whom he did not love, to more and more displeasure. This
enterprise, which failed at first, was led the second time so
dexterously by the said marshal and the inhabitants, that the town was
taken by force with such rapidity and alarm that the poor queen, in
spite of all she could do, was forced to mount in pillion behind a
gentleman, and Mme. de Duras behind another, and escape as quickly as
they could, riding a dozen leagues without stopping, and the next day as
much more, to find safety in the strongest fortress of France, which is
Carlat. Being there, and thinking herself in safety, she was, by the
manœuvres of the king, her brother (who was a very clever and very
subtle king, if ever there was one), betrayed by persons of that country
and the fortress, so that when she fled she became a prisoner in the
hands of the Marquis de Canillac, governor of Auvergne, and was taken to
the castle of Usson, a very strong fortress also, almost impregnable,
which that good and sly fox Louis XI. had made such, in order to lodge
his prisoners in a hundred-fold more security than at Loches, Bois de
Vincennes, or Lusignan.
Here, then, was this poor princess a prisoner, and treated not as a
daughter of France or the great princess that she was. But, at any rate,
if her body was captive, her brave heart was not, and it never failed
her, but helped her well and did not let her yield to her affliction.
See what a great heart can do, led by great beauty! For he who held her
prisoner became her prisoner in time, brave and valiant though he was.
Poor man! what else could he expect? Did he think to hold subject and
captive in his prison one whose eyes and beauteous face could subject
the whole world to her bonds and chains like galley-slaves!
So here was the marquis ravished and taken by her beauty; but she, not
dreaming of the delights of love, only of her honour and her liberty,
played her game so shrewdly that she soon became the stronger, seized
the fort, and drove away the marquis, much dumfounded at such surprise
and military tactics.
There she has now been six or seven years,[16] not, however, with all
the pleasures of life, being despoiled of the county of Auvergne by M.
le Grand Prieur de France, whom the king induced the queen-mother to
institute count and heir in her will; regretting much that she could not
leave the queen, her good daughter, anything of her own, so great was
the hatred that the king bore her. Alas! what mutation was this from the
time when, as I saw myself, they loved each other much, and were one in
body, soul, and will! Ah! how often was it fine to see them discourse
together; for, whether they were grave or gay, nothing could be finer
than to see and hear them, for both could say what they wished to say.
Ah! how changed the times are since we saw them in that great ball-room,
dancing together in such beautiful accord of dance and will! The king
always led her to the dance at the great balls. If one had a noble
majesty the other had none the less; the eyes of all were never
surfeited or delighted enough by so agreeable a sight; for the sets were
so well danced, the steps so correctly performed, the stops so finely
made that we knew not which to admire most, their beautiful fashion of
dancing or their majesty in pausing; representing now a gay demeanour
and next a noble, crave disdain; for no one ever saw them in the
dance that did not say they had seen no dance so fine with grace and
majesty as this of the king-brother and the queen-sister. As for me, I
am of that opinion; and yet I have seen the Queen of Spain and the Queen
of Scotland dance most beautifully.
[Illustration: _Élisabeth de France Queen of Spain_]
Also I have seen them dance the Italian _pazzemeno_ [the minuet, _menu
pas_], now advancing with grave port and majesty, doing their steps so
gravely and so well; next gliding only; and anon making most fine and
dainty and grave passages, that none, princes or others, could approach,
nor ladies, because of the majesty that was not lacking. Wherefore this
queen took infinite pleasure in these grave dances on account of her
grace and dignity and majesty, which she displayed the better in these
than in others like _bransles_, and _volts_, and _courants_. The latter
she did not like, although she danced them well, because they were not
worthy of her majesty, though very proper for the common graces of other
ladies.
I have seen her sometimes like to dance the _bransle_ by torchlight. I
remember that once, being at Lyon, on the return of the king from
Poland, at the marriage of Besne (one of her maids of honour) she danced
the _bransle_ before many foreigners from Savoie, Piedmont, Italy, and
elsewhere, who declared they had never seen anything so fine as this
queen, a grave and noble lady, as indeed she is. One of them there was
who went about declaring that she needed not, like other ladies, the
torch she carried in her hand; for the light within her eyes, which
could not be extinguished like the other, was sufficient; the which had
other virtue than leading men to dance, for it inflamed all those about
her, yet could not be put out like the one she had in hand, but lit the
night amid the darkness and the day beneath the sun.
For this reason must we say that Fortune has been to us as great an
enemy as to her, in that we see no longer that bright torch, or rather
that fine sun which lighted us, now hidden among those hills and
mountains of Auvergne. If only that light had placed itself in some fine
port or haven near the sea, where passing mariners might be guided, safe
from wreck and peril, by its beacon, her dwelling would be nobler, more
profitable, more honourable for herself and us. Ah! people of Provence,
you ought to beg her to dwell upon your seacoasts or within your ports;
then would she make them more famous than they are, more inhabited and
richer; from all sides men in galleys, ships, and vessels would flock to
see this wonder of the world, as in old times to that of Rhodes, that
they might see its glorious and far-shining pharos. Instead of which,
begirt by barriers of mountains, she is hidden and unknown to all our
eyes, except that we have still her lovely memory. Ah! beautiful and
ancient town of Marseille, happy would you be if your port were honoured
by the flame and beacon of her splendid eyes! For the county of Provence
belongs to her, as do several other provinces in France. Cursèd be the
unhappy obstinacy of this kingdom which does not seek to bring her
hither with the king, her husband, to be received, honoured and welcomed
as they should be. (This I wrote at the very height of the Wars of the
League.)
Were she a bad, malicious, miserly, or tyrannical princess (as there
have been a plenty in times past in France, and will be, possibly,
again), I should say nothing in her favour; but she is good, most
splendid, liberal, giving all to others, keeping little for herself,
most charitable, and giving freely to the poor. The great she made
ashamed with liberalities; for I have seen her make presents to all the
Court on New Year’s Day such as the kings, her brothers, could not
equal. On one occasion she gave Queen Louise de Lorraine a fan made of
mother-of-pearl enriched with precious stones and pearls of price, so
beautiful and rich that it was called a masterpiece and valued at more
than fifteen thousand crowns. The other, to return the present, sent her
sister those long _aiguillettes_ which Spaniards call _puntas_, enriched
with certain stones and pearls, that might have cost a hundred crowns;
and with these she paid for that fine New Year’s gift, which was,
certainly, most dissimilar.
In short, this queen is in all things royal and liberal, honourable and
magnificent, and, let it not displease the empresses of long past days,
their splendours described by Suetonius, Pliny, and others, do not
approach her own in any way, either in Court or city, or in her journeys
through the open country; witness her gilded litters so superbly covered
and painted with fine devices, her coaches and carriages the same, and
her horses so fine and so richly caparisoned.
Those who have seen, as I have, these splendid appurtenances know what I
say. And must she now be deprived of all this, so that for seven years
she has not stirred from that stern, unpleasant castle?--in which,
however, she takes patience; such virtue has she of self-command, one of
the greatest, as many wise philosophers have said!
To speak once more of her kindness: it is such, so noble, so frank,
that, as I believe, it has done her harm; for though she has had great
grounds and great means to be revenged upon her enemies and injure them,
she has often withheld her hand when, had she employed those means or
caused them to be employed, and commanded others, who were ready enough,
to chastise those enemies with her consent, they would have done so
wisely and discreetly; but she resigned all vengeances to God.
This is what M. du Gua said to her once when she threatened him:
“Madame, you are so kind and generous that I never heard it said you did
harm to any one; and I do not think you will begin with me, who am your
very humble servitor.” And, in fact, although he greatly injured her,
she never returned him the same in vengeance. It is true that when he
was killed and they came to tell her, she merely said, being ill: “I am
sorry I am not well enough to celebrate his death with joy.” She had
also this other kindness in her: that when others had humbled themselves
and asked her pardon and favour, she forgave and pardoned, with the
generosity of a lion which never does harm to those who are humble to
him.
I remember that when M. le Maréchal de Biron was lieutenant of the king
in Guyenne, war having broken out around him (possibly with his
knowledge and intent), he went one day before Nérac, where the King and
Queen of Navarre were living at that time. The marshal prepared his
arquebusiers to attack, beginning with a skirmish. The King of Navarre
brought out his own in person, and, in a doublet like any captain of
adventurers, he held his ground so well that, having the best marksmen,
nothing could prevail against him. By way of bravado the marshal let fly
some cannon against the town, so that the queen, who had gone upon the
ramparts to see the pastime, came near having her share in it, for a
ball flew right beside her; which incensed her greatly, as much for the
little respect Maréchal de Biron showed in braving her to her face, as
because he had a special command from the king not to approach the war
nearer than five hundred leagues to the Queen of Navarre, wherever she
might be. The which command he did not observe on this occasion; for
which she felt resentment and revenge against the marshal.