did this one, who never again loved our present king; but she greatly
regretted the late one [Henri III.] although she belonged to the League;
but she always said that she and her husband were under extreme
obligations to him. To conclude: she was a good and virtuous princess,
who deserves honour for the grief she gave to the ashes of her husband
for some time, although she remarried in the end with M. de Luxembourg.
Being a woman, why should she languish?
6. _Christine of Denmark, niece of the Emperor Charles V. Duchesse de
Lorraine._
After the departure of the Queen of Hungary no great princess remained
near King Philip II. [to whom Charles V. resigned the Low Countries,
Naples, and Sicily 1555] except the Duchesse de Lorraine, Christine of
Denmark, his cousin-german, since called her Highness, who kept him good
company so long as he stayed in Flanders, and made his Court shine; for
the Court of every king, prince, emperor, or monarch, however grand it
be, is of little account if it be not accompanied and made desirable by
the Court of queen, empress, or great princess with numerous ladies and
damoiselles; as I have well perceived myself and heard discoursed of and
said by the greatest personages.
This princess, to my thinking, was one of the most beautiful and
accomplished princesses I have ever seen. Her face was very agreeable,
her figure tall, and her carriage fine; especially did she dress herself
well,--so well that, in her time, she gave to our ladies of France and
to her own a pattern and model for dressing the head with a coiffure and
veil, called _à la_ Lorraine; and a fine sight it was on our Court
ladies, who wore it only for fêtes or great magnificences, in order to
adorn and display themselves, as did all Lorraine, in honour of her
Highness. Above all, she had one of the prettiest hands that were ever
seen; indeed I have heard our queen-mother praise it and compare it with
her own. She held herself finely on horseback with very good grace, and
always rode with stirrup and pommel, as she had learned from her aunt,
Queen Mary of Hungary. I have heard say that the queen-mother learned
this fashion from her, for up to that time she rode on the plank, which
certainly does not show the grace or the fine action with the stirrup.
She liked to imitate in riding the queen, her aunt, and never mounted
any but Spanish or Turkish horses, barbs, or very fine jennets which
went at an amble; I have known her have at one time a dozen very fine
ones, of which it would be hard to say which was the finest.
Her aunt, the queen, loved her much, finding her suited to her humour,
whether in the exercises, hunting and other, that she loved, or in the
virtues that she knew she possessed. While her husband lived she often
went to Flanders to see her aunt, as Mme. de Fontaine told me; but after
she became a widow, and especially after they took her son away from
her, she left Lorraine in anger, for her heart was very lofty, and made
her abode with the emperor her uncle, and the queens her aunts, who
gladly received her.
She bore very impatiently the parting from this son, though King Henri
made every excuse to her, and declared he intended to adopt him as a
son. But not being pacified, and seeing that they were giving the old
fellow M. de la Brousse to her son as governor, taking away from him M.
de Montbardon, a very wise and honourable gentleman whom the emperor had
appointed, having known him for a very long time, this princess, finding
how desperate the matter was, came to see King Henri on a Holy Thursday
in the great gallery at Nancy, where the Court then was; and with very
composed grace and that great beauty which made her so admired, and
without being awed or abating in any way her grandeur, she made him a
great curtsey, entreating him, and explaining with tears in her eyes
(which only made her the more beautiful) the wrong he did in taking her
son from her,--an object so dear to her heart and all she had in the
world; also that she did not merit such treatment, in view of the great
family from which she came; besides which she believed she had never
done anything against his service. She said these things so well, with
such good grace and reasoning, and made her complaint so gently that the
king, who was always courteous to ladies, had great compassion for
her,--not only he, but all the princes and the great and the little
people who saw that sight.
The king, who was the most respectful king to ladies that was ever in
France, answered her most civilly; not with a flourish of words or a
great harangue, as Paradin in his History of France represents, for of
himself and by nature he was not at all prolix, nor copious in words nor
a great haranguer. Moreover, there is no need nor would it be becoming
that a king should imitate in his speech a philosopher or an orator; so
that the shortest words and briefest answers are best for a king; as I
have heard M. de Pibrac say, whose instruction was very sound on account
of the learning that was in him. Therefore, whoever reads that harangue
of Paradin, made, or presumed to be made by King Henri, should believe
none of it, for I have heard several great persons who were present
declare that he could not have heard that answer or that discourse as he
says he did. Very true it is that the king consoled her civilly and
modestly on the desolation she expressed, and told her she had no reason
to be troubled, because to secure his safety, and not from enmity, did
he wish to keep her son beside him, and put him with his own eldest son
to have the same education, same manner of life, same fortune; and since
he was of French extraction, and himself French, he could be better
brought up at the Court of France, among the French, where he had
relations and friends. Nor did he forget to remind her that the house of
Lorraine was more obliged to France than any house in Christendom,
reminding her of the obligation of the Duc de Lorraine in respect to Duc
Charles de Bourgogne, who was killed at Nancy.
[Illustration: Henri III]
But all these fine words and reasons could not console her or make her
bear her sorrow patiently. So that, having made her curtsey, still
shedding many precious tears, she retired to her chamber, to the door of
which the king conducted her; and the next day, before his departure,
she went to see him in his chamber to take leave of him, but could
not obtain her request. Therefore, seeing her dear son taken before her
eyes and departing for France, she resolved, on her side, to leave
Lorraine and retire to Flanders, to her uncle, the emperor (how fine a
word!), and to her cousin King Philip and the queens, her aunts (what
alliance! what titles!), which she did; and never stirred thence till
after the peace made between the two kings, when he of Spain crossed the
seas and went away.
She did much for this peace, I might say all; for the deputies, as much
on one side as on the other, as I have heard tell, after much pains and
time consumed at Cercan [Cateau-Carabrésis] without doing or concluding
anything, were all at fault and off the scent, like huntsmen, when she,
being either instinct with the divine spirit, or moved by good Christian
zeal and her natural good sense, undertook this great negotiation and
conducted it so well that the end was fortunate throughout all
Christendom. Also it was said that no one could have been found more
proper to move and place that great rock; for she was a very clever and
judicious lady if ever there was one, and of fine and grand authority;
and certainly small and low persons are not so proper for that as the
great. On the other hand the king, her cousin [Philip II.], believed and
trusted her greatly, esteeming her much, and loving her with a great
affection and love; as indeed he should, for she gave his Court great
value and made it shine, when otherwise it would have been obscure.
Though afterwards, as I have been told, he did not treat her too well in
the matter of her estates which came to her as dowry in the duchy of
Milan; she having been married first to Duc Sforza, for, as I have heard
say, he took and curtailed her of some.
I was told that after the death of her son she remained on very ill
terms with M. de Guise and his brother, the Cardinal, accusing them of
having persuaded the king to keep her son on account of their ambition
to see and have their near cousin adopted son and married to the house
of France; besides which, she had refused some time before to take M. de
Guise in marriage, he having asked her to do so. She, who was haughty to
the very extreme, replied that she would never marry the younger of a
house whose eldest had been her husband; and for that refusal M. de
Guise bore her a grudge ever after,--though indeed he lost nothing by
the change to Madame his wife, whom he married soon after, for she was
of very illustrious birth and granddaughter of Louis XII., one of the
bravest and best kings that ever wore the crown of France; and, what is
more, she was the handsomest woman in Christendom.
I have heard tell that the first time these two handsome princesses saw
each other, they were each so contemplative the one of the other,
turning their eyes sometimes crossways, sometimes sideways, that neither
could look enough, so fixed and attentive were they to watch each other.
I leave you to think what thoughts they were turning in their fine
souls; not more nor less than those we read of just before the great
battle in Africa between Scipio and Hannibal (which was the final
settlement of the war between Rome and Carthage), when those two great
captains met together during a truce of two hours, and, having
approached each other, they stood for a little space of time, lost in
contemplation the one of the other, each ravished by the valour of his
companion, both renowned for their noble deeds, so well represented in
their faces, their bodies, and their fine and warlike ways and gestures.
And then, having stood for some time thus wrapt in meditation of each
other, they began to negotiate in the manner that Titus Livius describes
so well. That is what virtue is, which makes itself admired amid
hatreds and enmities, as beauty among jealousies, like that of the two
ladies and princesses I have just been speaking of.
Certainly their beauty and grace may be reckoned equal, though Mme. de
Guise could slightly have carried the day; but she was content without
it,--being not at all vain or superb, but the sweetest, best, humblest,
and most affable princess that could ever be seen. In her way, however,
she was brave and proud, for nature had made her such, as much by beauty
and form as by her grave bearing and noble majesty; so much so that on
seeing her one feared to approach her; but having approached her one
found only sweetness, candour, gayety; getting it all from her
grandfather, that good father of his people, and the sweet air of
France. True it is, she knew well how to keep her grandeur and glory
when need was.
Her Highness of Lorraine was, on the contrary, very vain-glorious, and
rather too presumptuous. I saw that sometimes in relation to Queen Marie
Stuart of Scotland, who, being a widow, made a journey to Lorraine, on
which I went; and you would have said that very often her said Highness
was determined to equal the majesty of the said queen. But the latter,
being very clever and of great courage, never let her pass the line, or
make any advance; although Queen Marie was always gentle, because her
uncle, the Cardinal, had warned and instructed her as to the temper of
her said Highness. Then she, being unable to be rid of her pride,
thought to soothe it a little on the queen-mother when they met. But
that indeed was pride to pride and a half; for the queen-mother was the
proudest woman on earth when she chose to be. I have heard her called so
by many great personages; for when it was necessary to repress the
vainglory of some one who wanted to seem of importance she knew how to
abase him to the centre of the earth. However, she bore herself civilly
to her Highness, deferring to her much and honouring her; but always
holding the bridle in hand, sometimes high, sometimes low, for fear she
should get away; and I heard her myself say, two or three times: “That
is the most vainglorious woman I ever saw.”
The same thing happened when her Highness came to the coronation of the
late King Charles IX. at Reims, to which she was invited. When she
arrived, she would not enter the town on horseback, fearing she could
not thus show her grandeur and high estate; but she put herself into a
most superb carriage, entirely covered with black velvet, on account of
her widowhood, which was drawn by four Turk horses, the finest that
could be chosen, and harnessed all four abreast after the manner of a
triumphal car. She sat by the door, very well dressed, but all in black,
in a gown of velvet; but her head was white and very handsomely and
superbly coiffed and adorned. At the other door of her carriage was one
of her daughters, afterwards Mme. la Duchesse de Bavière, and within was
the Princesse de Macédoine, her lady of honour.
The queen-mother, wishing to see her enter the courtyard in this
triumphal manner, placed herself at a window and said, quite low,
“There’s a proud woman!” Then her Highness having descended from her
carriage and come upstairs, the queen advanced to receive her at the
middle of the room, not a step beyond, and rather nearer the door than
farther from it. There she received her very well; because at that time
she governed everything, King Charles being so young; and did all she
wished, which was certainly a great honour to her Highness. All the
Court, from the highest to the lowest, esteemed and admired her much and
thought her very handsome, although she was declining in years, being
at that time rather more than forty; but nothing as yet showed it, her
autumn surpassing the summer of others.
She died one year after hearing the news that she was Queen of Denmark,
from which she came, and that the kingdom had fallen to her; so that
before her death she was able to change the title of Highness, she had
borne so long, to that of Majesty. And yet, for all that, as I have
heard, she was resolved not to go to her kingdom, but to end her days in
her dower-house at Tortonia in Italy, where the countryside called her
only Madame de Tortonia; she having retired there some time before her
death, as much because of certain vows she had made to the saints of
those parts as to be near the baths of Tortonia, she being feeble in
health and very gouty.
Her practices were fine, saintly, and honourable, to wit: praying God,
giving alms, and doing great charity to the poor, above all to widows.
This is a summary of what I have heard of this great princess, who,
though a widow and very beautiful, conducted herself virtuously. It is
true that one might say she was married twice: first with Duc Sforza,
but he died at once; they did not live a year together before she was a
widow at fifteen. Then her uncle, the Emperor Charles V., remarried her
to the Duc de Lorraine, to strengthen his alliance with him; but there
again she was a widow in the flower of her age, having enjoyed that fine
marriage but a very few years; and those that remained to her, which
were her finest and most precious in usefulness, she kept and consumed
in a chaste widowhood.
7. _Marie d’Autriche, wife of the Emperor Maximilian II._
This empress, though she was left a widow quite young and very
beautiful, would never marry again, but contained herself and continued
in widowhood very virtuously, having left Austria and Germany, the
scene of her empire, after the death of her husband. She returned to her
brother, Philip II. in Spain; he having sent for her, and begged her to
come and assist him with the heavy burden of his affairs, which she did;
being a very wise and judicious princess. I have heard the late King
Henri III. say,--and he was a better judge of people than any man in his
kingdom,--that to his mind she was one of the ablest and most honourable
princesses in the world.
On her way to Spain, after crossing the Germanys, she came to Italy and
Genoa, where she embarked; and as it was winter and the month of
December when she set sail, bad weather overtook her near Marseille,
where she was forced to put in and anchor. But still, for all that, she
would not enter the port, neither her own galley nor the others, for
fear of causing suspicion or offence. Only once did she enter the town,
just to see it. She remained there eight days awaiting fair weather. Her
best exercise was in the mornings, when she left her galley (where she
slept) and went to hear mass and service at the church of Saint-Victor,
with very ardent devotion. Then her dinner was brought and prepared in
the abbey, where she dined; and after dinner she talked with her women
or with certain gentlemen from Marseille, who paid her all the honour
and reverence that were due to so great a princess; for King Henri had
commanded them to receive her as they would himself, in return for the
good greeting and cheer she had given him in Vienna. So soon as she
perceived this she showed herself most friendly, and spoke to them very
freely both in German and in French; so that they were well content with
her and she with them, selecting twenty especially; among them M.
Castellan, called the Seigneur Altivity, captain of the galleys, who was
distinguished for having married the beautiful Châteauneuf at Court,
and also for having killed the Grand-prior, as I shall relate elsewhere.
It was his wife who told me all that I now relate, and discoursed to me
about the perfections of this great princess; and how she admired
Marseille, thinking it very fine, and went about with her on her
promenades. At night she returned to her galley, so that if the fine
weather and the good wind came, she might quickly set sail. I was at our
Court when news was brought to the king of this passing visit; and I saw
him very uneasy lest she should not be received as she ought to be, and
as he wished. This princess still lives, and continues in all her fine
virtues. She greatly helped and served her brother, as I have been told.
Since then she has retired to a convent of women called the
“bare-footed” [Carmelites], because they wear neither shoes nor
stockings. Her sister, the Princess of Spain, founded them.
8. _Blanche de Montferrat, Duchesse de Savoie._
While I am on this subject of noble widows I must say two words of one
of past times, namely: that honourable widow, Madame Blanche de
Montferrat, one of the most ancient houses in Italy, who was Duchesse de
Savoie and thought to be the handsomest and most perfect princess of her
time; also very virtuous and judicious, for she governed wisely the
minority of her son and his estates; she being left a widow at the age
of twenty-three.
It was she who received so honourably our young King Charles VIII. when
he went to his kingdom of Naples, through all her lands and principally
her city of Turin, where she gave him a pompous entry, and met him in
person, very sumptuously accoutred. She showed she felt herself a great
lady; for she appeared that day in magnificent state, dressed in a grand
gown of crinkled cloth of gold, edged with large diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, and other precious stones. Round her throat she
wore a necklace of very large oriental pearls, the value of which none
could estimate, with bracelets of the same. She was mounted on a
beautiful white ambling mare, harnessed most superbly and led by six
lacqueys dressed in figured cloth of gold. A great band of damoiselles
followed her, very richly, daintily, and neatly dressed in the Piedmont
fashion, which was fine to see; and after them came a very long troop of
noblemen and knights of the country. Then there entered and marched King
Charles, beneath a rich canopy, and went to the castle, where he lodged,
and where Madame de Savoie presented to him her son, who was very young.
After which she made the king a fine harangue, offering her lands and
means, both hers and her son’s; which the king received with very good
heart, and thanked her much, feeling greatly obliged to her. Throughout
the town were everywhere seen the arms of France and those of Savoie
interlaced in a great lover’s-knot, which bound together the two
escutcheons and the two orders, with these words: _Sanguinis arctus
amor_; as may be read in the “Chronicles of Savoie.”
I have heard several of our fathers and mothers, who got it from their
parents, and also Mademoiselle the Sénéchale de Poitou, my grandmother,
then a damoiselle at Court, affirm that nothing was talked of but the
beauty, wisdom, and wit of this princess, when the courtiers and
gallants returned from their journey; and, above all, by the king, who
seemed, from appearance, to be wounded in his heart.
At any rate, even without her beauty, he had good reason to love her;
for she aided him with all the means in her power, and gave up her
jewels and pearls and precious stones to send them to him that he might
use them and pledge them as he pleased; which was indeed a very great
obligation, for ladies bear a great affection to their precious stones
and rings and jewels, and would sooner give and pledge some precious
piece of their person than their wealth of jewels--I speak of some, not
all. Certainly this obligation was great; for without this courtesy, and
that also of the Marquise de Montferrat, a very virtuous lady and very
handsome, he would have met in the long run a short shame, and must have
returned from the semi-journey he had undertaken without money; having
done worse than that bishop of France who went to the Council of Trent
without money and without Latin. What an embarkation without biscuit!
However, there is a difference between the two; for what one did was out
of noble generosity and fine ambition, which closed his eyes to all
inconveniency, thinking nothing impossible to his brave heart; while as
for the other, he lacked wit and ability, sinning in that through
ignorance and stupidity--if it was not that he trusted to beg them when
he got there.
In this discourse that I have made of that fine entry, there is to be
noted the superbness of the accoutrements of this princess, which seem
to be more those of a married woman than a widow. Upon which the ladies
said that for so great a king she could dispense with mourning; and also
that great people, men and women, gave the law to themselves; and
besides, that in those times the widows, so it was said, were not so
restricted nor so reformed in their clothes as they have been since for
the last forty years; like a certain lady whom I know, who, being in the
good graces and delights of a king [probably Diane de Poitiers] dressed
herself much _à la_ modest (though always in silk), the better to cover
and hide her game; and in that respect, the widows of the Court, wishing
to imitate her, did the same. But this lady did not reform herself so
much, nor to such austerity, that she ceased to dress prettily and
pompously, though always in black and white; indeed there seemed more of
worldliness than of widow’s reformation about it; for especially did she
always show her beautiful bosom. I have heard the queen, mother of King
Henri, say the same thing at the coronation and wedding of King Henri
III., namely: that the widows in times past did not have such great
regard to their clothes and to modesty of actions as they have to-day;
the which she said she saw in the times of King François, who wanted his
Court to be free in every way; and even the widows danced, and the
partners took them as readily as if they were girls or married women.
She said on this point that she commanded and begged M. de Vaudemont to
honour the fête by taking out Madame la Princesse de Condé, the dowager,
to dance; which he did to obey her; and he took the princess to the
grand ball; those who were at the coronation, like myself, saw it, and
remember it well. These were the liberties that widows had in the olden
time. To-day such things are forbidden them like sacrilege; and as for
colours, they dare not wear them, or dress in anything but black and
white; though their skirts and petticoats and also their stockings they
may wear of a tan-gray, violet, or blue. Some that I see emancipate
themselves in flesh-coloured red and chamois colour, as in times past,
when, as I have heard said, all colours could be worn in petticoats and
stockings, but not in gowns.