_The Regency of Louise of Savoy--Margaret and the royal
children--The defeat of Pavia and the death of the Duke of
Alençon--The Royal Trinity--“All is lost save honour”--
Margaret’s journey to Spain and her negotiations with
Charles V.--Her departure from Madrid--The scheme to arrest
her, and her flight on horseback--Liberation of Francis I.--
Clever escape of Henry of Navarre from prison--Margaret’s
secret fancy for him--Her personal appearance at this
period--Marriage of Henry and Margaret at St. Germain._
The most memorable events of Margaret’s public life date from this
period. Francis, who was determined to reconquer the Milanese, at
once made preparations for a new campaign. Louise of Savoy was again
appointed Regent of the kingdom, and as Francis’s wife, Claude, was
dying of consumption, the royal children were confided to the care of
Margaret, whose husband accompanied the army. Louise of Savoy at first
repaired to Lyons with her children, in order to be nearer to Italy,
but she and Margaret soon returned to Blois, where the Queen was
dying. Before the royal army had reached Milan Claude expired, and soon
afterwards Louise was incapacitated by a violent attack of gout, while
the children of Francis also fell ill. The little ones, of whom Margaret
had charge, consisted of three boys and three girls, the former being
Francis, the Dauphin, who died in 1536, Charles, Duke of Orleans, who
died in 1545, and Henry, Count of Angoulême, who succeeded his father on
the throne. The girls comprised Madeleine, afterwards the wife of
James V. of Scotland, Margaret, subsequently Duchess of Savoy, and the
Princess Charlotte. The latter was particularly beloved by her aunt
Margaret, who subsequently dedicated to her memory her poem _Le Miroir
de l’Ame Pécheresse_. While the other children recovered from their
illness, little Charlotte, as Margaret records in her letters to Bishop
Briçonnet, was seized “with so grievous a malady of fever and flux,”
that after a month’s suffering she expired, to the deep grief of her
aunt, who throughout her illness had scarcely left her side.
This affliction was but the beginning of Margaret’s troubles. Soon
afterwards the Constable de Bourbon, in conjunction with Pescara
and Lannoy, avenged his grievances under the walls of Pavia. On this
occasion, as at Marignano, the Duke of Alençon commanded the French
reserves, and had charge of the fortified camp from which Francis,
listening to Bonnivet, sallied forth, despite the advice of his best
officers. The King bore himself bravely, but he was badly wounded and
forced to surrender, after La Palisse, Lescun, Bonnivet, La Trémoïlle,
and Bussy d’Amboise had been slain before his eyes. Charles of Alençon
was then unable to resist the advice given him to retreat, and thus save
the few Frenchmen who had escaped the arms of the Imperialists. With
four hundred lances he abandoned the camp, crossed the Ticino, and
reaching France by way of Piedmont, proceeded to Lyons, where he found
Louise of Savoy and Margaret.
It has been alleged that they received him with harsh reproaches, and
that, unable to bear the shame he felt for his conduct, he died only a
few days after the battle. (1)
1 See Garnier’s _Histoire de France_, vol. xxiv.; Gaillard’s
_Histoire de France, &c_. Odolant Desnos, usually well
informed, falls into the same error, and asserts that when
the Duke, upon his arrival, asked Margaret to kiss him, she
replied, “Fly, coward! you have feared death. You might find
it in my arms, as I do not answer for myself.”--_Mémoires
historiques_, vol. ii. p. 253.
There are several errors in these assertions, which a contemporary
document enables us to rectify. The battle of Pavia was fought on
February 14th, 1525, and Charles of Alençon did not die till April 11th,
more than a month after his arrival at Lyons. He was carried off in five
days by pleurisy, and some hours before his death was still able to rise
and partake of the communion. Margaret bestowed the most tender care
upon him, and the Regent herself came to visit him, the Duke finding
strength enough to say to her, “Madam, I beg of you to let the King know
that since the day he was made a prisoner I have been expecting nothing
but death, since I was not sufficiently favoured by Heaven to share his
lot or to be slain in serving him who is my king, father, brother, and
good master.” After kissing the Regent’s hand he added, “I commend to
you her who has been my wife for fifteen years, and who has been as good
as she is virtuous towards me.” Then, as Louise of Savoy wished to take
Margaret away, Charles turned towards the latter and said to her, “Do
not leave me.”
The Duchess refused to follow her mother, and embracing her dying
husband, showed him the crucifix placed before his eyes. The Duke,
having summoned one of his gentlemen, M. de Chan-deniers, instructed him
to bid farewell on his part to all his servants, and to thank them for
their services, telling them that he had no longer strength to see them.
He asked God aloud to forgive his sins, received the extreme unction
from the Bishop of Lisieux, and raising his eyes to heaven, said
“Jesus,” and expired. (1)
Whilst tending her dying husband, Margaret was also deeply concerned
as to the fate of her captive brother, for whom she always evinced the
warmest affection. Indeed, so close were the ties uniting Louise
of Savoy and her two children that they were habitually called the
“Trinity,” as Clement Marot and Margaret have recorded in their poems.
(2)
1 From a MS. poem in the Bibliothèque Nationale entitled
_Les Prisons_, probably written by William Philander or
Filandrier, a canon of Rodez.
2 See _OEuvres de Clément Marot_, 1731, vol. v. p. 274; and
A. Champoîlion-Figeac’s _Poésies de François Ier, &c_.,
Paris, 1847, p. 80.
In this Trinity Francis occupied the highest place; his mother called
him “her Cæsar and triumphant hero,” while his sister absolutely
reverenced him, and was ever ready to do his bidding. Thus the
intelligence that he was wounded and a prisoner threw them into
consternation, and they were yet undecided how to act when they received
that famous epistle in which Francis wrote--not the legendary words,
“All is lost save honour,” but--“Of all things there have remained to me
but honour and life, which is safe.” After begging his mother and sister
to face the extremity by employing their customary prudence, the King
commended his children to their care, and expressed the hope that God
would not abandon him. (1) This missive revived the courage of the
Regent and Margaret, for shortly afterwards we find the latter writing
to Francis: “Your letter has had such effect upon the health of Madame
[Louise], and of all those who love you, that it has been to us as a
Holy Ghost after the agony of the Passion.... Madame has felt so great
a renewal of strength, that whilst day and evening last not a moment is
lost over your business, so that you need have no grief or care about
your kingdom and children.” (2)
1 See extract from the Registers of the Parliament of Paris
(Nov. 10, 1525) in Dulaure’s _Histoire de Paris_, Paris,
1837, vol. iii. p. 209; and Lalanne’s _Journal d’un
Bourgeois de Paris_, Paris, 1854, p. 234. The original of
the letter no longer exists, but the authenticity of the
text cannot be disputed, as all the more essential portions
are quoted in the collective reply of Margaret and Louise of
Savoy, which is still extant. See Champollion-Figeac’s
Captivité de François Ier, pp. 129, 130.
2 Génin’s _Nouvelles Lettres de la Peine de Navarre_,
Paris, 1842, p. 27.
Louise of Savoy was indeed now displaying courage and ability. News
shortly arrived that the King had been transferred to Madrid, and
that Charles demanded most onerous conditions for the release of his
prisoner. At this juncture Francis wrote to his mother that he was very
ill, and begged of her to come to him. Louise, however, felt that she
ought not to accede to this request, for it would be jeopardising
the monarchy to place the Regent as well as the King of France in
the Emperor’s hands; accordingly she resolved that Margaret should go
instead of herself.
The Baron of St. Blancard, general of the King’s galleys, who had
previously offered to rescue Francis while the latter was on his way to
Spain, received orders to make the necessary preparations for Margaret’s
voyage, of which she defrayed the expense, as is shown by a letter she
wrote to John Brinon, Chancellor of Alençon. In this missive she states
that the Baron of St. Blancard has made numerous disbursements on
account of her journey which are to be refunded to him, “so that he may
know that I am not ungrateful for the good service he has done me, for
he hath acquitted himself thereof in such a way that I have occasion to
be gratified.” (1)
1 Génin’s _Lettres de Marguerite, &c_., p. 193.--Génin’s
Notice, _ibid_., p. 19.
Despite adverse winds, Margaret embarked on August 27th, 1525, at
Aigues-Mortes, with the President de Selves, the Archbishop of Embrun,
the Bishop of Tarbes, and a fairly numerous suite of ladies. The Emperor
had granted her a safe-conduct for six months, and upon landing in Spain
she hurried to Madrid, where she found her brother very sick both in
mind and body. She eagerly caressed and tended him, and with a good
result, as she knew his nature and constitution much better than the
doctors. To raise his depressed spirits she had recourse to religious
ceremonies, giving orders for an altar to be erected in the room where
he was lying. She then requested the Archbishop of Embrun to celebrate
mass, and received the communion in company of all the French retainers
about the prisoner. It is stated that the King, who for some hours had
given no sign of life, opened his eyes at the moment of the consecration
of the elements, and asked for the communion, saying, “God will cure me,
soul and body.” From this time forward he began to recover his health,
though he remained fretful on account of his captivity.
It was a difficult task to obtain his release. The Court and the Emperor
were extremely polite, but Margaret soon recognised the emptiness of
their protestations of good-will. “They all tell me that they love the
King,” she wrote, “but I have little proof of it. If I had to do with
honest folks, who understand what honour is, I should not care, but it
is the contrary.” (1)