good opportunities and occasion for self-indulgence. No need then
to be astonished if one of them, in the reign of Marcus Aurelius,
(as is found writ in that Emperor’s life), as she was walking in her
husband’s funeral procession, and in the midst of all her cries,
sobs, sighs, tears and lamentations, did so strictly press the hand
of the gentleman which was her escort, as to surely signify thereby
her willingness for another taste of love and marriage. Accordingly
at the end of a year,—for he could not marry her before, without
a special dispensation, as was done for Pompey whenas he did wed
Cæsar’s daughter, but this was scarce ever given but to the greatest
personages,—he did marry the lady, having meantime enjoyed some
dainty foretastes, and picked many an early loaf out of the batch,
as the saying goes. Mighty fain was this good lady to lose naught by
procrastination, but take her measures in good time; yet for all this,
she did lose never a doit of her property and original dowry.
Thus fortunate were Roman widows,—as are still in the main their
French sisters, which for giving heart and fair body satisfaction,
do lose naught of their rights; albeit several cases hereanent have
been pleaded before our parliaments. Thus I wot of a great and
wealthy French Lord, which did carry on a long process against his
sister-in-law concerning her dowry, charging her that her life had
been lascivious and with another crime of a less gay sort to boot.
Natheless did she win her case; and the brother-in-law was obliged to
dower her handsomely and give her all that did belong to her. Yet was
the governance of her son and daughter taken from her, seeing she had
married again. This the judges and noble councillors of the parliaments
do look to, forbidding widows that re-marry to have guardianship of
their children. In spite of this I do know of widows which within
the last few years have successfully asserted their rights, though
re-married, over their daughters being under age, against their
brothers-in-law and other kinsmen; but then they were greatly helped by
the influence of the Prince which was their protector. Indeed there is
never a law a fine _motte_ cannot traverse. Of these subjects I do now
refrain me from speaking more, seeing ’tis not my trade; so thinking
to say something mighty clever, ’tis very like I may say what is quite
from the point. I do refer me to our great men of the law.
Now of our widows some be alway glad to try marriage once again and run
its risks, like mariners that twice, thrice and four times saved from
shipwreck do again and again go back to the sea, and as married women
do, which in the pains of motherhood do swear and protest they will
never, never go back to it again, and no man shall ever be aught to
them, yet no sooner be they sound and clean again, but they take to the
same old dance once more. So a Spanish lady, being in her pangs, had a
candle lighted in honour of Our Lady of Mont-Sarrat, who much succours
women in child-birth. Yet did she fail not to have sore pain and swear
right earnestly she would never go back to it any more. She was no
sooner delivered but turning to her woman who held the candle still
alight, she said, _Serra esto cabillo de candela para otra vez_, “Put
away that bit of candle for another time.”
Other ladies do prefer not to marry; and of these are always some, and
always have been, which coming to be widows in the flower of their age,
be content to stay so. Ourselves have seen the Queen Mother, which
did become a widow at the age of seven or eight and thirty years,
and did ever after keep that state; and fair, pleasant and agreeable
as she was, did never so much as think of any man to be her second
husband. No doubt it may be said on the other side,—Whom could she
have wedded suitable to her lofty estate and comparable with the great
King Henri, her late lord and master; beside she would thereby have
lost the government of the Kingdom, which was better worth than an
hundred husbands, and its enjoyment more desirable and pleasant? Yet
is there no advantage Love doth not make women forget; wherefore she
is the more to be commended and worthy to be recorded in the temple of
fame and immortality. For she did master and command her passions,—not
like another Queen, which unable to restrain herself, did wed her own
steward of the household, by name the Sieur de Rabodanges.[95*] This
the King, her son, did at first beginning find exceeding strange and
bitter; but yet, because she was his mother, he did excuse and pardon
the said Rabodanges for having married her; and it was arranged that
by day, before the world, he should serve her alway as steward, not to
deprive her, being the King’s mother, of her proper state and dignity,
but by night she should make of him what pleased her, using him either
as servant or master at her choice, this being left to their own
discretion and good pleasure. We may readily imagine who was master
then; for every woman, be she as high-born as she may, coming to this
point, is ever subject to the superior male, according to the law of
nature and humanity in this matter. I have the tale from the late Grand
Cardinal de Lorraine, second of the name and title, which did tell it
at Poissy to King Francis II., the time he did institute the eighteen
knights of the Order of Saint Michael,—a very great number, and one
never seen or heard of before then.[96*] Among others was the Seigneur
de Rabodanges, a very old man, that had not been seen for years at
Court, except on occasion of some of our warlike expeditions, he having
withdrawn soon after the death of M. de Lautrec out of disappointment
and despite, a common enough case, having lost his good master, the
Captain of whose Guard he was, on his journey to the Kingdom of
Naples, where he died. And the Cardinal did further say he did believe
this M. de Rabodanges was descended of the marriage in question.—Some
while agone a lady of France did marry her page, so soon as ever his
pagehood was expired and he his own master, thinking she had worn her
widow’s weeds quite long enough.
Well, to leave this sort of widows, and say somewhat of more
high-minded and prudent dames.
We have had our Queen of France, Donna Isabelle of Austria, which was
wife to the late King Charles IX., whom we may in all ways declare to
have been one of the best, gentlest, wisest and most virtuous Queens
that ever reigned of all the Kings and Queens that ever were. This I
may confidently affirm, and every one that hath ever seen her or heard
her speak will say the same, and this without disparaging others and
with the most perfect truth. She was a very beautiful Princess, with
features and face as fair and delicate as any lady at the Court, and
most affable. Her figure too was very fine, albeit she did scarce reach
the middle height. She was very sensible and prudent moreover, most
virtuous and good-natured, and one that did never hurt or displeasure
any, or give offence by so much as the smallest word. And indeed she
was very careful of her speech, saying but very little and alway in her
native Spanish.
She was truly pious, but no wise bigoted, not overmuch manifesting her
religion by outward acts and shows, and an extremity of devotion, such
as I have seen some of our prayer-patterers display, but rather without
missing any of the regular hour for supplication to God, she did
employ these well and sufficiently, without going out of her way to
borrow other extraordinary ones. ’Tis very true, as I have heard some
of her ladies declare, that whenas she was to bed apart and hid, and
her curtains close drawn, she would kneel there devoutly in her shift
and make prayer to God by the space of an hour and a half, beating and
tormenting her breast in her zeal of devotion.
This habit had never been noted at all till after the death of King
Charles her husband. But one night after she had gone to bed and all
her women were retired, one of those which did sleep in her chamber,
hearing her sighing, did bethink her to peep between the curtains,
and saw her in the posture described, so praying and beseeching God,
which practice she did continue well nigh every evening. At length the
said bedchamber-woman, who was on very familiar terms with her, did
venture to remonstrate one day with her on the ground she was hurting
her health. The Queen was angered against the woman for her discovery
and advice, and fain almost to deny the thing, and did straitly charge
her to breathe never a word about it. Wherefore for that evening she
did desist; but in the night she did fully make up for it, supposing
her women would not observe it. But they saw her, and found how it was,
by the reflexion of her chamber-light of wax, the which she did keep
burning by her bedside next the wall, for to read in her Book of Hours
and pray God at whiles, using for this pious purpose the same space
where other Queens and Princesses do keep their table of refection.
Suchlike prayers do little resemble those of hypocrites, which wishing
to appear religious before the world, do make their orisons and
devotions publicly, and aye with mumbling of the lips, to the end folk
may deem them exceeding devout and sanctified.
Thus would our good Queen pray for the soul of the King, her husband,
whom she did sorely grieve for, yet all the whole making her moan
and lamentation not like a wild and desperate woman, screaming, and
tearing her cheeks and hair, nor yet merely counterfeiting one that
is commended for her tears, but sorrowing gently, dropping her fair
and precious tears so tenderly, sighing so soft and low, as that ’twas
plain to see she was restraining her grief all she could, to the end
people might not think her desirous of making a fine seeming and grand
impression (a thing I have seen many ladies do in such case), yet
failing not at all to convince all of the deep anguish of her heart.
Even so a torrent is ever more violent whose course is stayed than when
it hath free space to run in. I do well remember me how, all through
the King’s malady, her dear lord and husband, he lying in his bed and
she coming to visit him, she would quick sit her down by his side,
not close to his bed’s-head, as is usual, but a little withdrawn, yet
within his sight, where remaining without speaking scarce at all to
him, or he to her, she would keep her eyes all the while so fixed upon
him, that never taking them from off his face she did verily seem to
be warming him in her heart with the heat of all the love she bare
him. Presently she might be seen dropping tears so soft and secret,
that any which had not chanced to note them, would have never known
her grief. There would she sit, drying her wet eyes under pretence of
using her handkerchief, that ’twas downright pity to every soul there
(I saw the thing myself) to see her so troubled to hide her grief and
love, and prevent the King from seeing the signs of her sorrow. Such
was ever her practise in her husband’s sickness; whereafter she would
rise and hie her to her prayers for his restoration to health. She did
truly love and honour him exceedingly, albeit she knew him of amorous
complexion and that he had mistresses, whether for his renown or for
his pleasure. But yet was she never a whit less kind, nor ever said
an ill word to him, patiently bearing her little load of jealousy and
the wrong he did her. She was a very meet and proper mate for him;
for ’twas indeed fire and water come together in one, the King being
naturally quick, hot and stirring, she cool and temperate in all things.
I have been told on good authority, how that after her widowhood,
among certain of her more privy ladies, which were for giving her such
consolation as they could suggest, was one (for, as you may suppose,
among so great a band there will alway be one more maladroit than the
rest), which, thinking to please highly, did address her thus: “At
least, Madam, an if instead of a daughter he had but left you a son,
you would at this moment be the King’s Queen Mother, and your dignity
by so much increased and strengthened.”—But her answer was: “Alas!
alas! say not such a thing. As if France had not misfortunes enough
already, without my having caused yet another to be her utter ruin.
For had I had a son, this would only have mean more factions, troubles
and seditions for to get the care and guardianship of the young King
during his infancy and minority. Hence would have sprung more war and
strife than ever, each striving to make his profit and draw advantage
by plundering the poor child, as they were fain to do to the late King,
my husband, and would have done but for the Queen, his mother, and his
good servants which did oppose such doings. But an if I had had a son,
I should have but found unhappiness in the thought of having borne him,
and gotten a thousand maledictions of the people, whose voice is the
voice of God. Wherefore I tell you I do praise my God, and am right
thankful for the fruit he hath vouchsafed me, be it for better or for
worse to me in the end.” Such was the kindness of this good-hearted
Princess toward the country of her adoption.
I have likewise heard tell how at the massacre of the Saint
Bartholomew, the Queen, knowing naught of it and having never the least
suspicion in the world of what was plotting, did get her to bed in
her usual fashion. On her waking in the morning, she was first thing
informed of the fine mystery that was a-playing. “Woe is me!” she did
cry out instantly, “the King, my husband, doth he know of it?”—“Of a
surety, Madam,” came the answer; “’tis he that doth order it.”—“Great
God,” she cried in horror, “what thing is this? and what counsellors be
they which have given him this advice? Oh, God! I do beseech and pray
thee to pardon this sin, for an if Thou be not pitiful, this offence,
I fear me sore, is beyond all pardon.” Then she did quick ask for her
Book of Hours, and so to prayers and supplication to the Almighty, the
tears dropping from her eyes.
Prithee consider the wisdom and goodness the said Queen did manifest in
not approving of such a merrymaking and the cruel game that was played
thereat, and this although she had much cause to desire the utter
extermination of the Admiral (Coligny) and his fellow religionists,
seeing they were absolutely opposed in every way to her own faith,
the which she did adore and honour more than aught else in all the
world, and on the other hand because she could plainly see how they
did trouble the Kingdom of her gracious lord and husband. Moreover
the Emperor her father had actually said to her, as she was setting
forth with him on her way to France: “My daughter,” he said, “you are
going as Queen to a Kingdom the fairest, strongest and most puissant
in the world, and so far I do hold you a very happy woman. Yet would
you be happier still, an if you could but find it at peace within its
borders and as flourishing as erstwhile it was used to be. But you will
actually find it sorely torn, dismembered, divided and weakened, for
albeit the King, your future husband, is on the right side, yet the
Princes and Lords of the Protestant faith do much hurt and injury on
the other.” And indeed she did find it even as he said.
Being now a widow, many of the most clear-sighted folk I wot of at
Court, both men and women, did deem the new King, on his arrival
back from Poland, would marry her, in spite of the fact she was his
sister-in-law. But then he could well do so by virtue of the Pope’s
dispensation, who can do much in this respect, and especially where
great personages be concerned, in view of the public advantage
involved. And there were many reasons for concluding the said marriage,
the which I have left to more authoritative writers than myself to
deduce, without my alleging them here. But amongst others one of the
chiefest was to recognise by the marriage the great obligations the
King lay under to the Emperor on the occasion of his quitting Poland
for to return to France. For there can be no reasonable doubt, an if
the Emperor had chose to put the smallest obstacle in his path, he
would never have been able to get away and cross the frontier and
make his way to France. The Poles were anxious to keep him, only he
did leave them without ever a farewell; while the Germans were on the
watch on every side to capture him (as was done to the gallant King
Richard of England, on his return from the Holy Land, as we read in
our Chronicles), and would have certainly held him prisoner and made
him pay ransom, or maybe worse. For they were exceeding sore with
him, for the sake of the Feast of Saint Bartholomew,—or at any rate
the Protestant Princes were. However, he did voluntarily and without
ceremony throw himself suddenly on the protection of the Emperor, which
did receive him very graciously and lovingly, and with great honour
and much gracious familiarity, as if the twain had been brothers.
Then presently, after he had tarried with him some days, he did in
person convoy him a day or two’s journey on his way, and give him a
perfectly safe passage through his dominions, so by his favour he did
eventually win to Carinthia, the Venetian territories, Venice itself,
and presently his own kingdom.
Such was the obligation the King of France lay under to the Emperor,
one which many persons, as I have said, did suppose the former would
have paid back by binding yet firmer his alliance with him. But at
the time he went into Poland, he had seen at Blamont in Lorraine, the
fair Louise de Lorraine, Mademoiselle de Vaudémont, one of the most
beautiful, virtuous and accomplished Princess in all Christendom. On
her he did cast such ardent eyes as that being presently inflamed with
deepest love, and keeping his passion warm all the while he was away,
he did straightway on his return to Lyons despatch M. du Gua,[97*] one
of his chiefest favourites (as truly he did in every way deserve to
be), to Lorraine. Arrived there, he did settle and conclude the match
betwixt him and her very easily and with no great disputing, as you may
well imagine, such good fortune being beyond the utmost hopes of him
and his daughter,—the one to be father-in-law of the King of France,
the other to be Queen of that Realm. Of this Princess I do propose to
speak elsewhere.
2.
To return once more to our little Queen. Wearied of a longer tarrying
in France for sundry reasons, and in especial because she was not
properly respected and appreciated there as she did deserve to be,
she did resolve to go finish out the remainder of her virtuous days
with the Emperor, her father, and the Empress, her mother. During her
residence at their Court, the Catholic King was widowed of his Queen,
Anne of Austria, own sister of the said French Queen Elisabeth. The
latter he would fain have married and did send to beg the Empress, who
was sister of the said Catholic King, to open the first proposals to
that effect. But she would never hearken, once, twice or three times
that her mother spake to her of the matter, appealing to the ashes of
the late King, her husband, the which she declared she would never
insult by a second marriage, and likewise alleging the over close
consanguinity and near relationship which was betwixt the two, whereby
the marriage might well anger God sorely. Whereupon the Empress and
the King her brother did bethink them to have a Jesuit Father, a very
learned and very eloquent man, speak with her, who did exhort and
sermonize her all ever he could, not forgetting to quote all the most
telling passages of Holy Scripture of every sort that might advance his
object. But the Queen did straight confound him with other as good and
more appropriate quotations, for since her widowhood she had applied
her earnestly to the study of God’s Word, alleging moreover her fixed
determination, which was her chiefest bulwark, never to forget her
husband in a second marriage. The end was the Jesuit came back with
naught accomplished. However, being strongly urged there by letters
from the King of Spain, he did return once again to the attack, not
content with the firm answer he had already had of the said Princess.
The latter, unwilling to waste more time in vain contest with him,
did treat him to some strong words and actual menaces, cutting him
short with the warning that if he would persist in deafening her any
more with the matter, she would make him repent his interference, even
threatening she would have him whipped in her kitchen. I have further
heard tell,—I know not with how much truth,—that, the man having
attacked her for the third time, she went beyond threats, and had him
chastised for his insolence. But this I do not believe, seeing she did
too well love folk of holy life, such as these men be.
Such was the constancy and noble firmness of this virtuous Queen,—a
constancy she did keep unbroken to the end of her days, ever honouring
the sacred ashes of her husband.[98*] Faithfully did she water these
with her mournful tears, whose fountain at the last drying up, she did
succumb to her sorrow and die very young. She could not have been more
than five and thirty at her decease,—truly a quite inestimable loss,
for she might long have been a mirror of virtue to all honourable
ladies throughout Christendom.
And verily, showing as she did the love she bare the King, her husband,
by her constancy, virtuous continence and unceasing plaints, she did
manifest the same even more finely toward the Queen of Navarre, her
sister-in-law. For knowing her to be in great extremity of distress,
and reduced to live in a remote Castle of Auvergne,[99*] all but
deserted of all her friends and followers and by the most part of
those she had erstwhile obliged, she did send to greet her and offer
her every assistance. In fact she did presently give her one-half of
all her jointure which she did enjoy in France, sharing with her as
if she had been her own proper sister. They say indeed this high-born
Queen would have had no little hardship to endure but for this great
liberality of her good and gentle kinswoman. Accordingly she did pay
her great respect, loving and honouring her so well she had all the
difficulty in the world to bear her death with proper patience. Indeed,
for twenty days running she did keep her bed, weeping and crying and
making continual moan; and ever after did naught but regret and deplore
her loss, devoting to her memory the noblest words, such that there
could be no need to borrow better to praise her withal and keep her
remembrance immortally green. I have been told further that Queen
Elisabeth too did compose and indite a work of such beauty it cometh
near God’s own word, as also one containing the history of all that
did hap in France while she was in that country. I know not if this be
true, but I have been assured the book was seen in the hands of the
Queen of Navarre, as though it had been sent her as a last present
before the other’s death. ’Twas most highly thought on of her, and
pronounced a most admirable production. At the word of so noble and
divine an oracle, what can we do but believe ’twas verily so?
Such then is the summary account I have been able to give of our good
Queen Elisabeth, of her kindness, virtue, constancy and faithfulness,
and her true and loyal love toward the King, her husband. And ’twas but
her nature to be so good and virtuous (I have heard M. de Lansac,[100*]
who was in Spain when she died, tell how the Empress said to him on
that occasion, _El mejor de nosotros es muerto_,—“The best of us all
is dead”), and we may well believe how in such actions this Queen was
but for imitating her own mother, her great aunts and aunts. For the
Empress, her mother, albeit she was left a widow when still quite young
and very handsome, would never marry again, but did ever after continue
in her widowhood, right wisely and steadfastly, having quitted Austria
and Germany, the scene of her rule, after the death of the Emperor, her
husband. She went to join her brother in Spain, having been summoned
of him and besought to go thither to help him in the heavy burden
of his affairs. This she did, for indeed she was a very prudent and
well-counselled Princess. I have heard the late King Henri III., who
was more skilled in reading character than any other man in all his
Kingdom, declare she was in his opinion one of the most honourable,
wise and accomplished Princesses in the world.