strip him of his power, the ceremony being held in a great Hall wherein
he had called together an assembly of his Estates, after he had made a
set speech and said all he wished to his son, and had likewise humbly
thanked his sister, Queen Mary, which was seated by the side of the
Emperor her brother, the latter presently rising from her seat, and
with a deep reverence to her brother, did address the people with a
grave and dignified port and much confidence and grace, and said as
follows: “Gentlemen, for these three and twenty years past that my
brother, the Emperor, hath been pleased to grant me the charge and
government of these Low Countries, I have ever employed in the said
task all the means and abilities that God, Nature and Fortune have
bestowed on me, for to perform the same to the utmost of my powers. But
an if in aught I have made failure, I am surely to be excused, for I
think I have never forgot my duty nor spared the proper pains. Yet, and
if I _have_ lacked in anything, I do beg you to forgive me. However,
if there be any one of you will not so do, but is ill content with
me and my government, why! ’tis the smallest of my cares, seeing the
Emperor, my brother, is well content, and to please him, and him alone,
hath ever been the chiefest of my desires and cares.” With these words
and another deep reverence to the Emperor, she did resume her seat. I
have heard some say this speech was found of many somewhat over proud
and haughty, more especially on occasion her giving up her charge and
bidding farewell to a people she was about to leave. ’Twould surely
have been more natural, had she desired to leave a good savour in their
mouth and some grief behind her on her departure. But for all this she
had never a thought, seeing her sole end was to please and content her
brother, and from henceforth to take no heed of the world but keep her
brother company in his retirement and life of prayer.
This account I had of a gentleman of my brother’s suite, which was
at the time at Brussels, whither he had gone to treat of the ransom
of my brother aforesaid, he having been taken prisoner in Hedin, and
having spent five years in confinement at Lille in Flanders. The said
gentleman was present throughout this assembly and mournful abdication
of the Emperor; and did tell me how not a few persons were something
scandalized in secret at this haughty pronouncement of the Queen’s, yet
did never dare say a word or let their opinion appear, seeing plainly
they had to do with a masterful dame, which, if angered, would surely
before her final departure have done something startling for a last
stroke.
Presently freed of all her charge and responsibility, she doth
accompany her brother to Spain; which land she did never after quit,
either she or her sister Queen Eleanor, till the day of death. Of the
three, each did survive the other by one year; the Emperor died first,
the Queen of France next, being the eldest, then the Queen of Hungary
after the two others, her brother and sister. Both sisters did behave
them wisely and well in widowhood; the Queen of Hungary was a longer
time widow than her sister, and did never marry again, while her sister
did so twice, partly to be Queen of France, a dainty morsel, partly by
the prayers and persuasion of the Emperor, to the end she might be a
sure pledge of peace and public quietness. Not that the said pledge did
avail for long while, for War brake out again presently, as cruel as
ever. However this was no fault of the poor Princess, who did all she
could. Yet for all that did King Francis, her husband, treat her but
scurvily, hating and abominating the connection, as I have been told.
4.
After the departure of the Queen of Hungary there was left no great
Princess with King Philip (now Sovereign Lord invested with his domains
in the Netherlands and elsewhere), but only the Duchesse de Lorraine,
Christina of Denmark,[107*] his cousin german, later entitled Her
Highness, which did always hold him good company, so long as he tarried
in these parts. She did add much to the brilliance of his Court, for
truly no Court, whether of King, Prince, Emperor or Monarch, no matter
how magnificent it be, is of much account, if it be not accompanied
and seconded by a Queen’s or Empress’s Court, or at least a great
Princess’s, and thereat a good abundance of noble dames and damsels,
as both myself have observed and have heard pronouncement to the same
effect in the highest quarters.
This said Princess was in mine opinion one of the most beauteous and
most well accomplished Princesses I have ever seen,—in face very
fair and pleasing, her figure very tall and fine, her conversation
agreeable, and above all her dress most excellent. In fact all her life
she was the pattern and model of fashion to all the ladies of France.
This mode of dressing head and hair and arranging the veil was known
as the Lorraine way, and ’twas a pretty sight to see our Court ladies
so attired. These were ever a-making grand fêtes and splendid shows,
the better thereat to show off their dainty adornments, all being _à
la Lorraine_ and copied after Her Highness. In especial she had one
of the prettiest hands ever seen; and I have heard the Queen Mother
herself praise the same, and liken it to her own for perfection. She
had an excellent seat on horseback, and rode with no little grace,
always using the stirrup attached to the saddle, the mode whereof she
had learned of the Queen Marie, her aunt, and the Queen Mother, so I
have heard say of her; for previously she had ridden with help of the
old-fashioned “planchette,”[108] which was far from properly showing
off her grace and her elegant seat like the stirrup. In all this she
was for imitating the Queen her aunt, never mounting any but Spanish
horses, Turks, Barbs and the very best jennets, which could go well
at the amble. Of such I have seen a dozen capital mounts at one time
in her stable, all so excellent, ’twere impossible to say one was
better than another. The said aunt did love her dearly, as well for the
exercises they both were fond of, hunting, riding and the like, as for
her virtues, the which she did observe in her. Accordingly, after her
marriage, she did often go to visit her in Flanders, as I have heard
Madame de Fontaines relate; and indeed after she became a widow, and
especially after her son had been taken from her, she did quit Lorraine
altogether in despite, so proud and high of heart was she. She did
thereafter take up her abode with the Emperor her uncle and the Queens
her aunts, all which great personages did receive her with no small
pleasure.
She did bear exceeding hardly the loss and absence of her son, and
this in spite of all possible excuses which King Henri did make her,
and his declared intention of adopting him as his son. But presently,
finding no assuagement, and seeing how they were giving him one M.
de La Brousse as tutor, instead of the one he now had, namely M. de
Montbardon, a very wise and honourable gentleman the Emperor himself
had assigned to that office, having long known him for a worthy man,
for he had been in the service of M. de Bourbon, and was a French
refugee, the Princess, thinking all desperate, did seek out King Henri
one Holy Thursday in the great Gallery at Nancy, where all his Court
was assembled. Thus, with an assured grace and that great beauty which
did make her yet more admirable, she did advance, with no undue awe or
any sort of abasement at his grandeur, albeit bowing low in reverence
before him; and in suppliant wise, with tears in her eyes, the which
did but make her more fair and more delightsome to look upon, did
remonstrate with the King as to the wrong he was doing her in taking
away her son,—the dearest possession she had in all the world. Little
did she deserve, she added, so harsh treatment, seeing the high station
she was born in and the fact she had never dreamed of doing aught to
his disservice. All this she said so well and with so excellent a
grace, with reasoning so cogent and complaint so pitiful, as that the
King, always very courteous toward ladies, was deeply stirred with
compassion,—and not he alone, but all the Lords and Princes, great and
small, which were present at the sight.
The King, who was the most respectful monarch toward ladies hath ever
been in France, did answer her in very honourable terms, albeit with
no rigmarole of words nor by way of set harangue, as Paradin doth
represent the matter in his _History of France_; for indeed of his
nature this monarch was not so prolix, nor copious in reasons and fine
speeches, nor a mighty orator. Neither had he any need to be, nor is
it becoming that a King should play the philosopher and rhetorician,
the shortest replies and briefest questions being more meet for him and
more becoming. This I have heard argued by not a few great men, amongst
others by M. de Pibrac,[109*] whose judgment was much to be relied on
by reason of the competence of knowledge he did possess. Moreover any
one that shall read the speech as given by Paradin, as supposed by him
to have been delivered in this place by King Henri, will credit never
a word of it; besides which, I have heard positively from a number
of great folk which were there present that he did not make any such
lengthy harangue as the historian saith.
’Tis quite true at the same time that he did condole with her in very
honourable and proper phrase on her alleged grievance, saying she had
no real reason to be troubled thereat, for that ’twas to assure the
lad’s estate, and not out of any selfish hostility toward him, he was
fain to have her son by his side, and to keep him along with his own
son and heir, to share his bringing up and fashion of life and fortune.
Further that himself being French, and the boy of French extraction,
he could scarce be better off than to be reared at the French Court
and among French folk, where he had so many kinsmen and friends.
In especial he forgat not to add how the house of Lorraine did lie
under greater obligation to that of France than to any other in all
Christendom, alleging the countenance given by France to the Duke of
Lorraine as against Duke Charles of Burgundy, that was slain before
Nancy. For that ’twas an undoubted truth to say that but for that
Country’s help, the said Duke would have utterly undone the Duke of
Lorraine and his Duchy to boot, and made him the most unhappy Prince
in the world. He did further allege the gratitude they of the House
of Lorraine did owe to the French, for the great assistance rendered
them by the latter in their successes in the Holy Wars and conquests of
Jerusalem, and the Kingdom of Naples and Sicily. Further he did declare
how neither his natural bent nor true interests were like to set him on
ruining and undoing Princes, but rather to help the same in all ways,
when in danger and difficulty,—as he had actually done to the little
Queen of Scots, a near kinswoman of his son, to the Duke of Parma, as
well as to Germany, that was so sore pressed it was nigh coming to
utter ruin without such help. The same kindness and generosity, he
said, was his motive for taking the young Prince of Lorraine under his
protection, for to bring him up to an higher estate than else he could
aspire to, and make him his son by marrying him eventually to one of
his own daughters; in fine that she had no sort of call to be afflicted
at his action.
Yet could not all these fine words and excellent reasons in any wise
calm her grief, neither enable her to bear her loss one whit more
patiently. So presently with another deep reverence, and still shedding
many pathetic tears, she did withdraw her to her own chamber, the King
himself conducting her to the door thereof. Next day, before quitting
the place, he did visit her in her chamber to bid her farewell, but
without her winning any concession as to her petition. Accordingly
having thus seen her beloved son torn from her and carried away to
France, she did resolve for her part to leave Lorraine altogether and
retire to Flanders to the side of her uncle the Emperor (oh! the fine
sound of that word) and to the company of her cousin King Philip and
the Queens her aunts—a noble alliance and a great! This she did; and
did never leave Flanders more, till after conclusion of the peace
betwixt the two Kings, when he of Spain took ship and sailed away for
that country.
To the making of the said peace she did no little avail, my! rather was
the chiefest contributor thereto. For the delegates of the one side and
the other, by what I have heard said, after having laboured and sweated
all in vain at Cercan for several days, without arranging or settling
aught, were still at fault and off the scent, as we say in hunting,
when she, whether inspired by wisdom from on high or urged thereto
by Christian zeal and her own kind heart, did take up the chase, and
carry this important negotiation to a good end and one so fortunate to
all Christian peoples. And of a truth ’twas said no other could have
been found so meet to move and set in place this great corner stone,
seeing she was a lady of skill and experience if ever there was one,
as well as of high and weighty authority,—and there can be never a
doubt but petty, low-born folk are not so apt for the like business
as great personages be. For this and many other reasons the King her
cousin did feel much trust and confidence in her, well knowing her
good qualities. He did ever love her well, bearing her much affection
and esteem; and indeed she did help him much and contribute greatly
to the splendour and renown of his Court, the which without her would
have sorely lacked brilliancy. Yet afterward, I have been told, he did
show her but poor gratitude and treated her scurvily with regard to her
lands which did fall to her for jointure in the Duchy of Milan, where
she had been married in first wedlock with the Duke Sforza; for by
what I have been informed, he did rob her and bring her short of some
portion of these.
I have heard it said that after the loss of her son, she did remain
very ill content with the Duc de Guise and the great Cardinal her
brother, holding them to blame for having advised the King to that
course, by reason of their ambition, both because they were fain to
see their near cousin adopted as son and married within the House of
France, and because she had some while before refused M. de Guise in
marriage, which had sent to her to make such offer. She being one of
the proudest of womankind, made answer she would never wed the younger
son of the house whereof she had been wife of the eldest. For this
rebuff the Duke did ever after bear her a grudge, and this although he
did lose naught in his subsequent marriage, his wife being of a most
illustrious house and granddaughter of a King, Louis XII., one of the
best and bravest monarchs have ever sat on the French throne,—and what
is more, being one of the most beautiful women in Christendom.
Hereanent I have heard tell how the first time these two beauteous
Princesses met, both were so curious to mark one the other, whether
directing their gaze straight in the face, or askance or sideways,
as that neither could look long enough, so set were they and eager
to examine each other’s charms. I leave you to fancy all the divers
thoughts must have traversed these fair ladies’ minds. Just so we do
read how a little before the great battle was fought in Africa betwixt
Scipio and Hannibal, which did put a final end to the War of Rome and
Carthage, how previous to its beginning, they did come together in a
short truce of some two hours’ duration. Whenas they were approached
near each other, there the twain of them stood some little while
wrapped in contemplation one of the other, each thinking of the valour
of the other, so renowned by their exploits and so well represented
in their gallant visages, their persons, and their fine, warlike ways
and bearing. Then after so tarrying entranced in these noble dreams
the one of the other, they did presently set them to negotiation after
the fashion Livy hath so well described. Thus valour doth make itself
esteemed in the midst of enmity and hate, as doth beauty in the midst
of mutual jealousy,—as proven in the case of the two fair Princesses I
have spoke of.
Truly the beauty and charming grace of these twain might well be
pronounced equal, only that Madame de Guise mayhap did in some ways
bear the bell. But she was well content to surpass her rival in these
qualities only, never a whit in pride and high bearing; for indeed she
was the most gentle, good, condescending and affable Princess ever
known, albeit she could show herself at need high-spirited and gallant.
Nature had framed her so, no less by reason of her tall and noble
figure than of her dignified port and stately carriage, so that to look
at her a man might well fear and think twice about addressing her in
speech, yet having plucked up courage so to accost her, naught would he
find in her but all sweetness, candour and good-nature,—these pleasant
qualities being inherited from her grandfather, the good father of his
people, and the kindly French habit. ’Tis true enough however she knew
very well how to keep her dignity and show her pride, when need was. I
do hope to further speak of her specially in another place.
Her Highness of Lorraine on the contrary was exceeding proud and
somewhat overweening. This myself did note on sundry occasions in her
bearing toward the Queen of Scots, who after she was a widow, did make
a journey to Lorraine, where I then was. Not seldom you would have
thought the aforesaid proud Princess was eager to take advantage and
encroach somewhat upon the unhappy Queen’s majesty. Yet the latter,
who was a woman of the world and of a high spirit, did never give her
occasion to glory over her or in any wise encroach on her dignity,
albeit her bearing was always gentleness itself. Indeed the Cardinal
her brother had duly warned her and given her an inkling of the haughty
humour of the said Princess.
Never could this latter entirely rid her of her pride, yet was she
fain to modify the same somewhat toward the Queen Mother (Catherine
de Medici), when they met. Verily ’twas pride against pride; for the
Queen Mother was the very proudest woman in all the world, when need
was, as I have myself seen, and heard the same character given her of
many great personages,—and above all if it were necessary to lower
the pride of some presumptuous person, for she would ever contrive to
abase such to the very bowels of the earth. Yet did she always bear
herself courteously toward her Highness, treating her with sufficient
deference and respect, yet ever keeping a tight rein, hand high or
hand low as occasion did demand, for fear she should mayhap forget
herself and presume on some liberty; and myself did hear her twice or
thrice declare, “Yonder is the proudest woman I ever saw!” This was at
the time she came to the coronation of our late King Charles IX. at
Reims, whither she was invited. On her entry into that city, she would
not ride a-horseback, fearing thereby to derogate something of her
dignity and rank, but did arrive in a coach magnificently furnished,
all covered with black velvet, by reason of her widowhood, and drawn
by four white barbs, the finest could anywhere be chosen, harnessed
four abreast, as it had been a triumphal chariot. Herself was at the
carriage door, splendidly attired, though all in black, in a velvet
robe, but her head dress all of white, magnificently arranged and
set off. At the other door was one of her daughters, which was after
Duchess of Bavaria;[110*] and within, her maid of honour, the Princess
of Macedonia. The Queen Mother, desiring to see her enter the outer
court in this triumphant guise, did set her at a window, exclaiming
in an undertone, “Oh! the haughty dame it is!” Presently when she had
stepped down from her carriage and mounted to the great hall above,
the Queen did go forward to meet her only so far as the midmost of
the hall, or mayhap a little farther and somewhat nearer the entrance
door than the upper end. Yet did she receive her very graciously, and
showed her great honour; for at the time she was ruler in all things,
in view of the youth of the King her son, and did govern him and make
him entirely conform to her good pleasure. All the Court, great and
small alike, did esteem and much admire the said Princess, and much
appreciate her beauty, albeit she was coming nigh the decline of her
years, which might then be something over forty; yet was no sign of
change or decay in her, her Autumn altogether surpassing other women’s
Summer. None can do other than think highly of this fair Princess,
seeing how beautiful she was, and yet did safeguard her widowhood
to the tomb, and so inviolably and chastely, indulging in no third
marriage, keep her faith to the manes of her husband.
She did die within a year after hearing the news of her being Queen of
Denmark, whence she did spring, and the Kingdom of which had fallen to
her. In this wise before her death she did see her title of Highness,
the which she had borne so long, changed to that of Majesty, which yet
was hers but a short while, less than six months in all. I ween she
would gladly enough have borne the old title still, an if she could
have kept therewith her erstwhile bloom of youth and beauty, for truly
all empires and kingdoms be as nothing compared with youth. Natheless
was it an honour and consolation to her before her death to bear this
name of Queen; but for all this, by what I have heard say, she was firm
resolved not to go to her kingdom, but to finish out the rest of her
days on her jointure lands in Italy, at Tortona. And the folk of that
country did call her naught else but the Lady of Tortona—not a very
grand title and quite unworthy of her. Thither she had retired a good
while before her decease, as well for sake of certain vows she had
sworn to perform at the holy places of that region, as to be nearer
the baths of those parts; for she had fallen into bad health and grown
exceeding gouty.
Her life was spent in very pious, holy and honourable
exercises,—praying God and giving much alms and charity toward the
poor, and above all toward widows, among whom she did not forget the
unfortunate Madame Castellane of Milan, the which we have seen at Court
dragging out a miserable existence, had it not been for the help of
the Queen Mother, which did always provide her somewhat to live on.
She was daughter of the Princess of Macedonia, being a scion of that
great house. Myself have seen her a venerable and aged dame; and she
had been governess to her Highness. The latter, learning the extreme
poverty wherein the poor lady did live, sent to seek her out, and had
her brought to her side and did treat her so well she never more felt
the sore distress she had endured in France.
Such is the summary account I have been able to give of this great
and noble Princess, and how, a widow and a very beautiful woman, she
lived a most wise and prudent life. True, it may be said she was
married previously to the Duke Sforza. Well and good! but he did die
immediately after, and they were married less than a year, and she was
made a widow at fifteen or sixteen. Whereupon her uncle the Emperor
did wed her to the Duke of Lorraine, the better to strengthen himself
in his divers alliances. But once again she was widowed in the flower
of her age, having enjoyed her fine marriage but a very few years.
The days which were left her, the best of her life and those most
highly to be valued and most delightfully to be enjoyed, these she did
deliberately spend in a retired and chaste widowhood.
Well! seeing I am on the subject, I must e’en speak of some other fair
widows in briefest phrase,—and first of one of former days, that noble
widow, Blanche de Montferrat,[111*] one of the great and ancient
houses of Italy, which was Duchess of Savoy and the most beauteous and
most perfect Princess of her time, and one of the most prudent and well
advised. So well and wisely did she govern her son’s minority and his
lands, that never was seen so prudent a dame and so excellent a mother,
left a widow as she was at three and twenty.
She it was which did receive so honourably the young King Charles
VIII., on his way to his Kingdom of Naples, in all her lands, and
above all in her good town of Turin, where she did afford him a very
stately entry. Herself was pleased to be present, and did walk in the
progress very sumptuously attired, showing she well understood her
dignity as a great lady; for she was in imposing array, clad in a long
robe of cloth of gold fretted, and all bordered with great diamonds,
rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and other rich jewels. Her head likewise
was encircled with the like precious stones, while at her neck she
wore a necklace or collar of huge Oriental pearls of priceless worth,
and on her arms bracelets of the same. She was mounted on a fine white
hackney, very magnificently caparisoned and led by six tall lackeys,
dressed in figured cloth of gold. Following her came a large company of
damsels, very richly, neatly and charmingly dressed in the Piedmontese
fashion, that ’twas a pleasure to see them, and after these a very
strong body of gentlemen and knights of the country. Then after her
train did enter and march into the city King Charles himself under a
rich canopy of state, lighting down at length at the Castle, where
he was lodged. There at the Gate, before entering in, the Duchess of
Savoy did present her son to him, which was yet a mere boy; after which
she did make him a very excellent speech of welcome, putting at his
service all her lands and goods, both her own and those of her son.
This courtesy the King did accept with gratitude, thanking her heartily
and expressing great obligation to her. Through all the city were to
be seen the scutcheons of France and of Savoy, bound together with a
true lovers’ knot, uniting the two scutcheons and the two blazons,
with these words, _Sanguinis arctus amor_ (Close the tie of blood), as
described in the _Chronicle of Savoy_.[112*]