Henry III. King of France--Escape of Alençon--Rising of the
Huguenots--Revival of the marriage negotiations--Suggested
marriage of Queen Elizabeth and Don John of Austria--Efforts
of Henry III. and Catharine to provide for Alençon abroad--
Alençon’s negotiations with the Flemings--Flight of Alençon
from Paris--Elizabeth’s distrust of French interference in
Flanders--Her negotiations with Alençon on the subject--De
Bacqueville and De Quincy’s mission to England--L’Aubespine
and Rambouillet sent by the King--Spanish fears of the
Alençon match--Alençon enters Flanders and clamours for
English aid.
For the first year after the new King’s arrival in France, he and his
brother seemed to hold rival Courts. The King’s, perhaps, was the
more horribly and shamelessly licentious, but both were filled with
quarrelsome, dissolute, and utterly unscrupulous young men, who gloried
in their vices. Those who surrounded the King were mostly Catholics,
whilst Alençon’s courtiers were oftener Huguenots and moderates.
Between the two Courts quarrels, duels, and secret murders were
incessant, and a fresh civil war was the inevitable outcome of such a
rivalry.
At last matters came to a crisis, and Alençon, on the evening of
September 15, 1575, walked out of the Louvre with his face covered, and
accompanied only by a single attendant. Outside, in a quiet spot near
the Porte Ste. Honoré, his faithful courtier, Jehan Simier, of whom
more anon, was waiting with a fair lady’s carriage into which Alençon
mounted, and was carried as fast as the horses could gallop to where a
body of three hundred horsemen were ready to serve as his escort. They
got two hours’ start before the King learnt of his brother’s flight,
and orders were given in rage and panic to bring him back at any cost.
But Alençon was the heir to the crown, and the courtiers did not care
to risk his future displeasure by too much zeal, and he reached Dreux
unharmed. There he issued his proclamation, demanding reform of abuses
but taking care not to identify himself too closely with the Huguenot
cause.
From town to town through Central France the Queen-mother followed her
flying son, but he always escaped her. At last she had the boldness
to appeal for aid to the _moderates_, and released their chief,
Montmorenci, from the Bastille for the purpose of influencing Alençon.
By this time the Huguenots were in arms everywhere. Wilkes, the clerk
of Elizabeth’s Council, was sent to Condé and Montmorenci’s son, Meru,
at Strasburg, with a large sum of money, and thence across the Rhine
to raise, through Duke Casimir, “one of the finest armies that for
twenty years has issued from Germany” to enable Alençon to hold his
own against Henry III. and the Guises. But before reinforcements could
reach him Marshal Montmorenci had induced him to patch up a six months’
truce with his brother at the end of November, and for the moment the
danger of civil war was averted. But Henry III. found, as his brother
Charles had found before him, that France was not large enough to
hold both him and Alençon. The latter must be got rid of somehow. The
Duke himself said that an attempt was made to poison him, but in any
case his mother suggested to him that now that Elizabeth had been so
ready to help him with money would be a good opportunity for reviving
the marriage negotiations. Alençon, nothing loath, sent one of his
friends, named La Porte, with two letters of thanks to Elizabeth dated
at Montreuil on November 28, 1575.[94] They contain no word about
marriage, but La Porte was instructed to co-operate with Castelnau de
la Mauvissière, who was now the ambassador in England, in bringing it
forward. Elizabeth insisted, however, as a preliminary, that a complete
reconciliation should take place between the brothers and peace made
with the Huguenots before she would again entertain the matter. The
best way, said Catharine to Dale, to bring that about is for your
mistress to desist from helping the rebels; and again the negotiations
were shelved. Elizabeth’s new coolness is easily explained. Convinced,
probably, of the inutility of an alliance with France in its present
divided and unstable condition, she was for the moment actively
engaged in making friends with Spain. Granvelle’s brother Champigny,
who had come from Flanders as an envoy from Philip’s governor of the
Netherlands to treat for a resumption of friendly relations, had been
received with effusive civility. Philip’s fleet, under Pedro de Valdes,
had been hospitably entertained at Plymouth, and Corbet had been sent
to Flanders to arrange a commercial treaty between England and the
Spanish States. Elizabeth had, moreover hastily recalled the English
levies serving with Orange, although but few obeyed the call; and
finally she had despatched young Henry Cobham as an envoy to Philip
himself, in order to smooth matters over between them. In Philip’s
notes of his interview with Cobham,[95] he says that the latter told
him that Elizabeth had seen a letter from the King of France to the
Prince of Orange, “making him many fine promises”; and then he said
something about a marriage which I did not very well understand.” We
shall probably not be far out if we guess that Cobham’s vague hint
about marriage, which was so lost upon Philip, was not altogether
unconnected with certain approaches which at the same time were made on
Elizabeth’s behalf to Don John of Austria, Philip’s natural brother,
the heroic young victor of Lepanto, who at that very time was dreaming
of a marriage with the captive Queen of Scots. Don John, writing to his
brother, says: “She (Elizabeth) has sent an agent to me, who has hinted
at a marriage. I am, in my replies, putting the matter aside, but I beg
your Majesty to tell me if I am to follow it up. Although I may be led
thus to restore a Queen and her realm to the true faith, I would not
for all the world make a dishonourable choice. I blush whilst I write
this to think of accepting advances from a woman whose life and example
furnish so much food for gossip.”[96] Philip told his brother that such
an approach should not be neglected; but events marched quickly, and
before anything could come of it another turn of the kaleidoscope made
it impossible.
Alençon’s six months’ truce had not stopped Duke Casimir’s mercenaries
with Condé from crossing the frontier. Navarre, too, had escaped from
the Court, and had assumed the leadership of the Huguenots; and then
Henry III., sorely against his will, was forced to let his mother
make the best terms she could with the insurgents and their allies.
Alençon was bought over with 100,000 livres and the rich duchies of
Berri Touraine and Anjou; Casimir got 300,000 crowns, a pension of
40,000 livres a year and rich estates in France; Condé was promised
the governorship of Picardy; the Chatillons, Montgomeri, and even
poor dead La Mole and Coconas were rehabilitated, the crown jewels
were pawned to pay the German troops, and so at last peace was made.
But still the necessity for getting Alençon out of the way existed;
and, in despair of Elizabeth, active negotiations were opened for him
to marry elsewhere. Catharine of Navarre, a princess of Cleves, and
a daughter of the Palatine were all mentioned, but the most tempting
and diplomatic project was to marry him to Philip’s eldest daughter
and give him the government of the Spanish Netherlands. This would
have drawn his claws indeed. The Walloons and Catholic Flemings also
approached him with similar suggestions, and Alençon deserted the
Protestant cause entirely, and became suddenly a devout Catholic. He
even accepted the command of a force against the Huguenots, upon whom
he was implacable in his severity.[97]
This change of front frightened Elizabeth, who feared that if the
Protestants in the Netherlands were conquered her turn would come
next, and she once more held out the bait of marriage. She expressed
sorrow to Castelnau that the Duke had ceased to write to her and had
forgotten her. But this time the fish failed to rise, and for the
next three years Alençon remained ostentatiously Catholic, sometimes
in arms against Huguenot resistance, sometimes at Court with his
brother, with whom he was nominally on good terms. But the personal
hatred and jealousy between them continued still, and the duels and
murders between their respective courtiers went on as before. The
Duke’s turbulent and discontented friends openly scoffed at the painted
mignons who surrounded the King, and if they resented the insult, Bussy
d’Amboise, the first swordsman in France, was ready to fight any number
of them.
At length, at the beginning of 1578, Bussy d’Amboise was waylaid in
Paris and nearly murdered by some of the King’s courtiers, and had
to seek safety in absence from the Court. Then several other of the
Duke’s friends were bought over by favours to the King’s side, and the
mignons, emboldened by his isolation, went to the length of sneering at
Alençon himself. This was at a ball at the palace of the Montmorencis
to which Catharine had forced her son to go against his will; and
fearing that this demonstration of the mignons portended the Bastille
or poison for himself, the Duke lost patience, and demanded permission
to withdraw himself from Court for a time. The only answer vouchsafed
was the rigid searching of his apartments by the Scots guard at
midnight, in the presence of the King himself, with every circumstance
of contumely. The Duke was arrested, all his papers were seized, and
the principal friends who remained with him were cast into the Bastille.
It must be confessed that, given Alençon’s turbulent character, there
were circumstances which fully justified the suspicions of Henry III.
against his brother. The “Spanish fury” in Antwerp in 1576 had turned
even the Walloons and Catholic Flemings against Philip’s rule, and
they had made common cause with Orange’s Protestants in the North. It
was seen then that all the arms of Spain would be powerless to subdue
them; and, hardly pressed as Philip was, he was forced to send his
brother Don John on a mission of pacification at all costs. But Don
John was a soldier, and it cut him to the heart, as he said, to bend
the knee and make terms “with these drunken wineskins of Flemings”; so
after swearing the perpetual edict of pacification, he resented the
continued exigencies of the States, treacherously seized the citadel of
Namur, summoned troops from Italy and elsewhere, and bade the “rebels”
do their worst. In order to sow dissension between the two branches
of the house of Austria, the Walloon nobles had brought to Flanders
as their governor the young Archduke Mathias as an avowed rival of
the Protestant Orange. He was a poor creature, but the great Taciturn
patriotically persuaded his followers to recognise him as their
chief, he, Orange, being his lieutenant. This, after some turmoil and
bloodshed, they did, and it was in his name that the hastily gathered
levies of the States went out to attack Don John who had betrayed them.
The victor of Lepanto with his few veterans met them on the last day
of January, 1578, and completely defeated them, and the insurgent
Flemings once more were at the mercy of the cruel Spanish soldiery,
who were speeding back again from Italy eager to shed the blood again
of the brave burghers who only a few months before had insisted upon
their withdrawal. Mathias was a broken reed--he had no money, no
followers, no influence, and no prestige, so the Flemings were fain to
look elsewhere for help. Elizabeth had aided the Protestant Hollanders
bravely, but the Catholic Flemings did not wish to be merged in and
governed by the Dutch States, and had to seek help from a Catholic
prince. Conciliation they had tried, and they had been betrayed. A
prince of the house of Austria had been chosen, and had turned out
useless. Where, then, could they look but to a prince of France,
unfettered by Spanish sympathies? So Alençon was approached, and
expressed his willingness to raise his friends, the moderate Catholics
and the Huguenots to aid the Flemings in their resistance. This, of
course, was known to Catharine and Henry III., and as such an action
on the part of Alençon might have involved France in a war with Spain,
there was no doubt good ground for the Duke’s belief that his brother
intended to put him out of harm’s way by quietly shutting him up in
the Bastille to keep company with his faithful friends who were there
already.
Bussy d’Amboise had not been idle outside in the meanwhile. He had
sent the fiery cross through the provinces, and men-at-arms and nobles
were flocking to the Flemish frontier to join the standard of Alençon
when it should be raised. The gates of Paris, it is true, were closely
guarded, and Alençon himself, with his sister Margaret (who herself
tells the story so racily), were not allowed out of the sight of the
Scottish archers. But the Court was full of nobles who were disgusted
with the King’s mode of life, and plans were rife to rescue the
captive. Bussy crept back into Paris to plan an escape with Simier,
but both were captured and laid by the heels. Then Catharine managed
somehow to patch up a reconciliation. Bussy was made to kiss his
principal antagonist Quélus in the presence of the whole Court, which
he did in so exaggerated a fashion as to make every one laugh, and left
Quélus more enraged than ever. The prison doors were opened, the guards
removed, and the partisans of both brothers swore eternal friendship.
But the mignons saw the wound was rankling, and told the King so the
same night. The guards were again ordered to watch Alençon’s door, and
after three days of semi-imprisonment, on the 14th of February, his
sister contrived his escape with Simier, from her chamber on the second
floor of the Louvre, by a rope into the moat. Bussy was awaiting him
in the abbey of St. Généviève, where, by connivance of the abbot, a
hole had been knocked in the city wall, through which they escaped, and
swift horses carried them to Angers, where they were safe.[98]
All France was in a turmoil. Huguenots and “malcontents” raised their
heads once more, and all the South was up in arms. Catharine, who
was never to rest, sped after her fugitive son, and with tears and
entreaties besought him to return, but without avail. Henry III.
pretended to put a good face upon it, and told the Spanish ambassador
Mendoza, on his way to England a few days afterwards, that his brother
was still obedient and would do nothing against Flanders. But all
the world knew better, and an entirely new complicating element had
entered into European politics, of which it was difficult for the
moment to guess the ultimate effect. How disturbing an element it was
to Elizabeth may be seen by a minute in Burleigh’s handwriting,[99]
putting the case from every point of view. Envoys were sent from
England both to the States and to Don John to urge them to come to
a peaceful arrangement without French interference. The States were
to be reminded how much England had done for them, and the danger
incurred by allowing the French to enter, as, being poor, they (the
French) would seek to reimburse themselves by making themselves
masters of the country, or otherwise would end in turning to the side
of Don John and the Spaniards. In either of these cases the English
would have to oppose them, and the only terms upon which Elizabeth
would allow the French to be employed were that an equal number of
Englishmen should enter with them. Don John, on the other hand, was to
be alarmed by the idea that Alençon’s entrance would only be a cloak
for a French national invasion of Flanders, and that Elizabeth would be
forced to aid the States to repel it. In fact, if Alençon’s adventure
was secretly under his brother’s patronage, it would have been as
disastrous for England as for Spain, whilst, if affairs could so be
guided that Alençon might depend upon English patronage and money for
his expedition, Elizabeth’s ends would be well served. For the next
few years, therefore, the aim of English diplomacy was to capture
Alençon for English interests and embroil him with his brother, whilst
at the same time avoiding an open rupture with Spain. Alençon knew,
as Elizabeth did not, that he would get no aid, secret or overt, from
his brother, so he lost no time in protesting to the English Queen
his “undying affection for her” in a letter written from the town of
Alençon in May, 1578, and to this an encouraging reply was sent. In
vain his brother and mother threatened and cajoled. Dukedoms, money,
marriage-alliances were offered him in vain. On the 7th of July he
crossed the frontier at the request of the States and threw himself
into Mons for the purpose, as he declared, of “helping this oppressed
people, and humiliating the pride of Spain.” Two days before this
he had despatched one of his wisest friends--his chamberlain, de
Bacqueville--to Elizabeth, to assure her again of his entire devotion
to her, to explain his entry into Flanders, to beg for her guidance and
counsel, and renew his offer of marriage. But Elizabeth distrusted the
French, and half thought Alençon’s move was only a cloak for a Catholic
invasion of England from France and Spain combined; so she could run
no risks, and at once subsidised a mercenary German army of 20,000
men, under the Duke Hans Casimir, to be ready to cross the Flemish
frontier when necessary in her interest, whilst she still actively
continued her efforts to bring about a fresh agreement on the basis
of the pacification of Ghent between Don John and the States. Under
no circumstances, she repeated again and again to all parties, would
she allow the French to become paramount in Flanders, and she swore
violently to Mendoza, “three times by God that if Don John did not
re-enact the perpetual edict of peace, she would help the States whilst
she had a man left in England.”[100]
English auxiliaries were allowed to slip over to the States by the
thousand with arms and money; and the Duke of Arschot’s brother, the
Marquis d’Havrey, who came from the Walloons to beg for aid, was made
clearly to understand that for every Frenchman in Flanders there must
be an Englishman. The States desired nothing better; it meant double
help for them, and they were ready to promise anything for men and
money. When de Bacqueville first arrived in England Elizabeth was
still uncertain as to whether Henry III. was helping his brother,
and she kept the envoy at arm’s length for awhile, Sussex being the
intermediary between them; but when Walsingham and Cobham returned from
an unsuccessful mission of peace in Flanders, and her own agents in
France had assured her that Alençon was really acting in despite of his
brother, her attitude towards her young suitor completely changed. De
Bacqueville had succeeded in impressing honest Sussex with his master’s
sincerity, and the desirability of the match. Alençon, he said, was
determined to marry “either the Queen or the Netherlands”; and if she
would not listen to his suit, he would join hands with Don John and the
Spaniards. Late in July Alençon sent another agent, named de Quincy, to
England, to again assure the Queen that “he would be directed by her in
all his actions in the Low Countries”; and Sussex, who was again the
intermediary, laid before the Queen strong arguments in favour of her
marriage.[101]
At length Elizabeth felt assured. Hans Casimir had entered Flanders
with a strong force of mercenary Germans; Don John was chafing in
Namur, frantic with despair and disappointment, his heartbroken cries
for help all unheeded by cold-blooded Philip and false Perez; Alençon
depended entirely upon England; the Flemings, Catholics and Protestants
alike, having found the Archduke Mathias a broken reed, could only look
to Elizabeth and Alençon for rescue from their troubles. So, the game
being now entirely in her own hands, the Queen could once more enter
with full zest into the long-neglected marriage negotiations. She was
on a progress through the eastern counties, and received de Bacqueville
and de Quincy at Long Melford. Extraordinary efforts were made to show
them special honour, and Mendoza in one of his letters[102] gives a
curious instance of this, and of Elizabeth’s treatment of even her most
distinguished ministers. At a banquet given by her to Alençon’s envoys,
she took it into her head that there ought to have been more plate on
the sideboard to impress the Frenchmen. Angrily calling Sussex, as Lord
Steward, she asked him why there was so little silver. He replied that
he had accompanied the sovereigns of England on their progresses for
many years past, and he had never seen so much plate carried before as
she was carrying; whereupon she flew into a rage, told him to hold his
tongue, called him a great rogue, and said that the more she did for
people like him the worse they became. This was bad enough before the
envoys and the Frenchmen; but it was not all, for Elizabeth turned to
Lord North, a friend of Leicester’s of course, and asked his opinion.
He, courtier-like, agreed that there was very little silver, and threw
the blame on Sussex. The latter waited for him outside and called him a
knave and threatened to thrash him; Leicester intervened, and the whole
Court was set by the ears, whereupon the Spanish ambassador chuckles to
think how easy “they may all be brought to discord.” In fact, no sooner
did the marriage negotiations assume a serious aspect than Leicester
and his friends secretly thwarted them. The young Earl of Oxford,
for instance, was a very graceful dancer, and was twice sent for by
the Queen to show off his agility before Alençon’s envoys, but he
absolutely refused, of course at Leicester’s prompting, to contribute
to the pleasure or amusement of Frenchmen. After all the feasting and
cajolery of de Bacqueville and de Quincy they got but little solid
satisfaction from the Queen. She told them that it was entirely their
master’s fault that the negotiations had been dropped for two years.
She herself could give no other answer than that which she had given so
often before. She could not marry any prince without seeing him, and if
Alençon was going to take offence in case, after seeing him, she did
not accept him, he had better not come; if, on the other hand, he was
in earnest, and would remain friendly in any case, he could come on
a simple visit with but few followers. Cecil, at all events, did not
believe in the Queen’s sincerity at this time, for he said that if he
were in de Bacqueville’s place he would not bring his master over on
such a message. With the message, such as it was, de Quincy went back
to his master at Antwerp at the end of August, but the loan of 300,000
crowns for which de Bacqueville had entreated was not forthcoming, at
all events without good security. Bussy d’Amboise soon after came to
England with a similar errand, but with no better result. The Queen’s
first condition of the marriage was the retirement of Alençon from
the Netherlands. Nor was pressure wanting from other quarters to the
same effect. The Pope, through his Nuncio, offered the young prince a
great pension if he would retire, his brother alternately threatened
and cajoled, Catharine de Medici held out the bait of a marriage with
one of the infantas, and Alençon himself was already disappointed at
the failure of the States to fulfil their promises to him and place
some strong places in his hands. In fact, the French prince was looked
upon by the northern Dutchmen as coldly as Mathias had been, and if
he could bring neither the national support of England or France he
would be as useless as the Austrian had been. And so everything hung
on the caprice of Elizabeth. It was still desirable for the King of
France, if possible, to marry his brother in England, and especially
if, at the same time, he could secure an alliance between the two
countries. The principal point he had to avoid was being driven into
an attitude of antagonism to Spain whilst England remained unpledged
and Alençon unwed; and these were the very objects towards which
Elizabeth’s personal policy tended. Whilst de Bacqueville was in
England in the autumn of 1578, two of the French king’s principal
advisers were sent to forward the marriage negotiations. These were
Rambouillet and L’Aubespine, who were received by the Queen at Norwich,
and satisfied her that Henry III. would give her and his brother a
free hand in Flanders and every help in his power if a marriage and
alliance could be brought about, but not otherwise; and another attempt
was made to disarm the secret opposition of Leicester to the match by
suggesting to him a marriage between himself and a French princess.
These negotiations went on with varying success during the months
of September and October, 1578, and it was publicly announced that
Alençon himself would come in November. Philip never believed in the
sincerity of the Queen and constantly told his ambassador that it was
“all pastime and would end in smoke”; but Mendoza, less experienced
than his master in Elizabeth’s policy, was much perturbed at the
prospect. He had an interview with the Queen early in October about the
pacification of Flanders, and turned the conversation to the subject of
her marriage with Alençon. Mendoza asked her when it was to take place;
to which she replied that she did not know, but asked him whether he
thought she ought to marry Alençon. His answer was that, although she
as usual would act with wisdom, he knew the object of the French was
to prevent the aggrandisement of her crown and the quietude of her
country. Elizabeth at this time was herself again conceiving suspicions
of the French. Catharine de Medici and her dissolute daughter between
them, aided by their “flying squadron” of beauties, had managed to sap
the vigour and Protestant ardour of Henry of Navarre and his Court,
and Paulet sent from France shortly afterwards alarmist news that the
King of France had entered into the Papal league against England, and
had sent to engage mercenaries in Germany to enable Alençon to keep a
footing in Flanders in spite of her opposition. The news was probably
untrue, but in any case it was clear to Alençon that unless aid came
to him promptly and liberally from somewhere he must ignominiously
turn tail again and re-enter France. The country people looked upon
the Frenchmen as enemies and intruders; all stragglers were murdered
without mercy, and Alençon himself was without means even to feed
his followers. He must therefore gain Elizabeth’s support or confess
himself beaten and return to the tender mercy of his affectionate
brother, and he had to choose an envoy more persuasive than those he
had sent before. The man he selected was one who for the next three
years played a prominent and astounding part in this strange drama.
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