The Queen and the Courtesan (12 page)

‘Very well. I will prevail upon the King to sanction your marriage and continued residence in France, and to bestow upon you and your husband senior appointments in the royal household.'

The wily Italian smiled and nodded, well pleased. ‘For myself I would wish to be
Dame d'atours
, and something notable for Concini.'

‘An ambassador perhaps?'

‘Perfect.'

The bargain was struck. Using all her considerable charms La Marquise found little difficulty in persuading Henry to agree to the intrigue, on the grounds that the deal allowed him to keep his mistress at court, close by his side, while satisfying his wife's request for preferment of her favourites. Thus achieving both desire and duty.

‘
Ventre Saint Gris
, what a clever minx you are,' he said with a laugh, unaware that the idea had sprung from a different source.

They were walking arm in arm in the gardens and Henriette cast him a sideways glance from beneath her lashes. ‘My aim is ever to please you, Your Majesty.' And leaning back against a tree she lifted her skirts to reveal she was quite naked beneath, without even her silk stockings.

‘Oh, you do, dear heart. You most certainly do.'

He was in such a hurry to have her he almost tore his clothing in his urgent desire to release himself. Then he pushed her back hard against the trunk of the giant oak, lifted her against him and took her there and then where a maid or passer-by might chance upon them at any moment.

So well did the new arrangement suit Henry that he even gave Leonora twenty thousand
livres
on the occasion of her marriage, and agreed to consider appointing Concini as a Gentleman of the Chamber.

La Marquise took her place among the noblest ladies of the court with a self-satisfied air of triumph. She made a show of being respectful and submissive to Her Majesty, but Henriette's attitude was very much that of the cat who had swallowed the cream. She had won, had she not?

Marie was less enamoured of the arrangement, but gritted her teeth and accepted the situation for the sake of her beloved Donna Leonora. She enquired every day after the health of her rival, included her in all her assemblies and entertainments, even allowed her to take part in a special ballet she was arranging for the King's sister, Madame Catherine. A truce was declared between the two of them. The queen and the courtesan duly went through the motions of friendship and mutual respect, although it was nothing more than a façade to please the King.

And when, a month later, her rival announced that she too was
enceinte
with the King's child, it was the bitterest of blows. As Marie's uncle the Grand Duke never failed to point out to her in his constant letters, any failure on her part to provide the much needed dauphin would result in a challenge from the d'Entragues family on the legality of her marriage.

At the close of Lent, the Duchesse de Bar, the King's sister, together with her father-in-law the Duc de Lorraine, arrived to welcome the new Queen. Catherine was convalescing following a long illness, but when she and Marie met at Monceaux they liked each other on sight and became instant friends. Marie was able to pour out her troubles to a sympathetic ear, finding that even the King's sister deplored his lack of principle, and fascination with his mistress.

‘Henry may seem tolerant and carefree, but he can be very stubborn on certain matters,' Catherine agreed. ‘I too suffered from blighted love when he refused permission for me to marry the Comte de Soissons, the man I had loved from girlhood.'

‘We princesses are ever blighted with arranged marriages. Yet I had thought myself fortunate.'

The two women smiled at each other, in perfect accord.

‘I can see that you love my brother, and it must be heartbreaking having to share him with one so low, although that is not uncommon in royal circles.'

‘So content is Henry with this new arrangement that he showers gifts upon us both, even expects us to share them. But worse, because she too is carrying his child, he has assigned to La Marquise a suite of apartments in the Louvre immediately above mine, and only slightly less magnificent. It is an insult too great to bear. The woman now gives herself such airs that she's formed a small rival court of her own, from which she dares to exclude me! She has gathered about her salon the prettiest women and the most reckless gamblers. The King regularly attends, of course, no doubt preferring the brilliance and dissipation of his mistress's circle, to the more formal etiquette of a queen's court.'

Catherine looked at her new sister-in-law with ill-disguised pity. ‘It is most sad, but the lot of a princess is not easy. I'm sure you will find a way to win his heart. Henry is not an unfeeling man, and he does not always get his own way. No husband does,' she added with a soft sigh. ‘My own is still insisting that I turn Catholic, but I remain firmly adhered to the Huguenot faith of my late mother, Jeanne d'Albret. And ever will. Now let us take a gentle stroll in the gardens. The sun and fresh air will do us both good.'

The King was in a sullen mood, worrying over Henriette's request, more generally interpreted as a demand, that she be granted a substantial dowry which would allow her to marry. To his surprise some of the nobles were actually in favour.

‘You might do well to give the young lady the hundred thousand
livres
she requires,' suggested Bellievre.

Rosny, however, took a more prudent view. ‘It is easier to talk of such a sum than to procure it.'

‘Give the woman two or even three hundred thousand, if less will not suffice,' said another.

Perhaps they thought that by granting Henriette this huge amount of money they could be rid of her. If that was the case then they had misread his intentions. Henry listened to their arguments and did nothing. But then, he had no wish to see his mistress married. He wanted her all to himself. He strolled in the gardens with his sister and queen, and consoled himself over the muddle in his private life by the prospect of at least one son, possibly two.

Monceaux had once been the property of La Belle Gabrielle, nonetheless Marie was charmed by it and praised the beautiful gardens and parkland.

‘Give me a dauphin, wife, and the château and entire estate shall be yours,' Henry recklessly promised.

‘You are too generous, Sire.' Knowing that the King had already agreed that Gabrielle's eldest son should inherit the property, Marie glanced down at little César, who was even now holding her hand, as he so loved to walk with her. Did the boy understand that his father the King had just disinherited him? But she said nothing; only made a private vow to see that the child did not lose out by this unexpected gift.

Catherine, listening to these remarks with equal disdain recalled how on the death of his beloved angel, her brother had claimed, ‘The root of my love is withered. Never can it revive!'

It seemed to have made a remarkable recovery.

The Queen went into labour on the twenty-seventh day of September 1601. She had stayed on with Catherine at Monceaux for some time after Henry had left for Calais. The King's presence had been required at the frontier because of the threat of further war in the Low Countries. Marie, accompanied by her sister-in-law, the Duchess of Nemours, Madame de Guercheville, and of course her loyal
dame d'atours
, removed to Fontainebleau at the end of August.

She spent her days walking in the gardens, listening to music or playing an instrument herself, and talking theology with Catherine. Her health was good but Marie was all too aware that the hopes and prayers of the nation depended upon the safe delivery of a son. An heir for France would determine a safe future for the monarchy, and peace for the nation. Would Henry then feel less need for a mistress? Indeed, she hoped so.

The pains started around midnight and continued all the next day. Marie would pace the room for a while, attempt to rest on the bed or couch, and then pace some more, biting down hard on her lower lip when the contractions threatened to overwhelm her. She was a queen, after all, and must not lose her dignity even in the throes of childbirth. She realized she would need all her strength and courage to survive this ordeal, and to successfully deliver a live child – a dauphin for France.

Yet she refused all services save for the midwife, a Madame Boursier, whom she'd chosen to attend the birth. In this woman alone did she put her trust. Out in the anteroom ministers and others of high rank huddled together, muttering on the wisdom of this decision. The royal surgeons and physicians kicked their heels with frustration while the Queen obstinately refused all other assistance.

‘I am never deceived in any person I select. Let her attend me, and no other.'

Henry was by her side throughout, never leaving the room. The heir to the throne was to be born in the celebrated
Chambre Ovale
, in the great palace of Fontainebleau.

As well as the King, various other important personages including the Duchesse de Nemours, Duc de Montpensier, the Comte de Soissons, Prince de Condé, and any number of the Queen's ladies and gentlemen also crowded in to witness this momentous event. Marie felt stifled by this horde of onlookers, by the heat and stuffiness of the chamber, the shadowy darkness as the windows were all tightly shut, curtains drawn, and even a fire burning in the grate despite it being a warm autumn day.

Late in the evening, at about half past ten, just when she thought her strength would give out, Marie de Medici, Queen of France, finally gave birth to a son. Like all mothers she at once anxiously enquired after his health, waiting to hear that so essential cry. None came. The room was filled with a terrible silence, a fearful holding of breath by all present.

The King was in tears while the nobles and ladies began to whisper behind their hands that it had been a bad mistake not to allow the royal physicians to attend.

‘I fear the child is lifeless,' the elderly Duchesse de Nemours mourned. ‘It has all been for nought.'

Madame Boursier paid no attention to any of them. Grasping the baby, who in all other respects looked a healthy child, she tipped him upside down and gently smacked his bottom. The royal infant cried out at this outrage to his person and everyone present let out their breath on a huge sigh of relief, some sending up prayers of thanks to God, a few remembering to praise the midwife too. Marie's faith in the woman had been justified.

Henry hastened to embrace his wife. ‘My love, you have suffered much, but rejoice, God has given us what we asked. We have a son!' And Marie wept in his arms.

The room cleared quickly as everyone dashed off to spread the joyous news, while the King proudly held the precious Dauphin in his arms. ‘Welcome to this child who will one day wear the crown as Louis XIII.' Then placing his sword in a hand too small as yet to grasp it, he recited a short blessing. ‘May you use it, my son, to the glory of God, and in defence of your crown and people.'

Marie, unable to speak for emotion, could only smile up at her husband and son with tears in her eyes.

‘May I play the proud father and show him off to those who have waited so patiently outside, my love?'

She laughed. ‘Of course, and tell them that their queen is well, and has survived this trauma thanks to the love and care of the King at her side.'

Henry beamed at her. ‘And by the grace of God.'

The little prince was privately baptized at Fontainebleau the next day, although the State Baptism would not take place until the Dauphin was considered old enough to have some religious instructions from his chaplain, and understand the meaning of the ceremony. This was Henry's decision and none could gainsay it. The godmother was Marie's sister, the Duchess of Mantua. The Grand Duke, however, declined the honour of becoming the boy's godfather, as he was still displeased over the exchange of Saluzzo for Bresse, but he nonetheless sent warm congratulations to his niece.

Pope Clement accepted the role in Ferdinand's place, and dispatched a deputy to France to convey his blessings to Queen Marie and her infant son, together with a gift of a magnificent layette, as custom dictated.

The streets of Paris rang with joy, Te Deums were chanted, salvoes of artillery discharged, fireworks, bonfires, feasting and celebrations went on for days. Was this not the first legal heir born to the nation since Francis II? Even more auspicious, a daughter, Anne of Austria, had been born to Philip III of Spain only five days previously, surely a prophecy for the future alliance of these two great nations through marriage. Letters of congratulation poured in from monarchs and potentates of every nation. Even Queen Margot, still living in her fastness of the Castle at Usson, wrote a gracious letter of warm congratulations to Henry, and to the woman who had taken her crown and achieved what she never could.

The only person not delighted to see the new dauphin was little César de Vendôme, who, until this rival had appeared on the scene to claim her attention, had been the Queen's favourite. The boy was found one morning by Madame Boursier hiding behind a tapestry sobbing his heart out.

‘Monsieur, what is wrong, what ails you?'

‘Nobody speaks to me now, and they won't let me in to see the Queen.'

‘Oh, my dear child.'

When Marie was told of his distress she ordered him to be brought to her at once. ‘There, there,' she said, hugging him to her. ‘Are you not still my precious big boy? This new little one will be fortunate to have such a fine young man to look up to and learn from. You must come to see me, and Monsieur le Dauphin, whenever you please. You need no one's permission, do you understand? Now, would you like to ride out in the forest as a treat?'

All smiles again, César eagerly nodded, kissed his beloved stepmother and went happily off with the Prince de Condé on an adventure.

A little more than a week after the Queen's
accouchement
, Henry was writing to his mistress: