The Queen and the Courtesan (31 page)

Unfortunately, Charlotte's father, the Constable, was laid low with gout for a while, as was the King. But when Henry was sufficiently recovered to sit up in bed and receive visitors, he sent for Bassompierre. Unsuspecting, the young man knelt before his sovereign, and Henry could see in his young handsome face that he came eager to hear that permission had at last been granted.

‘My dear fellow,' Henry began, propping himself comfortably up on his pillows, ‘I must tell you that I have hardly slept this night as I have been thinking of you. I wish you to marry and be happy.'

‘Then Your Majesty's wish will soon be granted,' Bassompierre brightly assured the King. ‘It would have been already were it not for the Constable suffering from the same complaint, but new arrangements have been put in place and—'

‘No, no,' Henry hastily interrupted. ‘I was thinking of offering you the hand of Mademoiselle d'Aumale, and of restoring in your favour the confiscated title and honours of that house.'

Bassompierre looked stunned by this news. ‘B–but Your Majesty, I cannot marry two wives!'

Henry leaned forward, soft tears of pity in his eyes. ‘Bassompierre, I am going to speak to you as a friend, and not as your king. I am desperately enamoured of Mademoiselle de Montmorency. If you marry her and she loves you, I shall hate you. If she loved me, then
you
would hate me. Let us not, therefore, risk the destruction of our friendship, for
mon ami
I care for you and your interests greatly.'

‘What are you saying, Sire?' Bemused, the young gallant gazed into the King's face, an ache of fear starting up somewhere around his heart.

‘I have resolved to give Mademoiselle de Montmorency to my nephew, the Prince de Condé, and so bring her into my own family. She will become the consolation and solace of the old age now before me. I will give my nephew an income of one hundred thousand
livres
. He prefers hunting to the society of ladies, so she will be no loss to him. And I desire nothing more from Mademoiselle de Montmorency than her regard. I neither pretend nor covet more.'

This last was a lie, and they both knew it. Not for a second did Bassompierre believe the denial. He knew only too well that Henry coveted much more than mere friendship from her.

Too stunned to speak for some long seconds, at last he gathered his thoughts sufficiently to realize there was little he could do but agree. This was the King, after all, and if he foolishly and ungraciously refused to accept the inevitable, then Bassompierre knew he would run the risk of losing His Majesty's favour entirely, and not just a beautiful wife.

Inclining his head, he strived to keep the tremor from his voice as he answered with as good a grace as he could manage. ‘I ask only to serve Your Majesty, to evince my gratitude and complete devotion. I will do as you ask and relinquish my claim on the lady. Great though my sorrow and disappointment is to lose her, I pray that this new attachment may bring Your Majesty felicity and content.'

Henry put out his arms and embraced him, clapping Bassompierre on the back with great affection. ‘I shall further your fortunes as though you were one of my own natural children. Know that I love you dearly, and be well assured that your frankness and friendship will be richly rewarded.'

And as his defeated rival took his leave, backing out of the royal chamber as etiquette demanded, the King privately congratulated himself at concluding this delicate affair so well. Dealing with Condé would be even simpler by comparison.

The Constable attempted to protest, stating that his daughter already possessed a fiancé and had no need of another, and, as great-uncle to Monsieur le Prince, neither had he any wish for a closer relationship with him. But it made not the slightest difference. As always, the will of the King prevailed. Condé himself was entirely agreeable, and even the young Charlotte, when informed by Henry of this change of plan, philosophically accepted the inevitable. As she left the royal apartments and passed her rejected suitor, she resignedly shrugged her slender shoulders, smiling kindly at him.

Suddenly overcome by what he had lost, Bassompierre turned on his heel and strode from the Louvre, quite certain that his would-be bride had no notion of the King's true plans for her.

‘I shall be a princess now,' she happily told her aunt. Charlotte knew very little about her new fiancé, nothing of his temperament or his interests, but felt sure her increased status would be some consolation for the loss of the gallant Bassompierre.

The Duchess was less certain. ‘Better a wife than a mistress, certainly,' she sharply retorted. ‘And so long as the Prince is permitted to fulfil the role of husband.'

Charlotte stared at her aunt blankly. ‘Why would he not be?'

‘My dear child, what an innocent you are. Take my advice and do not allow yourself to be alone with the King.'

‘But he is so sweet to me, and so generous. Yesterday he gave me a bracelet of garnets which he said matched my ruby lips.' Charlotte giggled. She was deeply flattered by the interest the King was showing in her personal affairs, and loved all the attention he showered upon her. ‘He is an old man. Where is the harm in it?'

The Duchesse d'Angoulême frowned, worrying over how much she should say to warn her niece. Was it treason to block a King's pleasure? ‘I ask only that you keep yourself pure for your husband, whoever he may be.'

Some part of her aunt's message must have penetrated Charlotte's childlike mind for a new thought struck her. Would she, by marrying Condé, gain a prince but lose a King?

No time was wasted in bringing the couple together and the betrothal took place within weeks in the great gallery of the Louvre. If Charlotte noticed the King keeping one arm clamped about her former fiancé's shoulder so that he could not escape, she paid it no heed. She was overwhelmed by the majesty of the occasion. Henry had presented her with the most beautiful wedding robes which must have cost over 10,000
livres
, and the Queen gave her jewels valued at twice that sum. The wedding itself was solemnized at Fontainebleau on 17 May 1609 and Charlotte revelled in the attention being paid to her, dancing with happy delight at the ball that Queen Marguerite gave to celebrate the occasion.

A few months later in July, fifteen-year-old César was also married, to Françoise de Lorraine, a wealthy heiress to the duchies of Mercœur and Penthièvre. Henry was in such high spirits, and determined to show off his youthful vigour and prowess to Charlotte, the new Princess de Condé, that he took part in all manner of jousts and tilting of the ring in a bid to impress her. In the evenings when there was music and dancing he wore perfumed collars and dressed in his finest robes, decked out in the kind of rich colours you would expect to see on a much younger man.

‘Yet again he is making a fool of himself,' the Queen mourned, feeling helpless even as she wished to protect the girl of whom she was quite fond.

Donna Leonora listened with every sympathy, but knew, as did the Queen, that if the King had set his mind on the empty-headed little chit, there was nothing anyone could do to prevent the inevitable. Nevertheless, she wanted to ease her mistress's concern. ‘I hear the young couple are not getting on too well. He, poor boy, has fallen head-over-heels in love with her, but his love is not reciprocated. Perhaps Your Majesty could speak with the girl and encourage her to be more generous.'

‘Does she still pine for Bassompierre?'

‘Possibly, but she also sees a great deal of the King.'

The two women looked at each other, almost reading each other's mind. ‘Does the child not appreciate how she plays with fire by pandering to the royal infatuation? Someone should warn her new husband.'

‘I suspect Condé is well aware of the danger. The girl's father has suggested they take a short sojourn at one of the summer palaces.'

‘An excellent notion. Keep me informed, Madame.' The wedding festivities had already become a trial to her, and Marie was desperate to have done with them and leave.

Donna Leonora bowed. ‘I will, Your Majesty.'

At that precise moment Charlotte was cavorting on her balcony in a diaphanous
robe de chambre
. The King, who was urging her to call him by his given name, had earlier begged her to step out and show herself to him. ‘I cannot sleep for thinking of you, dearest angel. Pray be generous to an old man,' he had begged her.

Of course she'd agreed without demur, and protested at this description of himself, as was expected. ‘You do not appear old to me, Sire, but as handsome and gallant as any courtier. I saw you in the lists taking on men half your age, and winning.' Not that any
chevalier
would dare to defeat a king, but Charlotte had the wit not to suggest they would willingly allow Henry to win.

‘You are my angel,' he told her. ‘The light of my old age. You fill my heart with joy.'

She blushed prettily, enchanted by the attention he lavished upon her and eager to show her gratitude. ‘Do not say such things, Your Majesty; I am a married woman now.'

‘Perhaps you could bestow a kiss on your royal admirer?' And giggling delightedly, Charlotte blew him one.

Now she was positioning herself before the bright blaze of light coming from the torches on the wall behind her, aware that by doing so the King would be able to see every curve in the outline of her naked body beneath the translucent, Grecian-styled robe she wore. Oh, but this was the King of France whom she held enthralled in her hand. What delicious power there was in that. But then seeing how he waved to her from the garden below, how he gesticulated and begged her for more, even Charlotte quailed before his implied demands, and, scarlet-cheeked, hurried back inside.

‘Goodness, it is hot this evening,' she told her maids, who hid their smiles behind their hands.

Her husband was less amused by such scandalous behaviour, and particularly incensed when he learned that she had secretly sat for her portrait at the wishes of the King, for all it was a simple pastel. Charlotte was proving to be a compliant wife, in every way, save for this childish desire to allow herself to be so foolishly flattered. And Condé could guess only too well where that was leading.

The wedding festivities of the young Duke of Vendôme were drawing to a close, not least because the Queen's uncle, the Grand Duke Ferdinand, had recently died and Queen Marie had gone into mourning. Condé took his wife home to Chantilly and ordered her to remain there.

‘Also, you must accept no more gifts from the King,' he sternly instructed her, and was obliged to direct his gaze away as her beautiful face crumpled with disappointment.

‘Why should I not when His Majesty is so generous and so persistent?'

‘You are my wife; it is unseemly for you to receive presents from other men, even from a king.' He might have added, particularly this king. ‘There will be no more royal ballets, no more private meetings, no portraits painted without my express permission. You must know that I love you, that it hurts me to see you fawning for attention from that old lecher, Henry Quatre.' His expression was both bleak and pleading.

Charlotte returned his gaze unmoved. Did he not understand how very important it was to obey a king? ‘What can I do,' she asked, ‘when he makes his desire for my company so plain?'

‘It is not simply your company he craves.' Should he tell her that he had already got wind of a plot to have their marriage dissolved? Would that make her more or less intransigent? All Condé wanted was to make his wife love him, but he couldn't quite work out how to achieve this seemingly impossible task when she was so besotted by the King's dubious courtship.

Henry wrote ordering him to return to court, but Condé stubbornly refused. Instead, he sent a messenger to the Low Countries, seeking assistance and protection from the Archduke and Archduchess.

The King spoke to Sully, as always needing the help of his favourite advisor. ‘
Mon ami
, Monsieur le Prince has been playing the devil. You would be in a fine passion, as well as ashamed of all the evil things which he says of me. My patience at length will tire out, and I shall speak my mind.' The King went on to instruct Sully to refrain from paying Condé's next quarter's pension.

‘But Your Majesty promised this to the Prince as part of the deal, Sire?'

‘Now I have changed my mind,' Henry roared. ‘If this does not restrain him, I must adopt other means.'

Prince Condé's response was to bravely confront the King and ask to leave the court. ‘I wish us to reside at my mansion at Saint Valery.'

‘Absolutely not!' Henry retorted. ‘You will stay here, where you belong and are needed.'

But the Prince was beyond cajolery or bribery now. ‘Your Majesty desires to seduce my wife, and by that intent you annul all the benefits that your royal generosity conferred upon me. By the grace of God, I will not submit to such tyranny, nor will I be made the object of the contemptuous pity of your court.'

Henry was inflamed with fury at such defiance. ‘Never in the course of my life have I acted as a tyrant, save that I have compelled everyone to acknowledge you for what you are
not
!'

Condé went pale. Was the King implying that he was not his father's son, that his mother was indeed guilty of the senior Condé's death? This was all becoming far more serious than he had bargained for.

Meanwhile, annoyed by the strict rules imposed upon her freedom by her new husband, Charlotte did what all dissatisfied brides do, she ran home, in this case to her aunt and father. ‘I will not tolerate such control,' she cried, pouting pettishly.

‘You will certainly please the King by coming to Vincennes,' her aunt mildly conceded. ‘His Majesty may at this very moment be on his way here to see you. But by running away you deeply offend your husband, and does the poor fellow deserve to be so treated? He loves you, dearest. Why can you not appreciate what you have, instead of crying for the moon?'