II.
The Duke of Guise and his family now stood higher than ever in the King's favour. His eldest son, Aumale, was dangerously wounded in the siege of Boulogne by an English spear, which penetrated so deeply into his forehead that the surgeon could only extract the steel by planting his foot on the patient's head. After this ordeal the Count lay between life and death for several weeks, and owed his recovery to the tender nursing of his mother, who preserved as a trophy at Joinville the English spearhead which so nearly ended her son's career.[382] As soon as he was able to move, the King sent for Antoinette, and insisted on taking her to hunt at St. Germain, and consulting her as to his latest improvements in this palace. Her grandson, the young Duke of Longueville, was also a great favourite at Court, and when peace was at length concluded, the King gave him a copy of the new treaty with England to send to the Queen of Scotland. The boy enclosed it in a merry letter, sending his love to the little Queen his sister, and telling his mother that if she would not come to France he meant to come and see her, and was old and strong enough to face the roughest sea-voyage.[383]
The Cardinal now announced his intention of taking the whole family back to Joinville, to attend the ducal funeral; but once more the King interfered, and kept them at Court for the christening of the Dauphin's daughter, which was celebrated with great pomp at Fontainebleau. Henry VIII. stood godfather, and the little Princess was named Elizabeth, after the King's mother, "as good and virtuous a woman as ever lived," said the English Ambassador, Sir Thomas Cheyney; while the Imperialists declared that the name was chosen because of its popularity in Spain and of the hopes of the French that the child might one day wed Don Carlos.[384]
Meanwhile the arrival of the Guises was anxiously awaited at Nancy. On the 17th of July Christina wrote to inform Abbot Bonvalot that she had at length been able to fix the date of her husband's funeral:
"Monsieur de Luxeuil,
Aug., 1546] FUNERAL OF DUKE FRANCIS
"I must inform you that I have heard from the Cardinal and the Duke of Guise, who hope to be here by the end of the month, so the service will be held on the 6th of August, all being well. I beg you will not fail to be present. As for my news, all I have to tell you is that the King is giving me great trouble in Bar, and is trying to raise a tax in the town, which has never been done or thought of before. I fear that in the end I, too, shall have to go to Court, but shall wait until I hear from the Emperor. Can you give me any information as to his movements? All I can hear is that His Majesty is collecting a large army to make war on the Princes of the Empire, who have rebelled against him. I pray God to help him, and send him success and prosperity, and have good hope that my prayers will be heard, as this will be for the good of Christendom. Here I will end, Monsieur de Luxeuil, praying God to have you in His holy keeping.
"La bien votre,
"Chrestienne."[385]
The coming of the Guises, however, was again delayed, and the funeral did not take place until the 17th of August. On the previous day the Duke's corpse was brought from Denœuvre to Nancy by the great officers of State, and laid on a bier in the Church of St. George's, surrounded by lighted torches and a guard of armed men, who kept watch all night. The funerals of the Dukes of Lorraine had always been famous for their magnificence, and there was an old proverb which said: "Fortunate is the man who has seen the coronation of an Emperor, the sacring of a King of France, and the funeral of a Duke of Lorraine."[386] On this occasion nothing that could heighten the imposing nature of the ceremony was neglected. All the Princes of the blood, Nicolas of Vaudemont, the Duke of Guise with his five sons and grandson, rode out from the ducal palace to the Church of St. Georges, and took their places, as chief mourners, at the head of the long procession that wound through the streets to the Cordeliers' shrine. In their train came a multitude of clergy, nobles, and Ambassadors from all the crowned heads in Europe, followed by a motley crowd of burghers and humble folk, all in deep mourning, with torches in their hands. The chariot bearing the coffin was drawn by twelve horses, draped with black velvet adorned with the cross of Lorraine in white satin. The Duke's war-horse, in full armour, was led by two pages, while the servants of his household walked bareheaded on either side, with folded arms, in token that their master needed their services no more. On the hearse lay an image of the dead Prince, with the ducal baton in his hand, clad in crimson robes and a mantle of gold brocade fastened with a diamond clasp. This effigy was placed on a huge catafalque erected in the centre of the church, lighted with a hundred torches, and hung with banners emblazoned with the arms of Lorraine, Bar, Provence, Jerusalem, and the Sicilies.
In the tribune above the choir knelt the Princess of Orange, the Duchess of Guise, and her newly-wedded daughter-in-law, Diane of Poitiers's daughter Louise, Marchioness of Mayenne, all clad in the same long black mantles lined with ermine. The Countess Palatine, Dorothea, had arrived at Nancy on the 17th of June, to attend her brother-in-law's funeral, but as the Guises failed to appear, she returned to Heidelberg at the end of a fortnight.
Oct., 1546] ANNE DE LORRAINE
Christina herself was unable to be present, "owing to her excessive sorrow," writes the chronicler, and remained on her knees in prayer, with the Princess of Macedonia and her young children, in her own room, hung with black, while the requiem was chanted and the last rites were performed.[387] When all was over, and the "two Princes of peace," as De Boullay called Francis and his father, were laid side by side in the vault of the Friars' Church, the vast assembly dispersed and the mourners went their ways. Only Anne of Lorraine remained at Nancy with her sister-in-law, who could not bear to part from her. A letter which this Princess wrote to her cousin, the Queen of Scotland, this summer is of interest for the glimpse which it gives of the widowed Duchess and the boy round whom all her hopes centred:
"Your Majesty's last letters reached me on the day when I arrived here from home, and I regret extremely that I have been unable to answer them before. I am very glad to hear you are in good health and kind enough to remember me. On my part, I can assure you that there is no one in your family who thinks of you with greater affection or is more anxious to do you service than myself. I did not fail to give your kind message, to Madame de Lorraine, my sister, and Her Highness returns her most humble thanks. You will be glad to hear that her son is well and thriving. I pray God that he may live to fulfil the promise of his early years. Everyone who sees him speaks well of him, and his nature is so good that I hope he will grow up to satisfy our highest expectations. May God grant you long life!
"Your humble cousin,
"Anne de Lorraine."[388]
The Princess of Orange was still in Lorraine when King Francis came to visit the Duchess. This monarch was as active as ever, in spite of frequent attacks of illness, and spent the autumn in making a progress through Burgundy and Champagne, hunting and travelling seven or eight leagues a day in the most inclement weather.
In October he came to Joinville, and Christina, glad to be relieved of the necessity of going to Court herself, invited him to pay her a visit at Bar. In this once stately Romanesque castle, of which little now remains, the Duchess and the Princess of Orange, "dowagers both," as Wotton remarks, entertained Francis magnificently, and provided a series of hunting-parties and banquets for his amusement.
The true object of the King's visit was to arrange a marriage between the Duchess and the Count of Aumale. The young soldier made no secret of his love for his cousin's beautiful widow, Antoinette was anxious to see her son settled, and both the King and the Guises were fully alive to the political advantages of the alliance. On the 26th of October Wotton wrote from Bar, "The fame continues of a marriage between the Dowager of Lorraine and the Count of Aumale," although, as he had already remarked in a previous letter, it was hard to believe the Duchess's uncles would consent to the union. Aumale's own hopes were high, and he sent a messenger to Scotland to tell his sister of the good cheer which they were enjoying in Madame de Lorraine's house at Bar.[389]
Oct., 1546] MARRIAGE PROPOSALS
But these hopes were doomed to disappointment. Christina was determined never to marry again. Like her aunt, Mary of Hungary, having once tasted perfect happiness, she was unwilling to repeat the experiment. Her beauty was in its prime, her charms attracted lovers of every age and rank. During the next ten or twelve years she was courted by several of the most illustrious personages and bravest captains of the age. She smiled on all her suitors in turn, and gave them freely of her friendship, but remained true to her resolve to live for her children alone, and took for her device a solitary tower with doves fluttering round its barred windows, and the motto Accipio nullas sordida turris aves (A ruined tower, I give shelter to no birds), as a symbol of perpetual widowhood.[390]
Aumale consoled himself by winning fresh laurels in the next war, and before long married another bride of high degree; but Brantôme, who was intimate with the Guises, tells us that he never forgave Madame de Lorraine for rejecting his suit, and remained her bitter enemy to the end of his life.[391] The King took Christina's refusal more lightly. He never treated women's fancies seriously, and when he found that Aumale's suit was not acceptable, he sought the Duchess's help in a scheme that lay nearer his heart. This was the marriage of his own daughter Margaret with Philip of Spain, whose young wife had died, in June, 1545, a few days after giving birth to the Infant Don Carlos. The old scheme of marrying this Princess to the Emperor's only son was now revived at the French Court, and Christina, who had always appreciated Madame Marguerite's excellent qualities, entered readily into the King's wishes. But, as she soon discovered, her aunt, Queen Eleanor, was greatly opposed to the idea, and still ardently wished to see Philip married to her own daughter, the Infanta Maria of Portugal.[392]
From Bar Francis returned to spend All Hallows at Joinville, where he enjoyed fresh revels, and delighted the Duke of Longueville by telling him to make haste and grow tall, that he might enter his service.
"Now he goes," wrote the boy's tutor, Jean de la Brousse, "to keep Christmas at Compiègne, and will spend the winter in Paris, watching how matters go with the Emperor and the Protestants, whose armies have been three months face to face, and yet do not know how to kill each other."[393]
In the same letter the writer describes how, on his journey to Plessis, to bring the Princess of Navarre to Court, he met the Queen of Scotland's sister, Madame Renée, with a number of old monks and nuns, on her way from Fontévrault to Joinville. On the 16th of December Madame Renée took possession of the Convent of St. Pierre at Reims, of which she was Abbess, and the Duchess of Lorraine and the Princess of Orange were among the guests present at this ceremony, at the entry of her brother the Archbishop into his episcopal city on the following day.
Jan., 1547] DEATH OF HENRY VIII.
Meanwhile the news of Christina's supposed marriage travelled far and wide. It reached Venice, where the fate of the Duchess who had once reigned over Milan always excited interest, and was reported to King Henry of England by one of his Italian agents. His curiosity was aroused, and when the French Ambassador, Odet de Selve, came to Windsor, he asked him if his master had concluded the marriage which he had in hand. "What marriage?" asked De Selve innocently. "That of Madame de Lorraine," replied Henry testily. "With whom?" asked the Ambassador. But Henry would say no more, and relapsed into sullen silence.[394] He had come back from Boulogne seriously ill, and grew heavier and more unwieldy every day. A week afterwards he had a severe attack of fever, and on his return to London sent Norfolk and Surrey to the Tower.
Mary of Hungary was so much alarmed at this fresh outbreak of violence that she sent to Chapuys, who was living in retirement at Louvain, for advice. The veteran diplomatist, who for sixteen years had toiled to avoid a rupture between the two monarchs, wrote back, on the 29th of January, 1547, advising the Queen to take no action. "Physicians say," he added, "that the best and quickest cure for certain maladies is to leave the evil untouched and avoid further irritation." When the old statesman wrote these words, the King, whose varying moods he knew so well, had already ceased from troubling. He died at Whitehall on the 28th of January, 1547.
The news of his royal brother's death moved the King of France deeply. "We were both of the same age," he said, "and now he is gone it is time for me to go hence, too."[395] In spite of the painful ailments from which he suffered, Francis still moved restlessly from place to place. Towards the end of Lent he left Loches to spend Easter at St. Germain, but fell ill on the way, and died at Rambouillet on the 31st of March.
The death of these two monarchs, who filled so large a place in the history of the times, produced a profound sensation throughout Europe. No one felt the shock more than the Duchess, who had been courted by one Prince, and had lately received the other under her roof. But a third death this spring touched her still more closely. On the 28th of February the good old Queen Philippa passed away in her humble cell at Pont-à-Mousson. As she lay dying she asked what was the day of the week, and, being told it was Saturday, remarked: "All the best things of my life came to me on this day. I was born and married to my dear husband on a Saturday, I entered Nancy amid the rejoicings of my people, and I forsook the world to take the veil, on this day, and now on Saturday I am going to God." Her children and grandchildren knelt at the bedside, but Guise, her best-loved son, only arrived from Paris at the last moment. She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice. "Adieu, mon ami," she said, "and do not forget to keep God before your eyes." These were her last words, and as the pure spirit passed out of this life the sound of weeping was broken by the joyous songs of her pet lark.[396]
She was buried, as she desired, in the convent cloister, and the people, who venerated her as a saint, flocked to the funeral. Christina employed Ligier-Richier, the sculptor of the Prince of Orange's monument, to carve a recumbent effigy of the dead Queen in coloured marbles on her tomb. The black cloak and grey habit were faithfully reproduced, the finely-modelled features were rendered in all their ivory whiteness, and a tiny figure of a kneeling nun was represented in the act of laying the crown at her feet. When the convent church was pillaged by rioters in 1793, this monument was buried by the nuns in the garden. Here it was discovered in 1822, and brought to Nancy, where it now stands in the Church of the Cordeliers, near the stately tomb which Philippa herself had reared to her husband, King René.[397]
Aug., 1546] THE LEAGUE OF SCHMALKALDE