The Serpent and the Moon: Two Rivals for the Love of a Renaissance King (2 page)

CHAPTER ONE

The Royal Wedding

A
s the sun filtered through the autumn mist shrouding the harbor of Marseilles, three hundred cannons boomed from the ramparts of the château d’If and all the bells of the city rang out to announce the arrival of the papal flotilla. It was October 11, 1533. The din must have been deafening, and yet so gratifying to Pope Clement VII to be thus received by the king, François I. This journey would be the apogee of the ailing Medici pope’s extraordinary career.

It had taken three years for Clement VII to negotiate the marriage of his fourteen-year-old cousin Catherine
¹
to fourteen-year-old Prince Henri d’Orléans, a son of the king of France. The pope was well aware that the Medici, no matter how rich and powerful, were considered no better than glorified merchants by Europe’s reigning families. The marriage of this Florentine heiress to the second son of François I would raise his house far higher than he had ever dreamed possible.

The procession of ships was led by a galleon, the
Duchessina
, which
carried the Holy Sacrament, while the pontiff traveled in the second great galleon, the
Capitanesse
. Fourteen cardinals, sixty archbishops and bishops, and countless priests followed in other vessels. The bride was not in the pope’s party. To allow the pope to make his own entry into Marseilles in state, for the marriage contracts to be finalized, and the preparations completed, Catherine de’ Medici had left the
Capitanesse
shortly before Marseilles to await her summons in the Jardin des Rois. Still, the pope’s arrival signaled the beginning of the royal wedding, and dozens of small boats sailed out from the shore, carrying noblemen and musicians to greet and escort the papal flotilla into the ancient Phoenician harbor.

The pope watched the eighteen galleys in his fleet maneuver to dock, each of them draped in his signature red, gold, and purple damask, and manned by hundreds of oarsmen shining bright in crimson satin and orange silk. As Clement VII disembarked, eighty lancers and two companies of infantry stood at attention on the quay and on every bridge. It was a sight worthy of the supreme head of the Christian church.

The pope’s party was received on shore by the Grand Master of France, Anne de Montmorency,
²
the senior statesman in the kingdom charged with the court and its residences. He presented Clement VII to several French cardinals and a number of other clerics. The pope then moved into the house prepared for him outside the city to await the next day when he would make his formal entry and complete the final leg of the House of Medici’s journey into the French royal family.

On the morning of October 12, the streets were lined with people who had come from every home in the city as well as the surrounding countryside. They were eager to see a pope, but even more eager to see the little bride for whom their lives had been so disrupted. Indeed, the people of Marseilles
needed
to be dazzled since the choice of their city for this grand event had cost them dear. An official entrance into a city by royalty, or indeed a pope, was one of the greatest public spectacles of the time. This one was no exception; the king had ordered a large
swathe of the city demolished to make a wide avenue for the triumphal processions and the ceremonies surrounding this diplomatically important marriage. For the pope’s temporary residence, a huge wooden building had been erected next to the old palace of the counts of Provence where the king and his party would lodge. An enclosed “bridge,” so large it could be used as an extra reception room, was built to link the dwellings of the monarchs temporal and spiritual.

The pope was preceded in the procession by the Holy Sacrament displayed in a monstrance, mounted on a white palfrey
³
caparisoned in a cloth of gold. As he made his way slowly to the cathedral, Clement VII was carried shoulder-high in his red velvet
sedia
, or papal litter, covered by a large square awning supported at the corners on poles carried by four noblemen. On either side of the pope strode the king’s two younger sons, the bridegroom himself, Prince Henri d’Orléans, and Prince Charles d’Angoulême. They were followed by the Italian cardinals and bishops in purple and red, riding on mules. Behind them walked the chanting choir of the Sistine Chapel and a procession of noblemen, prelates, abbots, curates, and monks.

As he heard the gasps of appreciation from the crowd, Clement settled back on his silken cushions beneath the awning of red, green, and yellow damask, nodding benignly and blessing the gaping crowds. He was tired after his sea voyage, and his ten years on the throne of St. Peter had prematurely aged him. All his life he had struggled to increase the glory of his family; finally, through his intervention, the Medici ruled in Florence once again. The French marriage could not come too soon; Catherine was becoming rather attached to his illegitimate nephew,
⁴
Ippolito de’ Medici—brilliant, extravagant, and very, very handsome. But Catherine was the pope’s most valuable piece on the chessboard of European politics and could not be wasted for a childish attachment with no possible advantage for the family. Ippolito was promptly dispatched into the church and made a cardinal.

As he passed the royal box, Clement VII caught his first sight of his partner in the Medici–Valois union, King François I. The pope’s litter
stopped as he blessed the king and his company, then moved on. While the pope was in awe of the French king’s power, Clement VII also knew he held the key to the king’s heart’s desire: Italy.

Ever since France had lost Milan to the Habsburg Emperor Charles V eight years earlier, François I’s only thought had been to regain the territory. Patiently, he watched and waited until the moment was right to make his first move. That time came when Henry VIII of England needed a favor from Pope Clement VII and asked the French king for his help. The two monarchs met briefly at Boulogne, where François tactfully explained the need for his son’s marriage to Catherine de’ Medici, cousin of the pope and Henry’s enemy. To soften the blow, François promised he would pressure the pope to annul Henry VIII’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon. Desperate to marry Anne Boleyn in church, Henry VIII posed no obstacles to the French proposal.

Pope Clement had his own road to clear to the marriage. By actively endorsing the French match, he risked offending the other great power in Europe, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, and France’s greatest enemy. For this reason, Clement was obliged to seek the powerful emperor’s approval. When the pope asked Charles V’s permission to approach the French king, the emperor shrugged and demurred, confident that the royal house of Valois would not accept a mere parvenu Medici girl into its illustrious fold. But the emperor failed to see that, to the king, Catherine represented the coveted duchy of Milan, and that the Valois–Medici marriage would ensure François I achieved his goal. The pope’s path was clear, and it had led to this glorious day in Marseilles.

The day after the pope’s official entry into the city, The Most Christian King of France, François I, attended by his second son, Henri d’Orléans, and his youngest, Charles d’Angoulême, and flanked by two cardinals, made
his
entrance into Marseilles.

The city was newly decorated with a series of triumphal arches extolling the king’s great deeds, real or imaginary. Tableaux with allegorical allusions to the principal guest were staged at various stops on the route. The city’s prettiest girls, scantily clad in classical fashion, scattered flower petals in front of the procession. Fresh lavender and rosemary
were strewn before the excited, prancing horses, their hooves crushing the herbs to release heady aromas as they passed. The best tapestries and carpets were hung in a kaleidoscope of color from the balconies overhanging the royal route. Leaning on them were the most elegant and privileged of the citizens, who tossed flowers and ribbons on those below. The king was escorted by his twenty-seven maids of honor, dubbed by his mother Louise de Savoie his “
Petite Bande
,” a corps of feminine
aides-de-camp
chosen from the best families for their beauty, vivacity, and superb horsemanship. François saw to it that they were always dressed in matching elegance—furs, cloth of gold and silver, velvets, and scarlet satin—all paid for by him. Their sole duty was to be in constant attendance upon their monarch. Behind these Amazons rode a vast retinue of several thousand nobles glittering in their finery, doffing feathered hats, their horses richly caparisoned with elaborate
aigrettes
⁵
bobbing on their foreheads. This dazzling display was accompanied by music, bell ringing, jingling of harnesses, wild cheering, and the crowd’s exclamations of joy and admiration to see the king and the princes at close quarters.

Observing tradition, François I and his sons prostrated themselves at the feet of the pope and kissed each of his slippers. The French king was as much a showman as his wily guest and performed the elaborate gestures with panache. A man of exquisite manners, François had allowed the Holy Father to make the first state entrance into the city, though all judged the king’s procession the next day the more brilliant.

Feasting continued during the following week, and as the bride had not yet appeared, the pope was the center of attraction. Clement VII reveled in the adulation and was himself overawed by the great honor accorded to his family, despite the surprise and shock of the entire world. “The House of Medici,” he said, “has been raised by God’s own hand. I know I shall die soon, but I will die happy.”

Before the marriage could take place, there were still a number of outstanding negotiations between king and pope that needed to be finalized. No record of their discussions remains other than notes in François’ own hand alluding to an offensive alliance with Clement VII
against his enemy, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V. It is probable that the king fulfilled his promise to Henry VIII and discussed the annulment the English king was seeking from his marriage to Catherine of Aragon. Since their meeting in Boulogne, Henry had married Anne Boleyn in a civil ceremony. In May 1533, the new Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, declared Henry’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon invalid and therefore void. A week later, Anne Boleyn was crowned queen. Four months later, on September 7, her daughter, Elizabeth, was born. It is also most probable that the king and the pope discussed the spread of heresy in France; the doctrines of Martin Luther and Jean Calvin were fast gaining followers, and heresy was becoming an issue all Europe’s rulers had to confront. As for the contract, it was most generous to France. It had to be. The fabulous heiress that Clement VII had produced for the son of the king of France was small, plain, ungainly, and, worst of all, not of royal blood.

Finally, the marriage negotiations were complete and Catherine de’ Medici received word that she could make her entrance into Marseilles. For months, Catherine and her uncle’s advisors had planned every detail of this event. Now on October 23 she would make her first official entry into a French city.

Catherine was a child of European politics. She understood that, while this was the day she would meet her bridegroom, it was more important that she impress his father the king and his people. Instead of arriving in her enclosed carriage, she chose to allow the people to catch their first glimpse of her, riding elegantly on a Russian palfrey, an “ambling mare” trained to a smooth, gliding gait. (Catherine did not yet ride well and was anxious should the French people see her jolting in the saddle.) She was escorted by her uncle, the Duke of Albany,
⁶
and her twelve ladies-in-waiting in chariots (many of them so young they were still accompanied by their governesses). Catherine and her ladies shone in scarlet silk with gold-threaded lace, and behind them rode a dazzling procession of seventy brilliantly attired and bejeweled courtiers. Following her parade came Catherine’s empty carriage, the first enclosed, four-wheeler ever seen in France.

Just one month younger than Henri d’Orléans, Catherine de’ Medici was short and dark; her most beautiful features were her hands and feet. When she dismounted, François I, that connoisseur of women, noticed her lovely legs, surprisingly slender and long on an otherwise awkward body. Her face appeared swollen, with protruding blue eyes under heavy brows, a prominent nose, fleshy lower lip, and a receding chin. Anyone who saw Catherine de’ Medici on her first day in France could not have thought her remotely attractive, but her intelligent expression and vivacious manner was commented upon. She had certainly not inherited the famous beauty of her mother; and yet, she had a presence, described years later by La Fontaine as “grace, and grace still more beautiful than beauty.”

Arriving at the pope’s wooden pavilion, Catherine bowed low before her cousin and was received in his arms. Clement was the nearest she had come to having a parent, but she felt little love for him. With her heritage, she had always known her purpose in his political schemes—and welcomed it. If she could manage it, hers would be an illustrious and secure future within the greatest court in Europe—and Catherine had inherited the Medici confidence. Her powerful uncle had made her destiny possible, and for this her gratitude to her relative overflowed.

Her next greeting was for the king, before whom she prostrated herself, a mark of the modesty she would assume for the next twenty-six years. François raised the girl up and presented her to his wife, his children, and the court. Only then did Catherine de’ Medici turn to face the young man whom she would love obsessively—and fear—all her life. As she bowed before him, she caught her breath in awe and admiration.

At fourteen, Henri d’Orléans was tall for his age and his passion for sport had already given him the physique of a young man. He was excellent at tilting, fencing, and tennis, so adept that few at court could beat him. He was most attractive, with the fine straight nose and dreamy dark eyes of his grandmother Louise de Savoie. His hair was dark and his complexion very fair. Catherine had been told her bridegroom was handsome, but she had only had eyes for her cousin Ippolito and could not imagine admiring another. She moved toward Henri as if
in a trance, eyes shining, lips slightly parted, and formally embraced him, but he remained grave and silent, giving no reaction or sign of emotion. Not knowing the young prince, Catherine could have mistaken his indifference for shyness, but it was clear to the onlookers it would take a miracle for him to fall in love with her. At least François I seemed pleased with Catherine—and certainly with the secret terms of the treaty signed with Clement VII. King and pope had agreed that once their joint armies had reconquered Milan, the newlyweds would be installed to rule that duchy as well as Urbino.
⁷