The Serpent and the Moon: Two Rivals for the Love of a Renaissance King (49 page)

Charles V never recovered his health or his spirits after this disastrous campaign of 1552. Bit by bit, he gave up his responsibilities, first abdicating in the Netherlands, and then, in September 1556, handing over Spain to his son Philip. The Electors considered the empire too large and unwieldy for one ruler, and divided it. Thus Charles V’s brother, Ferdinand, who had been in charge of the empire since 1556, became Holy Roman Emperor in 1558, following Charles’ death.

T
HE abdication of Charles V coincided with the election of a new pope, Paul IV, a dedicated enemy of Spain. With the nepotism expected from the Renaissance Vatican, the pope insisted that the new king of Spain, Philip II, should grant the See of Naples to his nephew, the newly appointed cardinal Carlo Carafa. When Philip refused, the pope excommunicated him.

With trouble now brewing again between Spain and the Vatican, Henri saw an opportunity to move the main theater of war away from France and into Italy, “in order to relieve our territories and subjects on this side [of the Alps].” In December 1555, the French king signed an alliance with the pope, who promised the Kingdom of Naples to one of Henri’s sons and Milan to another. In return, the French were to capture for the pope the rebellious city of Siena. The Valois mirage of Italy was rising like a phoenix out of the ashes of past defeats.

During December 1555, the French and the Spanish negotiated for the release of their military hostages. In February 1556, seeing that his treasury was empty due to the endless wars with France, Philip II of Spain signed a five-year truce with Henri II, whose coffers were in a similar condition.

When Pope Paul IV excommunicated the Colonna, one of Italy’s great families, and seized their property for supporting Spain, Philip II’s viceroy in Naples, the Duke of Alba, attacked the Vatican’s territories on his borders. The pope immediately appealed to the king of France for help in accordance with their new treaty. The Constable strongly advised Henri against going to the pope’s aid, which would mean a war with Philip, who would have on his side Spain, the empire, and England, allied to Philip through his wife Mary Tudor. But the king saw an opportunity to gain Naples, and allowed himself to be persuaded by the strongly Catholic duc de Guise, his brother Charles, cardinal de Lorraine, and the tears of his wife, Catherine, who was desperate to regain her inheritance. On the pretext of helping the pope, Henri sent his great
Balafré
, François de Guise, as his lieutenant general to Italy.

By January 1557, France was again at war with the empire. That February, François de Guise joined his father-in-law, the Duke of Ferrara, with a small army. Perhaps the French “David,” having vanquished the imperialist “Goliath” at Metz, thought he was invincible. Without support or supplies,
Balafré
marched his army directly toward the French goal: Naples.

This initiative into Spanish territory promptly annulled the year-old truce with Spain and began the three-front war Montmorency had predicted. At the end of spring, in support of her husband, Philip II, Queen Mary Tudor brought England into the conflict; by summer, Philip’s imperialists attacked northern France.

Emmanuel Philibert, duc de Savoie, was as famous a young commander on the Spanish side as François, duc de Guise, was on the French. As his own lands had been confiscated by the Valois, Philibert de Savoie burned with revenge and ambition. But Guise’s army was in southern Italy, and Savoie’s route to do battle with him in the south was barred by the Constable of France, Anne de Montmorency. On August 10, 1557, the French army, commanded by Montmorency, met the duc de Savoie and the Spanish army at Saint-Quentin on the Somme. Due to a major tactical error of the Constable’s, the French were completely surrounded. Montmorency declared: “Gentlemen, it is here that we must die.” The battle was vicious and bloody, and a disaster for France, whose army was annihilated. Montmorency was injured and captured, along with Henri’s friend Saint-André, the duc de Montpensier, and six thousand others. Three thousand lay dead and five thousand more were wounded.

The victorious duc de Savoie allowed his troops to rampage through the large town, and only three thousand women were spared. Once again, the road to Paris lay open to the enemy. It was a terrible blow for France, and the imperialists’ brutality at Saint-Quentin would not be forgotten. Miraculously for France, the Spanish did not move on to conquer Paris despite the eagerness of Emmanuel Philibert de Savoie for more French blood; Philip II of Spain was not prepared to see his captain gain more glory.

At the time of Saint-Quentin, the king was at Compiègne, a little farther north. He wrote urgently to Catherine in Paris for her help in
raising desperately needed cash to rebuild his forces. Just as his father had relied on his regent, Louise de Savoie, after the crushing defeat of Pavia, Henri now relied on Catherine de’ Medici to represent him as regent before the Parisian authorities. Henri needed Catherine’s intervention with the higher-ranking citizens in Paris, but it was Diane he sent for to be near him. She arranged for prayers for Montmorency’s recovery, and the king’s own surgeon, Mâitre Ambroise Paré, was dispatched behind enemy lines to attend to the Constable’s wounds.

The queen’s moment had finally come. She was thirty-eight years old and had waited for her husband’s need of her for twenty-four years, all her married life. This was the first time she felt of real use and saw her chance to win favor with Henri, her life’s obsession; she might not have another chance to show her true diplomatic worth. Once satisfied that the dauphin was safely at Blois and that the other royal children, including Mary, Queen of Scots, were sent there as well, she savored her triumph.

Yet Catherine’s was not an easy task—Henri had asked for enough money to pay for ten thousand troops. Nor did she have the support of the court around her. Not one of Henri’s entourage knew of Catherine’s political gifts or how cool she could be in the most difficult circumstances. She was seen by everyone as a breeding mare, capable of giving the kingdom a prince or princess each year, and little else. For so many years Catherine had perfected her image as the silken-tongued, agreeable matronly queen that few knew her brilliant, steely qualities, or of the poison in her heart. Diane might be appealing to God for help, but Catherine knew that armies ran on money, not prayers, and she summoned the bankers.

While the Parisians were fleeing the capital and able men were joining the army, Catherine carefully prepared her next move. Accompanied by the king’s sister Marguerite, and her own young daughter Elisabeth, the queen of France went to meet with the Parisian authorities. Draped entirely in black, as if in mourning for the fallen at Saint-Quentin, the queen and her ladies made their grand entrance into the Bureau de la Ville. She stood before these somber men with downcast eyes, then slowly raised them to look at each of the councilors full in the face. She was here, she said in all sincerity, to plead for her children’s
country, to defend the throne of her sons. The king, she avowed, knew his peasants were too poor to give any more for the war effort, so she had come in person, to beg the worthy citizens of Paris to be an example to his “good towns” and give generously to the war effort. Years of dissimulation had made Catherine a consummate actress, and, as her eyes filled with tears, her audience wept with her. When she finished her appeal, the queen was asked to withdraw so the notables could debate. It did not take them long. Without a murmur they agreed to raise the enormous sum the queen sought for the king—and the bankers in the other towns would double it.

The presence of the queen in their city gave the Parisians heart, and those considering fleeing decided to remain, while many returned to Paris. This day marked a turning point in Catherine de’ Medici’s life. From now on, she became a force to be reckoned with. The Parisians regarded her as their saviour and even the king had a new regard for his wife, who had finally won the hearts of his people. Recognizing
Catherine’s worth, Henri accorded her a new respect after her statesmanlike and successful appeal to the Parisian authorities for funds.

Meanwhile, Diane was at Compiègne at Henri’s side, consoling him after the horror of Saint-Quentin and the capture of his treasured Montmorency. In the opinion of a number of historians, at the age of fifty-eight, Diane’s role in Henri IPs life was that of a wiser, older inspiration, “a dowager goddess,” and there was no longer any physical attachment between them. However, a letter of the king’s exists dated August 10, 1558 in which he implores her never to forget the one who has always and will always love her. This passion was most certainly not platonic.

S
HOCKED by the terrible defeat of Saint-Quentin and of Noyon, which was brutally pillaged and burned to the ground, Henri decided to chance his luck and revive an old plan of Montmorency’s. Against all advice, he instructed his lieutenant general François de Guise to make a surprise attack where it was least expected—on the English lines at Calais. In the fourteenth century, much of France had belonged to the then king of England, another Henry II. Now, the strongly fortified city of Calais was all that was left of English France. The French had tried many times to reconquer Calais but failed. To attempt the impossible at this time was a bold gesture against all the odds. Henri would be condemned if it failed, but lauded as a genius if it succeeded.

With the capture of Anne de Montmorency, the greatest political opposition to the Guise brothers was removed. The Guises stepped into the Constable’s empty shoes and took over the government of France. One of their first decisions was to conclude the marriage between their niece Mary and the dauphin, so their family would have one of their own poised to take her place on the throne of France. Since the victor of Saint-Quentin, Philip II, was also the king of England, he might now turn his attentions north to Scotland. This union with France would signify the Scots’ defense against the imperialists.

Diane was not at all delighted at the prospect as she realized how
the ravishing new young dauphine would tip the balance of power firmly onto the side of the Guises. The duchesse de Valentinois rued the day she had promoted this family, who were becoming noticeably arrogant even to her, their patroness. The Constable, still in prison, was no less anxious and suggested Diane put forward an alternative candidate: the dauphin should marry instead Philip IPs twenty-one-year-old widowed sister, Juana. Henri was persuaded and declared the dauphin’s wedding postponed. The duc de Guise knew his king, did not insist, and set out to convince him through the glory of a great victory.

In June 1557, Lord Wentworth, the English governor of Calais, noticed ships of the French fleet in the vicinity but thought nothing of it. At the time, England was the chief maritime nation in the world, and that fact made Wentworth blind to the danger the French fleet represented. “Bloody Mary”—as Queen Mary Tudor was known for her persecution of the Protestants—paid no heed to the French fleet’s presence, either. She, too, believed Calais was impregnable.