Dark Eminence Catherine De Medici And Her Children by Marguerite Vance (good e books to read .TXT) 📗

Ambition was the game at which Catherine de Medici played with such furious zeal all her life. At times she seemed to win;

again, as she changed the rules to suit her convenience, she lost; but winning or losing, she never for so much as a day lost her surging interest in the game. At this particular time she prohably was too immersed in plans for Elizabeth's approaching wedding to give her young daughter-in-law more than a passing thought.

Meanwhile there had been another marriage ceremony at Court, a very quiet one which united little Claude of Valois with the Duke of Lorraine. Crippled from birth, Claude was stooped and shrunken, her shoulders and back twisted, and she spent all of her twenty-seven years encased in a series of trusses used in a vain effort to curb the spinal tuberculosis that crippled her. In an age when physical beauty was all-important, Claude's mother looked upon her with frank distaste. How could an advantageous dynastic marriage be expected for a blighted little creature like her? It is remarkable that the little girl did not react differently, but Claude had an unusually sweet nature; and in her sister Elizabeth, two years older, she found a sympathetic companion who showed her love without pity and a warm understanding. The Queen's ambition for Claude was to have her married quickly and out of the way, so when she was not quite twelve she was married to the Duke of Lorraine, a Guise to be sure, but of a minor branch of the House. Ironically enough, little Claude was to be very happy in her marriage and to leave a daughter whom, years later, Catherine adored.

Watching the Duke s knightly attentions to Claude at the wedding feast, Elizabeth was conscious of a twisting ache of rebellion in her own heart. What of the stranger, Philip of

Dark Eminence

Spain? In spite of the extravagant predictions of future splendor, what would life hold for her across the Pyrenees mountains in far-off Spain?

As the weeks passed Elizabeth's terror mounted, and once only a few days before the wedding she buried her face in the shoulder of her beloved governess, Madame de Clermont.

"Why must I go? Why?'' she sobbed. "Wherever I turn I hear His Most Catholic Majesty is harsh and cruel, that he was most unkind to Queen Mary of England, dead but six months. Why does Madame, my mother, think I should

find so much joy in this marriage? Why does the King, my father, speak of my marriage as a tond between the Houses of Hapsburg and Valois? Why?"

Madame de Clermont tucked her own handkerchief under the tear-wet cheek on her shoulder, searching for the right words, the gentle tone to bring comfort.

"Your Grace," she said quietly, 'Trance and Spain have long been at war. Now there is a trace and treaties of peace are being signed. France has lost much, but your marriage to His Majesty, King Philip of Spain, will assure us peace for some years at least—it will heal many wounds. Also, believe not, dear child, that the King is all bad. A man's enemies are quick to give him an evil name and it is not well to believe all the bad one hears. You will be a cherished wife, have no doubts."

Elizabeth dried her tears and made a determined effort to take an interest in the magnificent trousseau being assembled for her. Truly, it was a breath-taking assortment. There were four robes of cloth of gold, another of crimson velvet, two of black velvet, three of white satin, still another of silver damask embroidered in gold thread, to name only a few. "piere were cloaks of fur, others of cloth of silver lined with fur, and mountainous piles of delicate lingerie. It was a trousseau to enchant any bride and Elizabeth did her best to seem appreciative.

With the ladies and gentlemen of her household she paid a visit to the royal stables to inspect the beautiful litter which had been built for her by master craftsmen, and a very bonbon box of a chariot, all rose velvet and lace and cloth of

silver, to be drawn by six white horses, all part of her royal equipment. She laid her cheek against that of the gentle white palfrey standing patiently awaiting her praise. He blew softly through velvety nostrils and she laughed at the tiny tickling hurricane against her ear, appraising meanwhile the housings of heavily embroidered damask fringed in silver tagged with medallions of fine enamel.

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Another day, with her seven-year-old sister Marguerite bouncing happily along beside her, she followed two of her serving women up and down one of the long corridors of the Louvre palace while they opened chest after chest containing the heavy silver and gold plate for her household use, unlocked coffers filled with exquisite linens and hangings for her bedchamber and presence chamber.

"Methinks, sister/' Marguerite chuckled, "you'll live in many, many palaces to use all these soft furnishings, albeit they're so lightly wrought they'll not endure long/'

She would always chuckle and bounce, this youngest daughter of Catherine de Medici, until in old age she died more or less an outcast from her own family.

King Philip, on a diplomatic mission in the Netherlands, was unable to come to Paris so he appointed Don Fernando Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alba, to act as his representative at the marriage; and on June 19th he and his party arrived. They were welcomed with great fanfare at the Louvre and there are many charming stories about the meeting of the Duke and Princess Elizabeth. He knelt to kiss the hern of her robe and then presented her with the Kings gift, an ivory casket of jewels, among them a superb miniature of

the King himself set in diamonds and fastened to a delicate chain to be worn as a necklace.

It is said the