Chapter One

The Royal Wedding (continued)

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 re-conquered Milan, the newlyweds would be installed to rule that duchy as well as Urbino.(7)

During the celebrations that followed, king and pope exchanged extravagant gifts. François gave Clement a tapestry woven of silk and gold and silver thread depicting the Last Supper. The pope gave the king a “unicorn” horn two cubits long (the length of two forearms) mounted on a solid gold pedestal. These horns had become an obsession among the nobility and even among the higher clergy. Unicorn horns were said to sweat in the presence of poisoned liquid or food; it was also believed they could detect heresy. The gift, in reality a narwhal tusk, was symbolic, intended to remind François of his duty to detect and expel the poison of heresy from his kingdom.

The French king took advantage of the occasion to rid himself of an unwelcome gift he had received from the Turkish corsair Barbarossa,(8) lieutenant of Suleiman the Magnificent, ruler of the Ottoman Empire. It was customary for great princes to exchange rare or exotic gifts, including animals such as elephants, monkeys, or sometimes deer, but the pirate had recently presented to François I a huge, tame Nubian lion with an insatiable appetite. With considerable relief, the French king passed this gift to Ippolito de’ Medici, the pope’s nephew and Catherine’s dashing favorite cousin. Ippolito was delighted, and on his return to Rome, he commissioned a portrait of himself posing with the lion.