“Oh Charles d’Albert! It is said that the King listens to him more than he does to his mother.”
Gradually I began to learn more and more of what was going on outside the nursery. Mamie was such a vivid talker and I never ceased to marvel that she had made me her special friend. That honor might so easily have been reserved for Christine who was so much older than I, or even Gaston who could give me a year. But no! I was the one, and for that I promised myself that I would be grateful to her forevermore.
“At times,” she said, “I forget how young you are. Never mind,” she went on as though to excuse herself. “You will have to play a part in all this one day so it is as well that you should be prepared.”
I remember the great excitement just after the wedding. The Prince de Condé was at the center of it. Mamie had already told me how he had married Mademoiselle de Montmorency when my father had wanted her to be his “little friend” and how the Prince had turned out to be not quite the indifferent husband my father had hoped he would be. Apparently when my father had died, the Prince had brought his wife back to Paris because there was no need then for him to keep her hidden away.
“It had been a very stormy marriage,” Mamie told me. “Many marriages are.”
I was not surprised to hear this and remembered what I had heard of my father’s marriages to La Reine Margot and to my mother.
“The Princesse was very angry because he had taken her away from Court. She had quite looked forward to being your father’s “little friend.” She would have had all the advantages of being a queen and none of the disadvantages. And what had Henri de Condé done? Dragged her away. For what? His indifferent attentions? She has held that against him ever since.”
I had seen them at one of the fêtes at the time of the wedding. The Princesse was very beautiful and I could understand why my father had been attracted by her.
A week or so after the wedding festivities the Prince de Condé was arrested.
“He has plotted to overthrow the Maréchal d’Ancre,” said Mamie, “and has tried to assemble the nobles of France against the man he calls the Italian Schemer.”
“Arrested!” I cried. “But he is a royal Prince!”
“Royal Princes can be arrested for plotting against the Queen Mother.”
“He has really plotted against my mother?”
“Dear Princesse, he has plotted against the Maréchal d’Ancre, and that can be said to be plotting against the Queen Mother. There is a great deal of excitement in the streets. They are saying that a great many wish the plot had succeeded. But the Italian is too wily for that.”
“What will happen to the Prince?”
“I doubt they will dare execute him. He may well be sent to prison.”
“At least,” I said, “the Princesse de Condé will be rid of him now.”
She hugged me suddenly. “Oh, my dear Princesse, we live in dangerous times.”
Everybody was talking about the coup that had failed and there was a surprising sequel. The Prince was exiled to Vincennes and instead of congratulating herself that she was rid of him, the Princesse de Condé declared her intention of joining him there in captivity and living with him as his faithful wife.
“People are very strange,” commented Mamie. Then she laughed and kissed me. “It is good that they are,” she went on. “It makes life more interesting.”
About this time Mère Magdalaine, a Carmelite nun, was chosen to look after my spiritual welfare. I spent long sessions with her; we prayed together; we asked for help; and she made me realize—as my mother did—that the most important motive in one’s life was to promote the Catholic Faith, bringing all those who were outside it to the Truth.
The days sped by…religious instruction from Mère Magdalaine, lessons from François Savary de Breves, playing games with Gaston and the children of noblemen, dancing, singing, happy hours with Mamie…they were the pleasant days.
It was only just beginning to occur to me that they could change.
There was more talk than ever about Concini after the Prince de Condé went into confinement.
“There is a great deal of dissatisfaction with Concini,” Mamie told me, “and the King is getting older. He is with Charles d’Albert more than ever, but Albert is only as powerful as the King is, whereas Concini walks with the Queen Mother.”
“You talk as though my mother and the King are enemies.”
“Perhaps that is because they are,” said Mamie.
Then she went on to tell me about Concini’s vast possessions. “He has several beautiful châteaux in the country as well as two in Paris. He has vineyards and farms. They say he is one of the richest men in France and the people do not like that because they say that when he came here he had nothing.”
“He has worked hard for my mother,” I said.
“And for himself,” added Mamie.
One day, in an unguarded moment, she said: “There is something in the air. I feel it in the streets. There are two factions now: the King with Charles d’Albert and the Queen Mother with Concini. Albert and Concini…both Italians…and the people don’t like either of them.”
“Well,” I pointed out. “My mother is Italian so both I and my brother are half Italians.”
“You are French,” cried Mamie fiercely. “You are your father’s children and he was one of the greatest Frenchmen who ever lived.”
It was all very puzzling to me but I enjoyed hearing the news and I must confess to a certain disappointment when life continued smoothly. Sometimes I felt I wanted things to happen, and even tragic horrible things were better than nothing. They brought excitement into the monotony of my daily life.
“Concini and his wife are shipping their wealth to Italy, so I heard,” Mamie told me one day. “That looks to me as though they intend to flit. It would be a wise thing for them to do that from what I hear in the streets. The people are gathering against them…sharpening their knives….” She laughed at me. “Oh, I did not mean that literally, my child. I mean they are preparing to drive him out of the country.”
It could only have been a few days after that when the trouble started. Secretly Charles d’Albert had been plotting with the King and their idea was to get rid of Concini, for without him the Queen Mother would be powerless. She was not interested in statecraft—which had been obvious since the Regency—and she looked to Concini to see to all that for her—with the aid of his friends, of course. She liked food and had grown fat; she liked gaiety, religion, and parading her royalty. People said unkindly that that was all that could be expected of a banker’s daughter.
It seemed that Charles d’Albert had decided that the moment had come to strike. The King was growing up. He should exert his rights or he would remain a puppet for years.
The King signed a warrant for Concini’s arrest, which was delivered by six of the King’s guards. I can imagine Concini’s astonishment when he—who had been supreme—was suddenly confronted by the King’s men. He must have wished that he had followed his inclination and left for Italy. We learned afterward that he would have gone but for his wife who had insisted that the time was not yet ripe and that there were many more pickings to be had and thus they could augment their wealth.
Elenora Galigaï was proved wrong.
It was natural that such an important person as the Maréchal d’Ancre should demand to know on what grounds he was being arrested, and that when he was told to be silent and that they must leave right away, he should resist arrest. He drew his sword and that was the signal for which they had all been waiting. The guards fell upon him with their daggers and within seconds it was a bleeding corpse which lay at their feet. In the meantime, having seen the guards going into the residence of the mighty Maréchal d’Ancre, a crowd had gathered and when the guards appeared on the balcony dragging out the dead body of the once-powerful Maréchal, the mob became frenzied with excitement.