I said: “I like sitting here talking to you.”
The hand pressed mine and she smiled.
“You must go. Your mother would not wish you to talk too long with me. I think she has noticed us…or one of her spies has. The King is her son but I have as much right as anyone to be here when there is a wedding in the family.”
A young man was approaching and I saw her interest in me fade.
He came and bowed before her.
“Ma belle Margot!” he said softly and she smiled and held out her hand.
I knew it was then time for me to leave.
I never forgot her and was extraordinarily moved when a year later I heard that she had died. She was sixty-three years old then and I found it hard to believe that anyone could live so long. When Mamie came to us she told me lots of stories about La Reine Margot; her life seemed to have been one long succession of lovers and wild adventures. I was surprised to hear that she and my mother had been quite friendly.
“I should have thought she would have hated my mother who took her place,” I commented to Mamie.
“Oh no,” Mamie corrected me. “She liked her because of it. Every time she saw her she would say how lucky she was to be rid of your father. And your mother was in sympathy with her because they had both had to—as they would say—‘put up with him’ and knew what a troublesome matter that could be. It made a bond between them.”
So she was dead, and that wild and exciting life was over forever.
Those celebrations were certainly an important event in my life. I ceased to be a child during them. For instance it was the first time I saw the Maréchal d’Ancre about whom people were constantly talking. Christine pointed him out to me. “Look,” she said, “there is the Maréchal talking to our mother. I don’t think our brother likes him very much.”
“Why not?” I asked.
Christine was about to speak when she looked at me and I guessed she was reminding herself that I was only a child.
“Oh, he has his reasons, I’ll swear,” she said, and then she left me.
I noticed my brother, the King, was sitting looking at the proceedings with a disconsolate air. His Queen was beside him, smiling, fluttering her fan and now and then putting up one of her hands to touch her mantilla—not to adjust it but to bring her pretty hands into prominence. She looked very Spanish and I wondered whether the people were going to like that. Louis spoke very little to her. He stammered quite a bit when he was in a temper or alarmed about something. I suspected he was in one of his stammering phases now.
Then he was smiling suddenly because Charles d’Albert had come to sit beside him and it was immediately clear that he enjoyed the company of Charles d’Albert better than that of his Queen.
I knew a little about Charles d’Albert because there was a great deal of talk about him around the nurseries.
“Another of those Italians,” I heard one of the attendants say. The man was standing beneath my window at the time and even though I had to take a few paces back to hide myself, I was able to hear what was said.
The man to whom he was talking replied: “We have had our fill of them since the King went to Italy for a wife.”
“And married one of the Medicis at that! It would have been better if he had stayed with La Reine Margot.”
They said something about La Reine Margot which I did not understand and they laughed heartily. I could tell by the sound of their feet on the gravel that they were pushing each other to make their point.
“Well, we wouldn’t have had a new King if he had not married her.”
“No, no. For all her tricks Margot was no hand at producing the goods.”
More laughter and jostling.
“They say he’s getting a real hold on the young King….”
“Won’t do him much good with Maman in control. Concini will see to that.”
“Another Italian! Isn’t it time France was for the French?”
“Yes, I agree. But don’t worry about Albert. The King is in leading strings and likely to remain there as far as I can see. He’s no Henri Quatre.”
“Ah, there was a man!” There followed what I guessed to be more shuffling and jostling, but to my chagrin they moved away. I should have liked to hear more about Charles d’Albert.
I was interested though and kept my ears open. It was no use asking questions—everyone either considered I was too young to understand or they did not want to waste time on me.
So I listened and at the time of the wedding I did know that Charles d’Albert was originally Alberti and he had come to France from Florence to make his fortune. When he found he could do this he decided to become French and changed his name to Albert. He came to the King’s notice because he was clever with birds and trained hawks. He loved to hunt with them and as the King did too that made a bond between them and they soon became very friendly. My brother made him his very special falconer and they were constantly in each other’s company training birds and making nets and thongs for hawking. Albert could train other birds and he was very clever with little sporting birds like pies grièches which, I discovered later, in England, were called butcher birds.
It was very interesting to see the young man of whom I had heard so much. He was considerably older than my brother Louis and he had certainly made his fortune at the Court of France. He had married, through the King’s graces, Mademoiselle Rohan Montbazon, who was recognized as one of the beauties of the Court.
Watching them now it was easy to see that he was on very familiar terms with the King.
I sat on a stool close to them. It was sometimes an advantage to be so young that one was ignored. I listened to their talk. They were discussing hunting, and Albert was asking the King to come as soon as he could to see a new falcon which he had acquired and of which he had high hopes.
They talked of falconry for some time and then Albert said suddenly: “Look at Concini over there. What airs that man gives himself!”
“You are right,” said my brother. He was not stammering now that he was talking to Albert which was a sign that he was completely at his ease.
“Your royal mother seems besotted by the man. I believe he thinks himself more royal than she is.”
“I dislike him, Charles. He tries to tell me what to do.”
“What impertinence! You should not allow that, Sire.”
I looked up and saw the pleased look on my brother’s face. He loved people to recognize his royalty. They did in the streets, of course, and cheered him as the King out of loyalty to our father, Christine said; but there were always those to tell him what to do. It must be a trial to be a king in name and not old enough to be one in fact.
“There’ll come a time,” said Louis.
“And I pray the saints it will not long be delayed,” added Charles d’Albert.
“Concini and the Queen Mother will delay it as long as possible you may be sure.”
“Indeed they will. They want to rule, and how can they do that if the King is in his rightful place?”
“I won’t always be a boy.”
“If you will forgive my saying so, Sire, you have the attributes of a man already.”
I could see why Louis was fond of Albert. This was the way he liked people to talk to him. “The time will come…” he said.
“Soon, Sire, soon.”
Someone had come forward and was bowing to Louis. I slipped away.
I realized later that I had been listening to the beginning of a plot.
Those wedding festivities were a turning point in my life. My mother seemed to realize that I was growing up, and because I was dainty and pretty and could sing and dance well, the people liked me. It was necessary for her to be seen with us children because the people always cheered Gaston and me and she could pretend the cheers were for her. In fact the only way she could get the people to cheer when her carriage rode by was to have us in it.