Thinking back, Catherine could smile with more than elation, with hope of achieving her heart’s desire. It was longer possible to regard the Queen with indifference. The King showed in his manner a new respect for his wife. And there was the young Vidame de Chartres waiting to pay her his respectful admiration, which, at a sign from the Queen, could kindle into something deeper. Catherine thanked the saints nightly for the miracle of Saint-Quentin.
But the hero of the day was Francis de Guise, and to him must go great honour. Henry began by giving an Oriental masque for him in the Rue Saint-Antoine. It was lavish, colourful, expensive; worthy, said the Parisians, of their beloved le Balafré. But the cunning Duke was after more glory than the Oriental masque could give him. He and his brother the Cardinal pressed for the marriage of their niece to the Dauphin; and, being well aware of the immense popularity― swollen now by the gain of Calais― of the impudent Guises, the King, with Diane, agreed that the marriage should take place at once.
‘Bring me my pearls,’ said Catherine; and they were brought placed about her neck.
‘Now, send in my children, that I may inspect them,’ she ordered.
They came― all except the bridegroom, who was being prepared for his wedding in his own establishment.
Catherine embraced first Elizabeth and Claude and complimented them on their charming appearance. ‘My dears, you are excited, I can see, to witness your brother’s marriage. Well, we shall soon be finding husbands for you, eh?’
‘And for me also,’ said saucy Margot, pushing forward out of her turn.
‘If we can find someone who will put up with your wickedness, Mademoiselle Margot!’ said her mother, trying to look severely at the brightest of all the faces before her.
‘It is easy to find husbands for princesses,’ said Margot, with wisdom beyond her five years. ‘So one will be found for me, I doubt not.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Papa’s sister, Aunt Marguerite, has no husband, and she is a princess.’
‘Hush, my children, this is most unseemly talk,’ said the Queen. ‘The wedding has made you forget your manners.’ Then her eyes went to her darling boy. He returned that special secret smile they kept for each other. ‘And how Henry today? Excited, wishing for a wedding of his own?’
He skipped towards her; his movements were graceful, like a girl’s than a boy’s. The others noticed that he was not reprimanded for forgetting the respect owed to the Queen, even though she was his mother.
Catherine stooped and kissed her beloved child, first on cheek, then on the other.
Seven years old and growing in grace and beauty every day! Oh my darling, she thought, I would it were your wedding today and that you were the Dauphin! You would not care more for the flighty fair-haired beauty than for your Maman.
‘I would rather have a new clip for my coat, Maman, than a wedding,’ said Henry seriously. ‘I have seen a beautiful one in gold set with a sapphire.’
‘So you wish for yet another ornament, my proud popinjay?’
She would give an order for the clip. He should have it for his birthday.
He showed her his coat. Was it not magnificent? Did she not like it better than that of Hercule or even Charles? He, himself had ordered the alterations to be made.
She pinched his cheek. ‘So it is a little dressmaker you have become then?’
But she must remember the others waiting expectantly for notice.
She made Charles turn round that she might see the set of his coat. Silly, sullen little boy! He was angry and jealous because Mary was marrying his brother. His eyes were weeping. How stupid of a boy of eleven to think he had lost the love of his life!
Little Hercule, the baby, was four and very pretty though Mademoiselle Margot outshone them all― except Henry, in Catherine’s eyes― with her gay spirits and bright red cheeks and flashing eyes. She must pirouette and curtsy and take little Hercule by the arm and pretend that he was her bridegroom and that they were bowing to the crowds. The children were so comic that Catherine found herself bursting into loud laughter.
‘We forget the time,’ she declared at length. ‘It will not do for us to be late.’
She signed to the attendants. ‘Take them now and see that they are ready when the time comes.’
The royal party had spent the night at the palace of the Bishop of Paris, and a gallery had been erected which ran from the palace to the west door of Notre Dame. This gallery was fitted with tapestries and cloth of silver and gold, wherever possible ornamented with the fleur-de-lys.
It was now time to join the party which was to make its way through the gallery to Notre Dame, and the King’s gentlemen led the way, followed by princes, cardinals, archbishops, and abbots; then came the Papal Legate with the Dauphin and his brothers, the Bourbon princes following; and after that, the most enchanting sight of all― young Mary Stuart, dazzling all eyes in a white gown with a long train, while on her fair curling hair, she wore a golden crown, decorated with pearls and coloured precious stones. The people gasped and could not take their eyes from her as the King himself led her into Notre Dame.
And after the King and the little Queen, came Catherine and her ladies.
Catherine’s alert eyes missed nothing. Francis de Guise, she noted, was much in evidence― diabolically attractive with that hideous scar and his rich garments. He had taken Montmorency’s place as Grand Master of the King’s Household, and Catherine admired his cleverness in playing to the crowd. He had allowed the common people to use the scaffolding which had been erected for the occasion.
‘Le Balafré!’ called the crowd. He knew well how to play to the humble people of Paris, he was their idol, determined to be their King.
Cardinal de Bourbon greeted the royal party as they entered the church.
While he was delivering his oration, gold and silver coins were thrown to the crowds. Even in the church it was possible to hear the shouts of the people, shouts of delight from those who secured the money, shouts of protest and from those who were almost trampled to death in the struggle. All through the ceremony the shouting persisted, mingled with screams of the injured.
Catherine was glad when they left the church, for by time the weak had prevailed on the heralds to stop the scattering of money, crying out that unless they did, there would be many deaths to celebrate the wedding of their Dauphin, Back at the Bishop’s Palace a banquet awaited them, and after this the King led the bride in a dance; watching them, Catherine remembered her own wedding and magnificent Francis with the kind, debauched eyes holding her hand telling her that she was Catherine of France now, not Caterina of Italy.
There was a lump in her throat; it was born of pity for poor ignorant little girl from Italy. If only she could have been as wise as the present Catherine, what a lot of misery she would have saved herself!
But here was Francis, the hero of the occasion, bowing before his mother, and begging for the honour of her hand in the dance.
She smiled at him.
‘Come, my dear Dauphin, let us dance.’
All eyes were on the four of them now― the King and Mary; herself and Francis. On such occasions as this she felt that she took her rightful place in the land.
‘You are looking well, my son,’ she said, for indeed he was.
‘It is the happiest day of my life,’ said the bridegroom.
‘You are fortunate, my son. You love your wife. It is a wonderful thing― providing, of course, that there is love on both sides.’