The book of the ladies

I should like to know in what our last kings have surpassed our last three daughters of France, Élisabeth, Claude, and Marguerite; and whether if the latter had come to be queens of France they would not have governed it (I do not wish to accuse the regency, which was very great and very wise) as well as their brothers. I have heard many great personages, well-informed and far-seeing, say that possibly we should not have had the evils we did have, now have, and shall have still; adducing reasons too long to put here. But the common and vulgar fool says: “Must observe the Salic law.” Poor idiot that he is! does he not know that the Germans, from whose stock we issued, were wont to call their women to affairs of State, as we learn from Tacitus? From that, we can see how this Salic law has been corrupted. It is but mere custom; and poor women, unable to enforce their rights by the point of the sword, men have excluded, and driven them from everything. Ah! why have we no more brave and valiant paladins of France, – a Roland, a Renaud, an Ogier, a Deudon, an Olivier, a Graffon, an Yvon, and an infinity of other braves, whose glory and profession it was to succour ladies and support them in the troubles and adversities of their lives, their honour, and their fortunes? Why are they here no longer to maintain the rights of our Queen Marguerite, daughter of France, who barely enjoys an inch of land in France, which she quitted in noble state, though to her, perhaps, the whole belongs by right divine and human? Queen Marguerite, who does not even enjoy her county of Auvergne, which is hers by law and equity as the sole heiress of the queen, her mother, is now withdrawn into the castle of Usson, amid the deserts, rocks, and mountains of Auvergne, – a different habitation, verily, from the great city of Paris, where she ought now to be seated on her throne and place of justice, which belongs to her in her own right as well as by that of her husband. But the misfortune is that they are not there together. If both were again united in body and soul and friendship, as they once were, possibly all would go right once more, and together they would be feared, respected, and known for what they are.

(Since this was written God has willed that they be reconciled, which is indeed great luck.)

I heard M. de Pibrac say on one occasion that these Navarre marriages are fatal, because husband and wife are always at variance, – as was the case with Louis Hutin, King of France and of Navarre, and Marguerite de Bourgogne, daughter of Duc Robert III.; also Philippe le Long, King of France and Navarre, with Jeanne, daughter of Comte Othelin of Bourgogne, who, being found innocent, was vindicated well; also Charles le Bel, King of France and of Navarre, with Blanche, daughter of Othelin, another Comte de Bourgogne; and further, King Henri d’Albret with Marguerite de Valois, who, as I have heard on good authority, treated her very ill, and would have done worse had not King François, her brother, spoken sternly to him and threatened him for honouring his sister so little, considering the rank she held.

The last King Antoine of Navarre died also on ill terms with Queen Jeanne, his wife; and our Queen Marguerite is now in dispute and separation from her husband; but God will some day happily unite them in spite of these evil times.

I have heard a princess say that Queen Marguerite saved her husband’s life on the massacre of Saint-Bartholomew; for indubitably he was proscribed and his name written on the “red paper,” as it was called, because it was necessary, they said, to tear up the roots, namely, the King of Navarre, the Prince de Condé, Amiral de Coligny, and other great personages; but the said Queen Marguerite flung herself on her knees before King Charles, to implore him for the life of her husband and lord.[15 - Marguerite was married to Henri, King of Navarre, six days before the massacre of Saint-Bartholomew, August, 1572.] King Charles would scarcely grant it to her, although she was his good sister. I relate this for what it is worth, as I know it only by hearsay. But she bore this massacre very impatiently and saved several, among them a Gascon gentleman (I think his name was Léran), who, wounded as he was, took refuge beneath her bed, she being in it, and the murderers pursuing him to the door, from which she drove them; for she was never cruel, but kind, like a daughter of France.

They say that the quarrel between herself and her husband came more from the difference in their religion than from anything else; for they each loved his and her own, and supported it strongly. The queen having gone to Pau, the chief town of Béarn, she caused the mass to be said there; and a certain secretary of the king, her husband, named le Pin, who had formerly belonged to M. l’Amiral, not being able to stomach it, put several of the inhabitants of the town who had been present at the mass into prison. The queen was much displeased; and he, wishing to remonstrate, spoke to her much louder than he should, and very indiscreetly, even before the king, who gave him a good rebuke and dismissed him; for King Henri knows well how to like and respect what he ought; being as brave and generous as his fine and noble actions have always manifested; of which I shall speak at length in his life.

The said le Pin fell back upon the edict which is there made, and to be observed under penalty, namely, that mass shall not be said. The queen, feeling herself insulted, and God knows she was, vowed and declared she would never again set foot in that country because she chose to be free in the exercise of her religion; whereupon she departed, and has ever since kept her oath very carefully.

I have heard it said that nothing lay so heavily on her heart as this indignity of being deprived of the exercise of her religion; for which reason she begged the queen, her good mother, to come and fetch her and take her to France to see the king and Monsieur, his brother, whom she honoured and loved much. Having arrived, she was not received and seen by the king, her brother, as she should have been. Seeing this great change since she had left France, and the rise of many persons she would never have thought of to grandeurs, it irked her much to be forced to pay court to them, as others, her equals, were now doing; and far from doing so herself, she despised them openly, as I well saw, so high was her courage. Alas! too high, certainly, for it caused her misfortunes; had she been willing to restrain herself and lower her courage the least in the world she would not have been thwarted and vexed as she has been.

As to which I shall relate this story: when the king, her brother, went to Poland, he being there, she knew that M. du Gua, much favoured by her brother, had made some remarks to her disadvantage, enough to set brother and sister at variance or enmity. At the end of a certain time M. du Gua returned from Poland and arrived at Court, bearing letters from the king to his sister, which he went to her apartment to give her and kiss hands. This I saw myself. When she beheld him enter she was in great wrath, and as he came to her to present the letter she said to him, with an angry face: “Lucky for you, du Gua, that you come before me with this letter from my brother, which serves you as a safeguard, for I love him much and all who come from him are free from me; but without it, I would teach you to speak about a princess like myself, the sister of your kings, your masters and sovereigns.” M. du Gua answered very humbly: “I should never, madame, have presented myself before you, knowing that you wish me ill, without some good message from the king, my master, who loves you, and whom you love also; or without feeling assured, madame, that for love of him, and because you are good and generous, you would hear me speak.” And then, after making her his excuses and telling his reasons (as he knew well how to do), he denied very positively that he had ever spoken against the sister of his kings otherwise than very reverently. On which she dismissed him with an assurance that she would ever be his cruel enemy, – a promise which she kept until his death.

After a while the king wrote to Mme. de Dampierre and begged her, for the sake of giving him pleasure, to induce the Queen of Navarre to pardon M. du Gua, which Mme. de Dampierre undertook with very great regret, knowing well the nature of the said queen; but because the king loved her and trusted her, she took the errand and went one day to see the said queen in her room. Finding her in pretty good humour, she opened the matter and made the appeal, namely: that to keep the good graces, friendship, and favour of the king, her brother, who was now about to become King of France, she ought to pardon M. du Gua, forget the past, and take him again into favour; for the king loved and favoured him above his other friends; and by thus taking M. du Gua as a friend she would gain through him many pleasures and good offices, inasmuch as he quietly governed the king, his master, and it was much better to have his help than to make him desperate and goad him against her, because he could surely do her much harm; telling her how she had seen in her time during the reign of François I., Mesdames Madeleine and Marguerite, one Queen of Scotland later, the other Duchesse de Savoie, her aunts, although their hearts were as high and lofty as her own, bring down their pride so low as to pay court to M. de Sourdis, who was only master of the wardrobe to the king, their father; yet they even sought him, hoping by his means, to obtain the favour of the king; and thus, taking example by her aunts, she ought to do the same herself in relation to M. du Gua.

The Queen of Navarre, having listened very attentively to Mme. de Dampierre, answered her rather coldly, but with a smiling face, as her manner was: “Madame de Dampierre, what you say to me may be good for you; you need favours, pleasures, and benefits, and were I you the words you say to me might be very suitable and proper to be received and put in practice; but to me, who am the daughter of a king, the sister of kings, and the wife of a king, they have no meaning; because with that high and noble rank I cannot, for my honour’s sake, be a beggar of favours and benefits from the king, my brother; and I hold him to be of too good a nature and too well acquainted with his duty to deny me anything unless I have the favour of a du Gua; if otherwise, he will do great wrong to himself, his honour, and his royalty. And even if he be so unnatural as to forget himself and what he owes to me, I prefer, for my honour’s sake and as my courage tells me, to be deprived of his good graces, because I would not seek du Gua to gain his favours, or be even suspected of gaining them by such means and intercession; and if the king, my brother, feels himself worthy to be king, and to be loved by me and by his people, I feel myself, as his sister, worthy to be queen and loved, not only by him but by all the world. And if my aunts, as you allege, degraded themselves as you say, let them do as they would if such was their humour, but their example is no law to me, nor will I imitate it, or form myself on any model if not my own.” On that she was silent, and Mme. de Dampierre retired; not that the queen was angry with her or showed her ill-will, for she loved her much.

Another time, when M. d’Épernon went to Gascoigne after the death of Monsieur (a journey made for various purposes, so they said), he saw the King of Navarre at Pamiers, and they made great cheer and caresses to each other. I speak thus because at that time M. d’Épernon was semi-king of France because of the dissolute favour he had with his master, the King of France. After having caressed and made good cheer together the King of Navarre asked him to go and see him at Nérac when he had been to Toulouse and was on his way back; which he promised to do. The King of Navarre having gone there first to make preparations to feast him well, the Queen of Navarre, who was then at Nérac, and who felt a deadly hatred to M. d’Épernon, said to the king, her husband, that she would leave the place so as not to disturb or hinder the fête, not being able to endure the sight of M. d’Épernon without some scandal or venom of anger which she might disgorge, and so give annoyance to the king, her husband. On which the king begged her, by all the pleasures that she could give him, not to stir, but to help him to receive the said Sieur d’Épernon and to put her rancour against him underfoot for love of him, her husband, and all the more because it greatly concerned both of them and their grandeur.

“Well, monsieur,” replied the queen, “since you are pleased to command it, I will remain and give him good cheer out of respect to you and the obedience that I owe to you.” After which she said to some of her ladies: “But I will answer for it that on the days that man is here I will dress in habiliments I never yet have worn, namely: dissimulation and hypocrisy; I will so mask my face with shams that the king shall see there only good and honest welcome and all gentleness; and likewise I will lay discretion on my lips, so that externally I will make him think my heart internally is kind, which otherwise I would not answer for; I do this being nowise in my own control, but wholly in his, – so lofty is he and full of frankness, unable to bear vileness or the venom of hypocrisy, or to abase himself in any way.”

Therefore, to content the king, her husband, for she honoured him much, as he did her, she disguised her feelings in such a way that, M. d’Épernon being brought to her apartment, she received him in the same manner the king had asked of her and she had promised; so that all present, the chamber being full of persons eager to see the entrance and the interview, marvelled much, while the king and M. d’Épernon were quite content. But the most clear-sighted and those who knew the nature of the queen misdoubted something hidden within; and she herself said afterwards it was a comedy in which she played a part unwillingly.

These are two tales by which to see the lofty courage of this queen, the which was such, as I have heard the queen, her mother, say (discoursing of this topic), that she resembled in this her father; and that she, the queen-mother, had no other child so like him, as much in ways, humours, lineaments, and features of the face as in courage and generosity; telling also how she had seen King Henri during King François’ lifetime unable for a kingdom to pay his court and cringe to Cardinal de Tournon or to Amiral d’Annebault, the favourites of King François, even though he might often have had peace with Emperor Charles had he been willing so to do; but his honour could not submit to such attentions. And so, like father, like daughter. Nevertheless, all that injured her much. I remember an infinite number of annoyances and indignities she received at Court, which I shall not relate, they are too odious; until at last she was sent away, with great affront and yet most innocent of what they put upon her; the proofs of which were known to many, as I know myself; also the king, her husband, was convinced of it, so that he brought King Henri to account, which was very good of him, and henceforth there resulted between the two brothers [-in-law] a certain hatred and contention.

The war of the League happened soon after; and because the Queen of Navarre feared some evil at Court, being a strong Catholic, she retired to Agen, which had been given to her with the region about it by her brothers, as an appanage and gift for life. As the Catholic religion was concerned, which it was necessary to maintain, and also to exterminate the other, she wished to fortify her side as best she could and repress the other side. But in this she was ill-served by means of Mme. de Duras, who governed her much, and made, in her name, great exactions and extortions. The people of the town were embittered, and covertly sought their freedom and a means to drive away their lady and her bailiffs. On which disturbance the Maréchal de Matignon took occasion to make enterprise against the town, as the king, having learned the state of things, commanded him with great joy to do in order to aggravate his sister, whom he did not love, to more and more displeasure. This enterprise, which failed at first, was led the second time so dexterously by the said marshal and the inhabitants, that the town was taken by force with such rapidity and alarm that the poor queen, in spite of all she could do, was forced to mount in pillion behind a gentleman, and Mme. de Duras behind another, and escape as quickly as they could, riding a dozen leagues without stopping, and the next day as much more, to find safety in the strongest fortress of France, which is Carlat. Being there, and thinking herself in safety, she was, by the manœuvres of the king, her brother (who was a very clever and very subtle king, if ever there was one), betrayed by persons of that country and the fortress, so that when she fled she became a prisoner in the hands of the Marquis de Canillac, governor of Auvergne, and was taken to the castle of Usson, a very strong fortress also, almost impregnable, which that good and sly fox Louis XI. had made such, in order to lodge his prisoners in a hundred-fold more security than at Loches, Bois de Vincennes, or Lusignan.

Here, then, was this poor princess a prisoner, and treated not as a daughter of France or the great princess that she was. But, at any rate, if her body was captive, her brave heart was not, and it never failed her, but helped her well and did not let her yield to her affliction. See what a great heart can do, led by great beauty! For he who held her prisoner became her prisoner in time, brave and valiant though he was. Poor man! what else could he expect? Did he think to hold subject and captive in his prison one whose eyes and beauteous face could subject the whole world to her bonds and chains like galley-slaves!

So here was the marquis ravished and taken by her beauty; but she, not dreaming of the delights of love, only of her honour and her liberty, played her game so shrewdly that she soon became the stronger, seized the fort, and drove away the marquis, much dumfounded at such surprise and military tactics.

There she has now been six or seven years,[16 - Marguerite lived eighteen years in the castle of Usson, from 1587 to 1605. She died in Paris, March 27, 1615, at the age of sixty-two, rather less than one year after Brantôme. (French editor.)] not, however, with all the pleasures of life, being despoiled of the county of Auvergne by M. le Grand Prieur de France, whom the king induced the queen-mother to institute count and heir in her will; regretting much that she could not leave the queen, her good daughter, anything of her own, so great was the hatred that the king bore her. Alas! what mutation was this from the time when, as I saw myself, they loved each other much, and were one in body, soul, and will! Ah! how often was it fine to see them discourse together; for, whether they were grave or gay, nothing could be finer than to see and hear them, for both could say what they wished to say. Ah! how changed the times are since we saw them in that great ball-room, dancing together in such beautiful accord of dance and will! The king always led her to the dance at the great balls. If one had a noble majesty the other had none the less; the eyes of all were never surfeited or delighted enough by so agreeable a sight; for the sets were so well danced, the steps so correctly performed, the stops so finely made that we knew not which to admire most, their beautiful fashion of dancing or their majesty in pausing; representing now a gay demeanour and next a noble, crave disdain; for no one ever saw them in the dance that did not say they had seen no dance so fine with grace and majesty as this of the king-brother and the queen-sister. As for me, I am of that opinion; and yet I have seen the Queen of Spain and the Queen of Scotland dance most beautifully.

Also I have seen them dance the Italian pazzemeno [the minuet, menu pas], now advancing with grave port and majesty, doing their steps so gravely and so well; next gliding only; and anon making most fine and dainty and grave passages, that none, princes or others, could approach, nor ladies, because of the majesty that was not lacking. Wherefore this queen took infinite pleasure in these grave dances on account of her grace and dignity and majesty, which she displayed the better in these than in others like bransles, and volts, and courants. The latter she did not like, although she danced them well, because they were not worthy of her majesty, though very proper for the common graces of other ladies.

I have seen her sometimes like to dance the bransle by torchlight. I remember that once, being at Lyon, on the return of the king from Poland, at the marriage of Besne (one of her maids of honour) she danced the bransle before many foreigners from Savoie, Piedmont, Italy, and elsewhere, who declared they had never seen anything so fine as this queen, a grave and noble lady, as indeed she is. One of them there was who went about declaring that she needed not, like other ladies, the torch she carried in her hand; for the light within her eyes, which could not be extinguished like the other, was sufficient; the which had other virtue than leading men to dance, for it inflamed all those about her, yet could not be put out like the one she had in hand, but lit the night amid the darkness and the day beneath the sun.

For this reason must we say that Fortune has been to us as great an enemy as to her, in that we see no longer that bright torch, or rather that fine sun which lighted us, now hidden among those hills and mountains of Auvergne. If only that light had placed itself in some fine port or haven near the sea, where passing mariners might be guided, safe from wreck and peril, by its beacon, her dwelling would be nobler, more profitable, more honourable for herself and us. Ah! people of Provence, you ought to beg her to dwell upon your seacoasts or within your ports; then would she make them more famous than they are, more inhabited and richer; from all sides men in galleys, ships, and vessels would flock to see this wonder of the world, as in old times to that of Rhodes, that they might see its glorious and far-shining pharos. Instead of which, begirt by barriers of mountains, she is hidden and unknown to all our eyes, except that we have still her lovely memory. Ah! beautiful and ancient town of Marseille, happy would you be if your port were honoured by the flame and beacon of her splendid eyes! For the county of Provence belongs to her, as do several other provinces in France. Cursèd be the unhappy obstinacy of this kingdom which does not seek to bring her hither with the king, her husband, to be received, honoured and welcomed as they should be. (This I wrote at the very height of the Wars of the League.)

Were she a bad, malicious, miserly, or tyrannical princess (as there have been a plenty in times past in France, and will be, possibly, again), I should say nothing in her favour; but she is good, most splendid, liberal, giving all to others, keeping little for herself, most charitable, and giving freely to the poor. The great she made ashamed with liberalities; for I have seen her make presents to all the Court on New Year’s Day such as the kings, her brothers, could not equal. On one occasion she gave Queen Louise de Lorraine a fan made of mother-of-pearl enriched with precious stones and pearls of price, so beautiful and rich that it was called a masterpiece and valued at more than fifteen thousand crowns. The other, to return the present, sent her sister those long aiguillettes which Spaniards call puntas, enriched with certain stones and pearls, that might have cost a hundred crowns; and with these she paid for that fine New Year’s gift, which was, certainly, most dissimilar.

In short, this queen is in all things royal and liberal, honourable and magnificent, and, let it not displease the empresses of long past days, their splendours described by Suetonius, Pliny, and others, do not approach her own in any way, either in Court or city, or in her journeys through the open country; witness her gilded litters so superbly covered and painted with fine devices, her coaches and carriages the same, and her horses so fine and so richly caparisoned.

Those who have seen, as I have, these splendid appurtenances know what I say. And must she now be deprived of all this, so that for seven years she has not stirred from that stern, unpleasant castle? – in which, however, she takes patience; such virtue has she of self-command, one of the greatest, as many wise philosophers have said!

To speak once more of her kindness: it is such, so noble, so frank, that, as I believe, it has done her harm; for though she has had great grounds and great means to be revenged upon her enemies and injure them, she has often withheld her hand when, had she employed those means or caused them to be employed, and commanded others, who were ready enough, to chastise those enemies with her consent, they would have done so wisely and discreetly; but she resigned all vengeances to God.

This is what M. du Gua said to her once when she threatened him: “Madame, you are so kind and generous that I never heard it said you did harm to any one; and I do not think you will begin with me, who am your very humble servitor.” And, in fact, although he greatly injured her, she never returned him the same in vengeance. It is true that when he was killed and they came to tell her, she merely said, being ill: “I am sorry I am not well enough to celebrate his death with joy.” She had also this other kindness in her: that when others had humbled themselves and asked her pardon and favour, she forgave and pardoned, with the generosity of a lion which never does harm to those who are humble to him.

I remember that when M. le Maréchal de Biron was lieutenant of the king in Guyenne, war having broken out around him (possibly with his knowledge and intent), he went one day before Nérac, where the King and Queen of Navarre were living at that time. The marshal prepared his arquebusiers to attack, beginning with a skirmish. The King of Navarre brought out his own in person, and, in a doublet like any captain of adventurers, he held his ground so well that, having the best marksmen, nothing could prevail against him. By way of bravado the marshal let fly some cannon against the town, so that the queen, who had gone upon the ramparts to see the pastime, came near having her share in it, for a ball flew right beside her; which incensed her greatly, as much for the little respect Maréchal de Biron showed in braving her to her face, as because he had a special command from the king not to approach the war nearer than five hundred leagues to the Queen of Navarre, wherever she might be. The which command he did not observe on this occasion; for which she felt resentment and revenge against the marshal.

About a year and a half later she came to Court, where was the marshal, whom the king had recalled from Guyenne, fearing further disturbance; for the King of Navarre had threatened to make trouble if he were not recalled. The Queen of Navarre, resentful to the said marshal, took no notice of him, but disdained him, speaking everywhere very ill of him and of the insult he had offered her. At last, the marshal, dreading the hatred of the daughter and sister of his masters, and knowing the nature of the princess, determined to seek her pardon by making excuses and humbling himself; on which, generous as she was, she did not contradict him, but took him into favour and friendship and forgot the past. I knew a gentleman by acquaintance who came to Court about this time, and seeing the good cheer the queen bestowed upon the marshal was much astonished; and so, as he sometimes had the honour of being listened to by the queen, he said to her that he was much amazed at the change and at her good welcome, in which he could not have believed, in view of the affront and injury. To which she answered that as the marshal had owned his fault and made his excuses and sought her pardon humbly, she had granted it for that reason, and did not desire further talk about his bravado at Nérac. See how little vindictive this good princess is, – not imitating in this respect her grandmother, Queen Anne, towards the Maréchal de Gié, as I have heretofore related.

I might give many other examples of her kindness in her reconciliations and forgivenesses.

Rebours, one of her maids of honour, who died at Chenonceaux, displeased her on one occasion very much. She did not treat her harshly, but when she was very ill she went to see her, and as she was about to die admonished her, and then said: “This poor girl has done great harm, but she has suffered much. May God pardon her as I have pardoned her.” That was the vengeance and the harm she did her. Through her generosity she was slow to revenge, and in all things kind.

Alfonso, the great King of Naples, who was subtle in loving the beauties of women, used to say that beauty is the sign manual of kindness and gentle goodness, as the beautiful flower is that of a good fruit. As to that it cannot be doubted that if our queen had been ugly and not composed of her great beauty, she would have been very bad in view of the great causes to be so that were given her. Thus said the late Queen Isabella of Castile, that wise and virtuous and very Catholic princess: “The fruit of clemency in a queen of great beauty and lofty heart, covetous of honour, is sweeter far than any vengeance whatever, even though it be undertaken for just claims and reason.”

This queen most sacredly observes that rule, striving to conform to the commandments of her God, whom she has always loved and feared and served devotedly. Now that the world has abandoned her and made war upon her, she takes her sole resource in God, whom she serves daily, as I am told by those who have seen her in her affliction; for never does she miss a mass, taking the communion often and reading much in Holy Scripture, finding there her peace and consolation.

She is most eager to obtain the fine new books that are composed, as much on sacred subjects as on human; and when she undertakes to read a book, however large and long it be, she never stops or quits it until she sees the end, and often loses sleep and food in doing so. She herself composes, both in prose and verse. As to which no one can think otherwise than that her compositions are learned, beautiful, and pleasing, for she knows the art; and could we bring them to the light, the world would draw great pleasure and great profit from them. Often she makes very beautiful verses and stanzas, that are sung to her by choir-boys whom she keeps, and which she sings herself (for her voice is beautiful and pleasant) to a lute, playing it charmingly. And thus she spends her time and wears away her luckless days, – offending none, and living that tranquil life she chooses as the best.

She has done me the honour to write me often in her adversity, I being so presumptuous as to send for news of her. But is she not the daughter and sister of my kings, and must I not wish to know her health, and be glad and happy when I hear ‘tis good? In her first letter she writes thus: —

“By the remembrance you have of me, which is not less new than pleasant to me, I see that you have well preserved the affection you have always shown to our family and to the few now left of its sad wreck, so that I, in whatever state I be, shall ever be disposed to serve you; feeling most happy that ill fortune has not effaced my name from the remembrance of my oldest friends, of whom you are. I know that you have chosen, like myself, a tranquil life; and I count those happy who can maintain it, as God has given me the grace to do these five years, He having brought me to an ark of safety, where the storms of all these troubles cannot, I thank God, hurt me; so that if there remain to me some means to serve my friends, and you particularly, you will find me wholly so disposed with right good will.”

Those are noble words; and such was the state and resolution of our beautiful princess. That is what it is to be born of a noble house, the greatest in the world, whence she drew her courage by inheritance from many brave and valiant kings, her father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and all their ancestors. And be it, as she says, that from so great a shipwreck she alone remains, not recognized and reverenced as she should be by her people, I believe this people of France has suffered much misery for that reason, and will suffer more for this war of the League. But to-day this is not so;[17 - It is noticeable in the course of this “Discourse” that Brantôme wrote it at one period, namely, about 1593 or 1594, and reviewed it at another, when Henri IV. was in full possession of the kingdom, but before the end of the century and before the divorce. (French editor.)The passage to which the foregoing is a note is evidently an addition to the text. – Tr.] for by the valour and wisdom and fine government of our king never was France more flourishing, or more pacific, or better ruled; which is the greatest miracle ever seen, having issued from so vast an abyss of evils and corruptions; by which it seems that God has loved our queen, – He being good and merciful.

Oh! how ill-advised is he who trusts in the people of to-day! Oh! how differently did the Romans recognize the posterity of Augustus Cæsar, who gave them wealth and grandeurs, from the people of France, who received so much from their later kings these hundred years, and even from François I. and Henri II., so that without them France would have been tumbled topsy-turvy by her enemies watching for that chance, and even by the Emperor Charles, that hungry and ambitious man. And thus it is they are so ungrateful, these people, toward Marguerite, sole and only remaining daughter and princess of France! It is easy to foresee the wrath of God upon them, because nothing is to Him so odious as ingratitude, especially to kings and queens, who here below fulfil the place and state of God. And thou, disloyal Fortune, how plainly dost thou show that there are none, however loved by heaven and blessed by nature, who can be sure of thee and of thy favours a single day! Art thou not dishonoured in thus so cruelly affronting her who is all beauty, sweetness, virtue, magnanimity and kindness?

All this I wrote during those wars we had among us for ten years. To make an end, did I not speak elsewhere of this great queen in other discourses I would lengthen this still more and all I could, for on so excellent a subject the longest words are never wearisome; but for a time I now postpone them.

Live, princess, live in spite of Fortune! Never can you be other than immortal upon earth and in heaven, whither your noble virtues bear you in their arms. If public voice and fame had not made common praise of your great merits, or if I were of those of noble speech, I would say further here; for never did there come into the world a figure so celestial.

This queen who should by good right order us
By laws and edicts and above us reign,
Till we behold a reign of pleasure under her,
As in her father’s days, a Star of France,
Fortune hath hindered. Ha! must rightful claim
Be wrongly lost because of Fortune’s spite?

Never did Nature make so fine a thing
As this great unique princess of our France!
Yet Fortune chooses to undo her wholly.
Behold how evil balances with good!

In the sixteenth century there were three Marguerites: one, sister of François I. and Queen of Navarre, celebrated for her intellect, her Tales in the style of Boccaccio, and her verses, which are less interesting; another, Marguerite, niece of the preceding, sister of Henri II., who became Duchesse de Savoie, very witty, also a writer of verses, and, in her youth, the patroness of the new poets at Court; and lastly, the third Marguerite, niece and great-niece of the first two, daughter of Henri II. and Catherine de’ Medici, first wife of Henri IV., and sister of the last Valois. It is of her that I speak to-day as having left behind her most agreeable historical pages and opened in our literature that graceful series of women’s Memoirs which henceforth never ceases, but is continued in later years and lively vein by Mesdames de La Fayette, de Caylus and others. All of these Memoirs are books made without intending it, and the better for that. The following is the reason why Queen Marguerite took the idea of writing those in which she describes herself with so lightsome a pen.

Brantôme, who was making a gallery of illustrious French and foreign ladies, after bringing Marie Stuart into it, bethought him of placing Marguerite beside her as another example of the injustice and cruelty of Fortune. Marguerite, at the period when Brantôme indited his impulsive, enthusiastic portrait of her, flinging upon his paper that eulogy which may truly be called delirious, was confined at the castle of Usson in Auvergne (1593), where she was not so much a prisoner as mistress. Prisoner at first, she soon seduced the man who held her so and took possession of the place, where she passed the period of the League troubles, and beyond it, in an impenetrable haven. The castle of Usson had been fortified by Louis XI., well-versed in precautions, who wanted it as a sure place in which to lodge his prisoners. There Marguerite felt herself safe, not only from sudden attack, but also from the trial of a long siege and repeated assault. Writing to her husband, Henri IV., in October, 1594, she says to him, jokingly, that if he could see the fortress and the way in which she had protected herself within it he would see that God alone could reduce it, and she has good reason to believe that “this hermitage was built to be her ark of safety.”

The castle which she thus compares to Noah’s ark, and which some of her panegyrists, convinced that she who lived there was given to celestial contemplations, compare to Mount Tabor, was regarded as a Caprea and an abominable lair by enemies, who, from afar, plunged eyes of hatred into it. It is very certain, however, that Queen Marguerite lost nothing in that retreat of the delicate nicety of her mind, for it was there that she undertook to write her Memoirs in a few afternoons, in order to come to Brantôme’s assistance and correct him on certain points. We will follow her, using now and then some contemporary information, without relying too much upon either, but endeavouring to draw with simple truth a singular portrait in which there enters much that was enchanting and, towards the end, fantastic.

Marguerite, born at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, May 14, 1553, was six years old when her father, Henri II., was killed at that fatal tournament which ruined the fortunes of the house of Valois. She tells us several anecdotes of herself and her childish repartees which prove a precocious mind. She takes great pains to call attention to a matter which in her is really a sign, a distinctive note through all excesses, namely: that as a child and when it was the fashion at Court to be “Huguenot,” and when all those who had intelligence, or wished to pass for having it, had withdrawn from what they called “bigotry,” she resisted that influence. In vain did her brother, d’Anjou, afterward Henri III., fling her Hours into the fire and give her the Psalms and the Huguenot prayers in place of it; she held firm and preserved herself from the mania of Huguenotism, which at that date (1561) was a fancy at Court, a French and mundane fashion, attractive for a time to even those who were soon to turn against it and repress it. Marguerite, in the midst of a life that was little exemplary, will always be found to have kept with sincerity this corner of good Catholicism which she derived from her race, and which made her in this respect and to this degree more of an Italian than a Frenchwoman; however, that which imports us to notice is that she had it.