I am excited to have Sophie Perinot, author of Medicis Daughter (click here for my review of this novel), share a post about Queen Catherine de Médicis l'escadron volant (flying squadron). So interesting!
Dangerous Seductions: The Cautionary Tale of the Baronne de Limeuil
Dangerous Seductions: The Cautionary Tale of the Baronne de Limeuil
At the conclusion of the first French War of Religion, Queen
Catherine de Médicis made a calculated decision—the most important place to
promote and maintain the tenuous peace was within the French Court itself. Borrowing a page from her father-in-law, King
Francis I, Catherine set out to amuse the heads of the great noble houses, hoping
that if they were sufficiently distracted by pleasure and good living they
would have no further interest in leading armies. As part of her plan Catherine,
who up to this point had a pretty unremarkable household, assembled a
collection of exquisite women from the best houses in France. These eighty to
one-hundred beauties came to be called Her Majesty’s l'escadron volant (flying squadron). Its members dressed to dazzle
and made witty conversation. Exactly what they did beyond that provides an
excellent illustration of the difference between standards of conduct set at
the French Court and behaviors that were, in reality, tolerated and even
ordered.
Pierre de Brantôme (worldly abbot and recorder of royal
doings) described the members of the Queen’s l’escadron volant as “very polite maidens,” and insisted they were
highly virtuous, providing only the most innocent diversions to the gentlemen
of the court. It should be noted,
however, that Brantôme was an enormous fan of Queen Catherine, and she returned
the admiration (showing him profitable favor), presumably because he was a man
who knew how to chronicle the court in a way that reflected well on the Valois. So Brantôme’s description of Catherine’s
ladies-in-waiting must be taken with a grain of salt. The truth is probably closer to a cutting
remark made by Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre, that, at the Valois Court, it
is “not the men who invite the women, but the women who invite the men.” It is
fairly clear from the historical record that Catherine wished her young dames d’honneur to appear as models of decorum in settings
where decorum was required, but to act in more lascivious ways—using seduction
to both spy upon and control powerful gentlemen—where that was profitable to
her.
This dichotomy was one of the unspoken rules that the
youthful Princess Marguerite, main character in Médicis Daughter, had to decode when she joined her Mother’s
household. As a Royal princess whose
virginity was coin of the realm, Margot also quickly learned that no
double-standard would be tolerated in her case. Brining dishonor to the family
was a dangerous act with frightful consequences. This was true even for those ladies whose
duty to the queen encompassed being the mistress of one great man or
another. Such women walked a tightrope
between reward and ruin and the penalties for slipping and embarrassing Queen
Catherine could be very severe.
A case in point—and one which Princess Marguerite would have
witnessed firsthand—is the sad story of Isabelle de la Tour, Baronne de Limeuil. The Baronne was a thirty-year-old dame d’honneur when Margot joined the
court in 1564. At that point Isabelle had already been mistress to: Claude
d’Aumale (brother of the influential Francis, Duc de Guise) and Florimond
Robertet, Seigneur d’Alluye (a young secretary of state who was entirely a
creation of the Guises). Both of these “placements” had served Catherine de Médicis’
need for eyes and ears within the powerful Guise entourage. But when the old Duc de Guise was
assassinated in 1563, the balance of power at the court changed. Ratification
of the Peace of Amboise with the Protestant rebels just a month later shifted the
balance further still. Scores of Protestant nobles returned to court to take up
positions they had vacated to wage war against their king. The House of Bourbon
was the most powerful and highly ranked of the returning families because it
included the Princes of the Blood—men legitimately descended in dynastic line
from France’s hereditary monarchs. Catherine needed a spy among the Bourbons,
so that she might hear any whispers of new disloyalties to young Charles
IX. So the Baronne de Limeuil was set
upon their leader—Louis de Bourbon, Prince de Condé, Huguenot chief, and
negotiator of the treaty of Amboise.
So far so good.
Isabelle was where Catherine de Médicis wanted her to be
and, while all at the court may have known of the lovely Baronne’s amour, blind
eyes could be turned as needed or desired. Unfortunately, the Baronne allowed
herself to fall in love with Condé. And then she did something even more
unacceptable: she got pregnant. In fact, when Margot arrived at court for the
Grand Royal Progress (see my blog post on this journey), Isabelle was already concealing her pregnancy. What de Condé said about the situation is
lost to history. But it is quite clear that Isabelle believed she would be taken
care of by her lover.
Extraordinarily, Isabelle managed to keep her condition a
secret until the fateful moment when—in June 1564, while the Royal Progress was
stopped at Lyon[1]—she
went into labor. Delivered of a boy, the baby was put in a basket with a note
and quickly dispatched to the Prince de Condé (who was momentarily not with the
royal travel party). The Baronne was much more roughly treated. Catherine was
furious that Isabelle had allowed herself to become pregnant—never mind that it
was in direct pursuit of her duties. Such a pregnancy reflected poorly on the morals
of the Queen’s household, and on the King’s Court. Isabelle was summarily dismissed
from royal service and banished to a convent where she was confined by Catherine’s
orders. The Baronne experienced a moment of hope in her captivity when, just a
month after her son’s birth, the Prince de Condé’s wife died. Isabelle believed
she would be the next Princesse de Condé. But, the Prince did not rescue his
former amante. Instead he married a
girl from a prominent Protestant family, Francoise d’Orleans (who was only 16).
The betrayal of Isabelle de la Tour, Baronne de Limeuil—by her Queen and by her
beloved—was now complete.
Eventually, Catherine de Médicis released the Baronne from
imprisonment. The price for that freedom? Well, in 1567 Isabelle was married
off to one of her Catherine’s wealthy Italian financiers, Sardini Scipio. Thus
she was freed only to be turned once again into a “reward” bestowed by her
queen upon a powerful man. One imagines Isabelle felt no great affection for
Catherine de Médicis at this point. It is certain
that she was forever bitter at and furious with the Prince de Condé. When Condé
was killed (March 1569), after surrendering at the Battle of Jarnac, the
historical record tells us that Isabelle celebrated. Who can blame her?
The dramatic story of Isabelle de la Tour was a subplot in
my first draft of Médicis Daughter. Alas,
considerations of length and storytelling required me to remove it. But in the
near future I will be sharing excerpts at my blog, so keep an eye out.
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