Source:
The Sibyl of the North: The Tale of Christina, Queen of Sweden, pages 163 to 174, by Faith Compton Mackenzie, 1931; original scan at the Universal Digital Library
Kristina's letter of November 5/15 or 7/17 (New Style), 1657 to Francesco Maria Santinelli is here:
WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE, SUFFERING AND DEATH.
The account:
CHAPTER XI
THE COAT OF MAIL
WHILE Christina was scheming for her revenue and designing her liveries, her mind was preoccupied with the certainty that in her most intimate circle a traitor was to be found. Letter signed by Francesco Santinelli had come into her hands. A French lady-in-waiting is supposed to have shown them to her, but it was always Christina's habit to examine the correspondence of her suite, especially when she had some secret project on hand. The contents of these letters were never divulged, but if written by Santinelli[,] they were damning evidence against him. However, there were other things going on for which Santinelli could not be responsible, as he was in Rome. After much probing of the matter, she sent for Monaldesco, and revealed her doubts.
"Madame", he said, "you are betrayed, and the traitor is either someone absent that you know well, or myself. It must be one or the other. Your Majesty will soon know who it is, and I beg you not to spare the culprit."
"What does a man deserve who betrays me in this way?"
"Your Majesty should execute him without mercy and at once. I offer myself to be either the executioner or the victim, because it is an act of justice."
"Good. Remember those words of yours, and believe me, I shall not pardon him."
Those were bold words of Monaldesco's, and he must have been foolishly confident in the security of his plot against Santinelli. But as the days went by and vastly important letters that he was expecting failed to reach him, he began to get uneasy. If his correspondence went astray[,] it would be a serious thing — a very serious thing. It was necessary to find another method of communication[,] more reliable. He set about this with great caution. But not enough; Christina knew that this was the time to strike. She had all these important letters of Monaldesco's in her keeping; his villainy was clearly proved.
On the 6th of November she sent for Père Lebel, Prior of the Mathurins of Fontainebleau. She received him in the Galerie des Cerfs.
"You wear a habit that encourages me to speak to you confidentially. Promise me under the seal of the Confessional that you will keep this secret that I am going to tell you."
"In these matters I am blind and dumb", he assured her.
She put a packet into his hands. It was heavily sealed and without address.
"Mark well the day, hour and place of my giving you this, and return it when I ask for it in the presence of whom I choose."
The mystified priest retired with the packet and put it in a safe place.
On the 10th of November Monaldesco was ordered to go to the Queen in the Galerie des Cerfs. She was in the habit of giving audiences there, and there was nothing unusual in the command. Yet the Marquis delayed, and, when he did appear, it was easy to see that he was greatly disturbed. He was pale and agitated, and his agitation was not lessened by the sight of Ludovico Santinelli and two others who stood beside the Queen, their hands upon their swords. She held him in ordinary conversation for a few minutes, but she had sent for the Prior, who was on his way with the packet. No sooner had he entered than the door was securely shut behind him. The Queen called him to her.
"Mon père", she said, "pray give me the packet which I put in your care, that I may read it."
Taking the packet, she contemplated it for a moment, then, opening it, she took out some letters and papers.
"Do you recognize these?" she said to Monaldesco in ringing tones.
"Madame", said Monaldesco, trembling, "those are nothing but letters in your own handwriting!"
"But what are these?" She produced from the packet the originals of the copies, crying, "Traitor! Explain these if you can."
At first Monaldesco tried to inculpate other people, but finally, realizing how much she knew, he threw himself at her feet[,] begging for pardon. As he did so, Ludovico Santinelli and his officers drew their swords. Frantic with apprehension, Monaldesco seized Christina and drew her into one corner of the gallery — then into another — all the time entreating her to hear his justification. She conceded this, and listened with patience to his feverish explanations. Then, leaning upon her ebony cane, she turned to the Prior and said:
"Mon père, I ask you to bear witness that I have not been hasty, but have given this villain more time than he deserves to justify himself — if it were possible."
She then ordered Monaldesco to surrender all the papers he carried about him. Among them were letters forged in Santinelli's hand (which was not unlike his own), one addressed to himself, and also the original drafts of these letters in his own handwriting. No one knows what was in them, but it was enough for Christina. She told the priest to prepare him for death and care for his soul; at which he joined in the supplications for Monaldesco.
"Why should I have mercy? This traitor is as bad as any criminal sent to the wheel; I have confided in him my most secret thoughts and my most important affairs, as to a faithful subject. I won't reproach him with all the favours I have showered upon him as though he were a brother; his own conscience should be his executioner."
With this she went from the gallery to a room adjoining.
Monaldesco threw himself at the feet of the Prior, asking him to plead with the Queen again for mercy. Santinelli and his officers surrounded him with drawn swords, telling him to confess quickly. His hour was near. His cries for mercy were so heartrending that Santinelli was moved to go himself to Christina and beg her to spare his life. But he came back and[,] with tears in his eyes, said:
"Make your peace with God. You must die."
Again there was a dreadful scene. The Marquis, beside himself with fear, implored the Prior to plead again with the Queen. Christina was still coldly determined, and all the tears and supplications of the priest could not move her. Then he ventured to point out that as she was the guest of the King, she should consider very carefully before she insisted upon the execution taking place. To which she replied that she was not lodged by the King as a fugitive or prisoner, that she was her own mistress, and that she was answerable to God alone for her actions. Besides, there was precedent for this act.
"Yes, queens have done such things before, but it has been in their own realms."
The Prior went on to say how hurtful it might be to the honour and reputation she had gained in France — perhaps he said enough to persuade her that it might be hurtful also to her political schemes. At the end of the interview she showed signs that if she had dared[,] she would have revoked the order. But it was too late now. Monaldesco at liberty after this would be an unthinkable danger. There was no way out.
Lebel returned to the gallery, and taking the poor wretch in his arms, told him to resign himself to death and to make his confession. Monaldesco gave a piercing shriek and flung himself at the feet of the Prior and began his confession. While it was going on[,] the door at the end of the gallery opened[,] and the Queen's Almoner appeared. Here was a friend who perhaps could save him, and[,] without waiting for absolution[,] Monaldesco hastened to the new arrival and begged him to intercede with the Queen. They stood for a while in whispered conversation, and then the Almoner went to the Queen[,] accompanied by Santinelli.
Santinelli came back alone, and said firmly:
"Marquis, make your peace with God, for you must die without delay. Have you confessed?"
He pressed him with drawn sword to the end of the gallery under the picture of St. Germain. Monaldesco's misgivings of the last few days had led him to don for his protection a heavy breast-plate of mail; this only served to prolong the dreadful agonies of his death. He was wounded in the stomach, and[,] trying to draw his own sword to parry this, three fingers were cut off his right hand. Then Santinelli, having been impeded by the coat of mail, attacked his face. At this he cried:
"Mon père!"
The Prior came to him, and on his knees he made his confession, the blood pouring down his face, begging forgiveness for his crime, pardoning his executioners, and praying that he might meet death bravely. He then fell to the ground, and Santinelli attacked his head with such violence that flesh and bone were scattered on the pavement. At this the victim turned and lay on his face, making a sign that they should put him out of his pain with a thrust at his neck. Two or three thrusts had little effect, for the coat of mail was attached to his collar, and a mortal wound was impossible. While this was going on, the Prior was exhorting him to resignation and patience, which was probably as irritating to the executioners as it was useless to the victim. Santinelli suddenly turned to the priest, exasperated and nerve-racked.
"How is this to be ended? Cannot you help?"
The priest, indignant, replied that he could not advise. He was for the life, not the death of Monaldesco.
"Forgive me, mon père. I was wrong to make such a demand."
Then the Almoner appeared again at the other end of the gallery. Monaldesco, who had lain waiting for the last thrust, seeing his friend, rose, and with his last strength, dragged himself along the wall towards him. With clasped hands he spoke in a low voice[,] and the Almoner made the sign of absolution, standing on the left of Monaldesco, beside Santinelli. No sooner had he left the gallery than Santinelli cut the throat of the Marquis, who fell, never to speak again. But he lived for another quarter of an hour. Lebel said the De Profundis, and when life was extinct Santinelli turned over the body and searched the pockets. There was nothing left in these but a book of the Hours of the Virgin and a small knife.
Santinelli and his companions went to announce the consummation of the dreadful deed to the Queen. Monaldesco had been summoned at one o'clock, and died at a quarter to four, so Christina had waited nearly three hours in that anteroom while the torture was going on. But she was calm when they told her, and said that she deeply regretted having had to execute the Marquis, but justice must be done to traitors. Lebel was commanded to remove the body at once, and because it was heavy and the way was rough and night falling, he had it carried on a hand-cart to the church of Avon near Fontainebleau. The Queen sent two footmen with a sum of money for Masses for the soul of the Marquis, and two days later he was buried with all the ceremony and devotion possible. On his tomb was simply:
"CI-GÎT MONALDESCO[.]"
No doubt, waiting there in the chamber so near to the Galerie des Cerfs that fatal afternoon, Christina was appalled by the fiasco which was being made of the execution. One swift thrust through the heart, and the traitor dead at Santinelli's feet — that was what she had visualized. Who could have foreseen the coat of mail that turned what she considered an act of justice into a prolonged and bloody torture? As the messengers came to her, each time more agitated, more urgent, she must have suffered.
The affair was being bungled; too much blood was being spilt — the pavement of Les Cerfs was drenched — and when Santinelli came to her flushed, distraught and exhausted by the ghastly scene that would not end, and then the Almoner with the tale of horror that he could scarcely tell, she was driven at last to cry:
"Cut his throat! Tell Santinelli to cut his throat!"
As he stood by Santinelli after giving the absolution, the Almoner must have whispered that message from the Queen, so swiftly did Ludovico give the finishing stroke that should have been given long ago. The dexterity of the swordsman had probably been hampered from the first by subconscious misgivings as to the legality and decency of the act, and a possibility of the Queen's changing her mind too late. It is not likely that Ludovico was vindictive enough on his brother's account to revenge himself by delaying the death-blow deliberately. He proved by his bearing throughout the scene that this was not so.
But whatever had happened and however bad it was, it had to be brazened out. It needed hardihood, but Christina was never lacking in this. The death of Monaldesco was a simple act of justice performed by a queen upon an unfaithful subject. As to where it was performed — that was of no consequence. It was necessary to act at once, and that Fontainebleau should be the scene of the execution was unfortunate but unavoidable.
She called it an execution, but the French Court called it murder. And not only murder, but a gross breach of hospitality — in the worst possible taste, in fact. Louis, who was about to visit her, postponed the journey indefinitely. Fontainebleau became out of bounds for the Court. Let Christina languish through the dull winter if she liked. They could not wish her a more dreary fate than to be in that palace at that time of year. As for the French Court, it fed very heartily for the rest of the winter on moral indignation, unaccustomed fare which kept it bright and lively through a season of brilliant diversions whose brilliance was heightened by the fact that Christina was not bidden to any of them. Mazarin protested hotly against her conduct; he sent Chanut to tell her she must hide the truth and blame her courtiers for the death of Monaldesco. In reply she said she would do anything for the King but repent of what she had done, and she knew of no one great or powerful enough to make her disavow her actions — that if she had not done what she had done, she would do it that night before she went to bed — that she had no reason to repent; on the contrary, she was satisfied with what she had done. These were her sentiments[,] and if they liked them[,] she was delighted, but if not[,] she would continue to hold them.
The only concession she made to Mazarin was to dismiss Ludovico Santinelli and the two guards who were his accomplices. But the beloved Francesco was naturally in greater favour than ever since the cowardly attempt at mischief-making by Monaldesco. Five days after the execution she writes to him:
"I send you the story of the death of Monaldesco, who betrayed me and wanted to make me think you were the traitor. I had all the evidence necessary to prove the contrary, and I did not want to do you the injustice to believe of you the infamies of which I cannot imagine anyone but himself being capable.
It was necessary for me to pretend to believe what he told me in order to justify you and to punish him.
At last he died, confessing his infamy and your innocence, protesting that he had invented all these chimeras to ruin you.
Note this example and pray to God that He will not deny you either brains or honour. Always behave like a gentleman and do nothing unworthy of this character.
Do not trouble to justify my actions to anyone. I hold myself answerable to God alone, and He would have punished me if I had pardoned this traitor's great crime. And that should be enough for you.
My conscience tells me that I have acted accordingly to human and divine justice, and that I could not, that I should not, have done otherwise. And this is all that I can tell you.
Be contented while I do all I can to get for you the consolation you desire, and be sure I shall plead your cause.
FONTAINEBLEAU,
November 15, 1657."
The consolation Santinelli desired was a dukedom, but he did not get it.
Christina could not fail to be conscious that her presence at Fontainebleau was a nuisance, and that the most agreeable thing she could do would be to depart as soon as possible. If she did, the world would surely say that she had been asked to go, and it would be tantamount to an admission of blame, since she was here ostensibly to arrange her financial affairs, and everyone knew that her arrangements were not complete. But Fontainebleau was dull and cold, and she soon tired of exhibiting with bravado the traces of Monaldesco's murder still staining the pavement of the Galerie des Cerfs. An invitation elsewhere was the only dignified way of moving her from Fontainebleau. She fished for one from England, but Cromwell, firmly determined not to invite so dangerous a lady, returned compliment for compliment, and that was all. So there was nothing for it but to languish at Fontainebleau, and occupy herself with financial schemes and the Naples project, both of which Mazarin took up again very soon after the death of Monaldesco. By an arrangement with Charles Gustavus, she was to have a part of France's debt to Sweden. She claimed over nine hundred thousand crowns, but only succeeded in getting thirty-three thousand. As to the Naples project, Mazarin still pretended that France was interested, promising troops and battleships, and assuring her that if the enterprise succeeded, the King wished Christina to have all the honour and glory.
The rigours of Fontainebleau were endured till February, when Christina was driven to insist upon being invited to Paris, her pretext being that she was anxious to see the King in Benserade and Lully's ballet "Alcibiades". This was unwillingly conceded, and she was lodged in Mazarin's apartment at the Louvre, an unmistakable hint that she was not expected to stay long. However, to Anne of Austria's disgust, she stayed three weeks and amused herself as best she could, going often to the play in public carriages picked up in the street, accompanied only by men. The long anticipated reception by the Académie Française was the chief event of these three weeks. It was an impulsively planned visit, and only fifteen or sixteen of the forty sages were gathered to do homage to the Sybil of the North. They did not have time to hang the portrait Christina had presented to the Académie, as an hour was all they had to assemble the members and prepare the great salon in which she was to be received. At five in the afternoon one of her footmen announced that she had arrived, and her carriage was heard down below in the Louvre courtyard. She was accompanied by Madame de Brègy, whose husband was French Ambassador in Poland. Her first question was whether the academicians stood up or sat in her presence. The precedent of Charles IX's visit in the time of Ronsard was brought forward. They could be seated. A long session followed in which a quantity of verses were read, after which the director, M. de Chambre, said that the Académie was much occupied in preparing his dictionary, and would Her Majesty be so gracious as to hear an extract from it? Her Majesty having consented, Mezerai opened the dictionary apparently at random at the word "Jeu" and read the following:
"Jeux des princes qui ne plaisent qu'à ceux qui les font. Pour exprimer les actes de violence exerçés par les hommes revêtus du pouvoir suprême."
Christina laughed heartily at this, some say to cover her confusion and blushes, but it is not likely that she was ever confused or ever blushed. The reading of "Jeu" took an hour, after which Christina rose, and[,] bowing profoundly to the company, left the way she came. Soon afterwards she quitted Paris and went on her way to Toulon. Gui Patin writes: "She is gone away ill-pleased with the Queen, having heard that she had said if the Queen of Sweden did not go, she would herself leave the Louvre." Her usual route through Savoy was barred to her because by now her Naples project was well known. French warships carried her and her suite to Leghorn. They were transporting troops to the Duke of Modena. On the 7th of May she met the Duke and they signed a treaty for the invasion of Naples.
Above: Kristina.
_-_Gothenburg_Museum_of_Art_-_GKM_0066.tif.jpg)
Above: Kristina condemns Monaldeschi to die, painted by Johan Fredrik Höckert.
Note: Leghorn is the traditional English name for the Italian city of Livorno.
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