Jean Plaidy - Mary, Queen of France: The Story of the Youngest Sister of Henry VIII
Louise was not, in truth, displeased, although determined to hide this fact from Anne. But she could not prevent her eyes shining with contentment as they rested on twelve-year-old François, so tall, so handsome, so bright-eyed, every glorious inch of him a Dauphin, and turned to poor sickly seven-year-old Claude who looked as though she would not live long enough to consummate the marriage.
Louis was well pleased. He did not suffer from the same envy as Anne did, and could not help eyeing the boy with satisfaction. It was good that a branch of the royal family could produce a boy so worthy in every way of his destiny.
The King recovered his health in some degree; but his physicians warned him that he must take care. He should eat frugally, always have his meat boiled, and retire early, making sure that he did not tax his strength in any way.
He consulted with Georges d’Amboise and they decided that, now François was the King’s prospective son-in-law as well as his heir, he should be at Court under the eye of the King.
De Gié had disgraced himself when Louis had been dangerously ill by presuming that the King was as good as dead. He had made an effort to seize control, that he might have charge of the young Dauphin and guide him in all matters.
Louis had understood the Maréchal’s action and thought it not unwise in the circumstances. There was always danger to a country when a king died and his successor was a minor. But de Gié had attempted to restrain Anne of Brittany, and for that reason she insisted that he be punished.
Louis had to face his wife’s anger, and that was something he never cared to do. However he did save de Gié from execution, but the Maréchal lost his post and was sent into exile.
This was another reason why François, deprived of his governor, should come to Court.
“It is not fitting,” said Anne, “that wherever the boy is his mother should be. He must learn to stand on his own feet.”
Louis agreed with her; and as a result François was summoned to Chinon where the Court was in residence.
When he had left, Louise was desolate.
“For the first time in our lives we are apart,” she wailed.
Jeanne reminded her that it was because her son was accepted as Dauphin that he must go to Court; and was that not what she wanted more than anything else?
“But how dismal it is without him. There is no joy left in the place.”
François was an immediate success at Court. The King could not help being amused by his high spirits, nor admiring his energy. In addition he was already witty, so that he found friends, not only among the sportsmen, but among those who were interested in ideas.
Although but a boy he was already drawing about him his own little court.
“That is as it should be,” said the tolerant Louis. “As the old King grows more infirm it is natural that men and women should turn to him who will next wear the crown.”
Anne transferred her hatred of the mother to the son.
“Brash! Conceited! Altogether too sure of himself and his future,” was her verdict.
“Louis,” she insisted, “we must get a son.”
The King was weary. He would have preferred to let matters rest; but Anne was indefatigable. She herself was as weak as he was; she had never recovered from the birth of her stillborn son, and had never ceased to look back with great bitterness on that event.
When Anne triumphantly announced that she was pregnant, this news brought little pleasure to anyone but herself. Louis was alarmed, because he was aware of her state of health and wondered whether she would survive another ordeal like the last. He was so much older than she was that he had always believed she would be with him to the end; and the thought of losing her now that he was so infirm depressed him. He wished that she could have accepted François as placidly as he did. As for Louise, she was beside herself with anxiety. She had lulled herself to a sense of security of late, because she had been certain that Anne could not produce a boy. Yet she was capable of becoming pregnant, and Louise recognized in the woman a spirit as indomitable as her own. Such women had a habit of getting their own way; and when two such were fighting each other, Fate could take a hand and give the victory to either.
François himself was now old enough to feel apprehension. Life at Court suited him well. He was the darling of his set; and he accepted their adulation as gracefully as he had accepted that of his mother and sister. Not only had he good looks and charm but he was the Dauphin—the most important man at Court next to the King, and the King was old and ailing.
He had discovered too what he believed from now on would be the greatest of all pleasures: making love to women.
He did not want any change. To be Dauphin at the Court of France was a wonderful life.
One bright day Louise’s anxieties were miraculously swept away. The Queen had given birth to a child who lived, but the child was a girl and little Princess Renée could present no threat to François the Dauphin.
“And this must be the last,” Louise told Jeanne. “She can never manage it again.”
François pursued his way at Court, charming all. Marguerite was now married to the Duc d’Alençon. Poor Marguerite, she was a most reluctant bride; but she had been brought up to do her duty and, although she suffered so intensely that it was feared she might die of melancholy, she went through with the marriage.
François, to whom she confided all things, wept with her, for her sorrows would always be his. She was seventeen, François fifteen; and he was angry with himself because he was powerless to help her.
There was little point, he said, in being Dauphin if one could not have one’s way. He wanted to go out and kill Alençon so that the man could not marry his sister.
Marguerite, who had declared that she would rather be dead than have to live with the man whom they had chosen for her husband, forgot her own grief when she saw how upset her brother was.
“Why, my dearest,” she said, “I would marry ten such men rather than that you should be unhappy on my account. Smile, François. What does it matter whom I marry? I shall love one man until I die, and that is you, my brother.”
They embraced; they kissed; they mingled their tears.
“And you know, Marguerite, my pearl of pearls, I shall never love a woman as I love you.”
“I know it, for we are as one, beloved. We are part of that trinity to which I am honored to belong, while feeling myself unworthy.”
François assured her that she and their mother were the most wonderful of women, and when he was King of France he would do all in his power to make her the happiest woman alive. She should leave her husband; she should come to Court; they would be together always.
Marguerite was comforted. “No world could ever be desolate which contained my beloved brother,” she told him.
The Court was at Blois and François was in love.
He had seen the girl on her way to church; she was demure, keeping her eyes downcast and he had followed her. He did not want her to know that he was Dauphin; he wanted her to love him for himself alone, and he had come to suspect that many of the women at Court showed a preference for him partly because of his rank.
This girl was different. She was not of the Court. He did not know who she was, but he suspected she was the daughter of some not very prominent citizen.
After church he followed her to a house in the town; it was a humble enough dwelling from his viewpoint and he was only the more enchanted by this; it seemed incredible that one so fair and dainty could live in such a place.
For days he watched for the girl. He hung about near the house; and one day when she was going to church he waylaid her as she crossed the churchyard.
“I beg of you,” he said humbly, “stay awhile. I would speak with you.”
She turned and faced him. She was very young, and more beautiful seen closely than from afar. He was filled with happiness because he noticed that her gown, though tastefully made, was of simple material, and very different from the garments worn by Court ladies.
“What have you to say to me?” she asked.
“That you are beautiful and I have long desired to tell you so.”
She sighed. “Well, now ’tis done,” she said, and turned away.
He laid a hand on her arm, but she shook her head. “I know that you are the Dauphin,” she said. “It is not fitting that you should be my friend.”
“How did you know who I am? And I tell you it seems very fitting to me, because I am eager to be your friend.”
“I should always know you,” she replied. “You have changed very little. You don’t remember me though.”
“Pray tell me your name.”
“It is Françoise,” she said.
“Françoise!” He took her by the shoulders and peered into her face. Then he laughed aloud with pleasure. “Little Françoise! Our baby … grown into a beautiful girl … the most beautiful girl in France.”
Françoise lowered her eyes. He thought he had discovered her afresh; but she had seen him many times when he rode with the King or members of the royal party. She had thought him the most handsome, charming creature in the world, and when she had seen the women clustering round him, a great sadness had touched her. She had longed then to be young again—a baby whom he held in his arms. She had felt it was the greatest sadness in her life that he should be the Dauphin of France and she a humble maiden. If he had been a shepherd, or a lackey of the Court, how happy she could have been!
“Look at me, Françoise,” he commanded, and she obeyed. She saw the desire in his eyes, as he took her hands in his and pressed burning kisses on them.
But Françoise was frightened; she withdrew her hands and ran away.
François stood looking after her. He was smiling in a dazed fashion.
He was in love for the first time in his life.
He sought out Marguerite; he was so excited because he had found their little Françoise again.
“Dearest, do you remember our baby?” he cried. “Do you remember little Françoise? I have met her again and she is beautiful … the most beautiful girl in the world, except yourself. I am in love with her.”
Marguerite smiled at him indulgently. “I am glad, beloved, that you are in love. It is so good for you. Lust without love is a poor pastime. And you have found Françoise. I knew that she was here, because one of my servants is married to her sister. She lives with her family in the town. It is rather charming that you should love our baby.”
“Marguerite, tell me what I should do. She was a little afraid of me, I think. I spoke to her in the churchyard and she ran away.”
“Next time do not allow her to run away. Tell her of your feelings. She will be your mistress, and it is good for you to have a mistress. And Françoise is a good girl … a virgin, I promise you. I am delighted that this has happened.”
“You think that she will be my mistress?”
Marguerite laughed aloud. “Any woman in France would be honored to be your mistress.”
“You say that, who love me.”
“Beloved, you have all the gifts. You are young; you are charming, witty, and handsome. And you are the Dauphin of France. My love, you look to me like a king already. No woman would resist you.”
But Françoise, it seemed, was the one woman in France who would not become his mistress.
She avoided him, and again and again he was disappointed. She no longer walked across the churchyard, and it took him some time to discover that she now went to another church. When he had traced her, he told how hurt he was, but to his consternation Françoise implored him to leave her alone.
Disconcerted, he once more consulted Marguerite who herself went to Françoise to find out the real cause of her reluctance.
Françoise broke into bitter weeping when questioned by Marguerite. Indeed she loved François; she had loved him since she was a baby. Through her life she had gathered all the news she could about him. She would always love François.
“And he loves you too. How happy you will be,” said Marguerite.
But Françoise shook her head. “I cannot meet the Dauphin,” she said. “We are too far apart, and I would die rather than commit the sin of becoming a man’s mistress, whoever that man might be.”
Marguerite pointed out that this was folly. It was good to be virtuous, but to be the mistress of a king—and the Dauphin would one day be King—was not a disgrace but an honor.
“Madame,” answered Françoise, “to me it seems a sin whether it be a dauphin or a beggar.”
Marguerite shrugged her shoulders and went back to François.
“The girl adores you,” she told him, “and so she should. She talks of sin. You must have her abducted, seduce her, and then I’ll swear she will forget all about sin and you will both be as happy as you were intended to be.”
François was happy again. He could trust Marguerite to find the solution to all his problems.
They had brought her to him; she was pale and trembling. François was afraid they had hurt her. He had ordered them to be gentle, but she had obviously struggled.
She looked at him, and he felt that he would never be able to forget the reproach in those brown eyes.
“So,” she said, “you have trapped me.”
“But Françoise,” he replied, “it is only because I love you so much.”
She shook her head, and he saw the tears on her lashes.
He went to her then and took her roughly in his arms. She was small and he was so strong. He knew that he could subdue her.
“Now,” he demanded, “are you not happy because they brought you to me?”
“François,” she answered earnestly, “if you harm me, this will be something which your conscience will never let you forget.”
“Oh come, Françoise. You have been brought up too simply. At the Court people make love and do not call it a sin.”
“I know what is in my heart, François.”
“Do you hate me then?”
“I have confessed to your sister that I love you.”
“Why then …”
But she covered her face with her hands.
He put his hand on her breast and felt the tremor run through her body. She stood rigid, and he thought suddenly: But she means it. She calls it sin.
“Françoise,” he said. “Little Françoise, you must not be afraid of me. When we are lovers in truth you will understand that I would not hurt you for the world. Please, Françoise, smile and be happy.”
“I am in your power,” she said, and shivered.
He was angry and an impulse came to him to force her to do his will. Was he not the Dauphin? Had not Marguerite said that any woman would be honored to be his mistress? Any woman … except Françoise, the one he wanted.
He caught at the bodice of her dress. In a second he would have ripped it from her shoulders. But he did not do so. He thought of little Françoise, the helpless baby; she was as helpless now.
He loved her—not as he loved his sister and mother for he would never love any with that deep abiding emotion. But he wanted to protect her, never to hurt her, and he could not bear to see her frightened and to know that he was the cause of her fear.
