by G Lawrence
“So, you are Mistress Anne Boulain?” Margaret said to me slowly in French. She pronounced my name a little differently to way the English spoke it, and suddenly it sounded all the more exotic and pretty! I was so relieved that I understood the Regent that I just gulped and nodded; but eventually, under her amused but not unkind eye, managed to answer back in French.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
She smiled at me; her face was as kind as it was beautiful. I felt such relief flooding through me that I feared I should faint away in front of her. But I did not. I held my deep curtsey to the floor, speaking sternly to my legs and arms to hold their graceful pose, until she asked me to rise, and I was pleased to see her look over me with satisfaction. I had practised that curtsey all the way here, for months. I had not disgraced myself, nor the name of Boleyn. That thought gave me heart.
Margaret took me in; she looked over my dress, which although was my best, felt homely, drab and unsophisticated next to these scintillating women. Margaret herself was dressed in black velvet with a black hood and white silk lining that flooded her pale and beautiful face with light. Black was the most expensive dye there was, and to construct a whole dress of the finest velvet, dyed black, was to be truly wealthy. Many princes and queens would shine in clothes of gold and silver, but Margaret looked like the centre of the world dressed in simple, but outrageously expensive, black and white.
But she did not let her passion for apparent simplicity overcome the need to look like a queen. For in the folds of the black velvet, diamonds and pearls winked out at me. Everything she wore was beautifully made; some embroidered by herself and her ladies, but most made for her by gifted tailors and seamstresses. A great pearl surrounded by diamonds and smaller pearls hung by a chain at her waist. On this chain she also carried a little inscribed and illustrated prayer book. It was covered in velvet and decorated with silver and purple hearts-ease flowers. She would show me such books later; their beautifully delicate writing, the edges of the books lined with illustrations and engravings. Such books were only available to the very wealthy.
I loved books for their own sakes, for the words or the stories, for the knowledge within, but the little books that Margaret carried on her waist at all times were true works of art. In time, I would come to own and treasure my own miniature books of prayer; less for their physical beauty, and more for their words, from which I drew comfort in difficult days… although it must be said, that when I first acquired such a volume, the admiration was very much the other way around. Such is the nature of young girls; we love to see a little sparkle in the world around us.
Margaret was a beautiful woman; her skin was pale, clear and fine. She smelt of jasmine and sage, heady and voluptuous scents that floated from the heat of her body. Her eyes were large, warm and brown with an element of merriment behind them, and her mouth was full and sensuous. Her bottom lip was fuller than the top giving her an expression that was slightly petulant. It was not entirely an affectation, as she would have everything her own way, but her lips also gave her a deeply sexual look; there was promise in her face. I would come to see how she used that to her advantage, and to learn from it. But there was nothing improper about Margaret. She was known for her intellect, her goodness and her chastity. Perhaps all this goodness and purity, wrapped in a figure and face such as hers, was the perfect allurement, and the reason why so many young men of the court wrote verses to her, all exclaiming their endless devotion and love.
She was eminently desirable and completely unattainable; the very vision of a queen of courtly love.
Her ample figure was wrapped in black also because she was a widow. Official mourning for her last husband should have ended long ago, but perhaps she felt the guise of the widow earned her more respect in her position as regent; there were many who did not believe that women made suitable rulers for countries, or for men. But a woman ruler was always more acceptable when she ruled in the stead of a husband or a relative. She wore her widow colours to remind people of her previous state as a wife, and she wore the power of her regency reminding people that she ruled in the stead of her nephew. In these ways, she commanded the respect of those who would say that a woman had no place ruling over the lands or souls of men. And in her own calm and considered self, she won the respect of her people. She was a just ruler, a fair mistress, and a good woman in her heart.
Margaret looked at me as her hands played idly with the jewelled cover of the book at her waist. Her hands were pale and had the flexible, long-tapered look of those of a musician who practised constantly. Simple rings of gold and jewels shone on her fingers. At her wrist there was a bracelet of gold with small diamonds imbedded along its edge. She was beautiful, sophisticated and intelligent, and I was at once terrified and fascinated by her
She looked me over. “We shall have to call you La Petite Boulain,” she jested lightly, looking me up and down. Margaret’s ladies giggled as I flushed slightly. “How old are you, child?” Margaret asked.
I replied that I was almost thirteen as best as I could in French; feeling somewhat reassured by her gentleness, although still with the sickness of terror in my stomach in case I was sent home upon failing her inspection. I could see the eyes of her ladies upon me and could feel them thinking; she is but a child! They were dismissing me as a rival in the games of courtly love.
When Margaret bade me look up at her, I saw her start slightly at the sight of my great eyes; when I was excited or afraid they glittered. When Mary was angry at me she would tell me that my eyes were the devil’s; black and evil. Just as when she told me that my hair was like a mare’s mane, those words hurt me. I looked into Margaret’s own beautiful eyes and hoped that she, unlike my sister, might see that there was no devil in my eyes; I hoped she would see something good within me.
Margaret reached out, held me softly by the chin and looked deep into my eyes; hers narrowed, and she said with admiration, “such eyes… for such a young maid!” She shook her head slowly, thinking as she looked at me, and I felt my heart tremble. Perhaps she, too, saw evil within them.
“There is something… so old inside these eyes,” she said, letting go of my chin and sitting back in her chair. She smiled at me. “Such eyes will bring the world to your feet, once you learn to use them… ma Petite Boulain.”
Margaret nodded approvingly, and smiled at me again. I thanked her, not knowing what else to say. Margaret was looking at me speculatively; she shook herself slightly as though removing herself from a dream, and spoke.
“Your duties as one of my filles d’honneur will be light, ma Petite Boulain,” she said. “But this is only as you are still young enough to be taught in the school-room. Your father and I have agreed that you are to learn the arts of the court and of a lady-in-waiting; but you are not to abandon your studies, and here you will receive the best education I can offer you, the best in Christendom. You will repay me by being modest and clever, by learning all you can quickly and well. My court is one of gentle behaviour, of Christian behaviour, and I will not have any who are lewd or coarse here.”
She looked me over and her stern expression softened. “But I am sure you would not be given to any such bad behaviour naturally, in any case,” she said kindly. “I have a high respect for your father and he, being such a lord and gentleman, would not have brought his daughter up to be anything less than virtuous and good. Mind that you remember all I have said… and be well and happy at my court. I shall see you often.”
All I could do was nod and try to reassure her in my imperfect French that I would do all I could to repay her kindness, and my father’s ambitions for me.
Margaret gestured that I was to leave, and breathless and quivering, I stepped backwards from her presence and back into the outer chamber. Although it was such a relief to be able to breathe again, I suddenly wished that I could spend all my days with her, like those beautiful women, all day and every day. I thought she was the best, greatest and kindest, of all the women I had ever seen.<
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Chapter Eleven
1513
Mechelen and La Vure
My education at the court of Margaret started immediately, and I loved every moment of it. We spent much of our time in the palace of Mechelen, but Margaret was fond, too, of her residence of La Vure and the islands of Zeeland. But wherever the court was, it centred around the Archduchess Margaret. Margaret hosted dances and pageants and masques where the women of the court would play ancient goddesses or represent virtues or vices in acts and scenes played out for the entertainment of the court. Inevitably, the virtues would be rescued from the vices by young gallants. Margaret’s entertainments were the height of sophistication; even the French copied the diversions she thought up for her court. Poetry was read aloud in the warm gardens, where we sat in the shade of bowers to protect our complexions from the sun, and the Bible was read aloud to us in Latin as we sewed gowns or altar cloths on rainy days. I moved in circles of elegance, wit and sophistication. I was taught to dance, sew, hunt and sing by the greatest teachers in the world. It was the most wonderful place I could have imagined, and I was not quite thirteen years old.
And then there was the food. I had thought my father’s table to be a wealth of finery, but I knew nothing it seemed of food at all, until I came to Margaret’s court. Margaret’s tables were full of foods which were a wonder to the eyes as well as the belly… pottages of beef or pork; stewed conyes; dishes of roasted venison or boar hunted by Margaret and her huntsmen from her own parks, beef pastries and chicken mortis, which the French called mousse; roasted pigeon; peacock in ginger sauce; dressed crab or chickens in golden almond milk. Then followed grand sallats made of herbs, with marbled eggs and brightly-coloured preserved flowers coated in sugar. When these creations were brought out and placed before the court, our tables looked like a beautiful garden. On Fridays and Feast days, we dined on fresh fish; carp, river lamprey and trout, which were brought to the court alive in great barrels of water so they could be killed in the kitchens and roasted fresh, stuffed with herbs or swimming in onion sauce. Herring, mullet and turbot were brought salted from the coast, along with sea creatures such as puffin and seal, which the Church also permitted us to eat on Fridays and the days of the saints. Little scallops and hard-shelled molluscs drifted in creamy pepper sauces and oils with lemon and vinegar. Whole roasted fish stared blankly at us from beds of roasted herbs before being carved and served in delicate portions on our plates.
We were sometimes honoured enough to finish a feast with a private banquet of sweets held in Margaret’s own chambers, or in small towers built for such a purpose about the gardens. I was not invited to such intimate occasions all the time, but when I was I felt as though I might burst for the honour being offered to me. Within those little towers we would think ourselves most favoured and fortunate as we supped on jellied milks, suckets, and pears poached in fine wine and draped in syrup with ginger. Sometimes great castles, knights or dragons would be made of jellies and brought wobbling to the table to great applause. Margaret was fond of cooked fruit pastries, and I found fruits on my table that I had never seen before, imported from the ends of the earth. Oranges were made into marmalade, cut in thick slices and served on knotted sweet biscuits made of wheat and almonds. More than anything I loved the sweet, fresh taste of the cherries and strawberries grown in the groves around the court and made into delicate pies with crumbling, buttery pastry.
I learnt the tricks of the etiquette of court eating, building on the knowledge I had when I left home; to take the salt delicately from the salt cellar with the edge of my knife and put it in my plate, to drape the napkin over the left shoulder and to take only small, delicate portions from all the numerous dishes on the table, so that I might enjoy all that Margaret’s bounty had to offer, but not appear greedy, uncouth or uncharitable for leaving nothing for those of the lower orders to share after a feast. I learned to converse easily about current news, about the foods before me, about hunting and jousting or the latest styles in dance, thought and clothing. I discovered that I had a natural quickness and a sharp wit that was only just starting to emerge. As others enjoyed my little quips and laughed with me, I found the confidence to use that talent more and more. I was learning fast and well and I was surrounded by elegance and opulence. I was overjoyed and proud to be a part of such a wonderful court. Small and insignificant though I was, I was still a drop of this great and spectacular ocean.
In Margaret’s court I believe I learned all of the most important lessons of my life; all the lessons I learned after were merely extensions on what I had taken from her court. In her schoolrooms I learned my lessons. At the feasts of the court I learned to open my mouth and converse with ease. In the halls of her palaces I learnt to speak French properly, elegantly and with a true accent which eventually made me sound like a native speaker.
When I first arrived at the court, I wrote to my father in French to let him know I had met the Regent Margaret and to thank him once more for the position he had gained for me. I knew that he wanted for me eventually to gain a place at the Court of England, and so I wrote with that in mind, hoping to please him by being capable of seeing the target he was aiming me for.
“Sir, I understand by your letter that you desire that I shall be a worthy woman when I come to the English Court and you inform me that the Queen will take the trouble to converse with me, which rejoices me to think of talking with a person so wise and worthy. This will make me have greater desire to continue to speak French well and also spell, especially because you have so enjoined it on me, and with my own hand I inform you that I will observe it the best I can. Sir, I beg you to excuse if my letter is badly written, for I assure you that the orthography is from my own understanding alone, while the others were only written by my hand. Semmonet tells me the letter but waits so that I may do it myself, for fear that it shall not be known unless I acquaint you, and I pray you that the light of it may not be allowed to drive away the will which you say you have to help me, for it seems that you are sure you can. If you please, make me a declaration of your word, and concerning me, be certain that there shall be neither thanklessness nor ingratitude which might check or efface me in your affection, which is determined to prosper as much unless it shall please you to order me. And I promise you that my love is based on such strength that it will never grow less. I will make an end to my letter after having commended myself right humbly to your good grace.
Written at La Vure, by,
Your very humble and very obedient daughter,
Anna de Boullan.”
I shudder now to think of how awful that letter must have sounded to my father when he read it. It must have grated upon his very spine to see his daughter write in such a halting, clumsy way. But I was improving now, all the time. The Semmonet I spoke of in the letter was a tutor who was granted to me and some of the other filles d’honneur who were not natives of France, and therefore were lacking in true skill at the language. Despite the evidence of my first letter, which might give weight to ideas to the contrary, I had my father’s ear for languages and each time I saw Margaret, or Madame as we called her, she would comment that my French was becoming most skilled. Since there was no one who really spoke English at the court, aside from ambassadors who would not have stooped in their dignity to converse with me, I had no choice but to learn fast and learn well. My father could not have chosen a better place for me to learn to be a linguist.
I continued to learn Latin also, for all religious volumes were in Latin at that time and if you could not read it, you could not read the words of God unless transcribed by a priest. There was new interest in learning the languages of Greek and Hebrew at Margaret’s court, to better understand the Bible in its original form. Learned men and women of her court read and discussed the subtleties they found by studying the word of God in that way. I was not taught these languages then, as there were few tutors available for these lessons, but I did listen to many of the discussions with great interest. Alt
hough I loved learning Latin, questions always nipped my heels which were only encouraged by the atmosphere of knowledge which presided at Margaret’s court.
I had never understood, for example, why God should choose to speak to his people only in one language, in Latin, a language that many people did not understand, especially if they were not noble. Early on, when I was still at Hever, I had asked my tutor why it was that God did not speak in a language which we could all understand. God must be able to understand and speak all languages, and if common people did not understand when God spoke in Latin, how were they to know what He wanted of them? My tutor had been rather shocked; he told me that what I spoke was heresy and that I needed to be more guarded in my speech. God spoke to the priests, and it was they who translated and transcribed what was intended for the common people by God through the teachings of the Bible. Many common people would not be able to understand what God meant, my tutor explained, as they were both badly educated and naturally stupid. They needed to be led by those with better understanding and intelligence. It was for the priests to determine God’s will on earth, for the priests to tell this to the people and guide them, and for the Pope to oversee all that was done on earth in God’s name. That was the natural order of things, and to question that was to speak heresy, to go against the will of God on earth.