La Petite Boulain

by G Lawrence

  Since I was frightened to be called a heretic, as I knew that they burnt at the stake and went to hell, I said no more to him then of my thoughts. He watched my silence with narrowed eyes, and then nodded, looking satisfied that he had answered my questions and perhaps saved me from the fires of hell for my ignorance. I understood then, perhaps for the first time, that it was sometimes dangerous to voice one’s opinions aloud. But I could not help but wonder; what if the priests translated wrongly for us? What if the Pope got something wrong? Who was to help us then, if all of the people of the Christian faith were reliant only on the skill of the clergy to transcribe the will and wants of God? Would God punish us all if the priests transcribed his wishes wrongly and we all fell into sin because of it? Would it not be better if all people could understand the word of God in the Bible, for then all people would be responsible only for their own actions and translations of the word of God? These thoughts worried me from time to time as I listened to the Mass. It made me wonder if there was not another way for everyone to understand God for themselves.

  But although I worried on these matters, when I listened to the verses read out loud from the Bible in Margaret’s chambers, when I sat and knelt at Mass, or when I read my own little Book of Hours and prayed alone, I could not feel afraid of God’s will. I knew in my heart that He was just and fair. He had sacrificed His own son to save us from sin, and so He must love us. I hoped He would not punish us for trusting so much in the priests that He had apparently chosen as emissaries of His words.

  But the nature of thoughts is that once one comes to your mind, others are bound to follow in its wake. My first fledgling thoughts on the nature of the Church’s control over the people of Christianity were already growing feathers and getting ready to fly. Just where those wings of thought would carry me I knew not then, but there were others who had begun to question, as I had, the authority of the Church, and the nature of Christian worship.

  I did not speak these thoughts aloud at Margaret’s court. There were many there who believed in reform of the Church, of changes to various corrupt practises of priests and the clergy which, I was coming to learn, were many and various. Many did not like the Church’s practise of selling pardons and indulgences; little slips of paper allowing forgiveness of a sin or time removed for a soul in purgatory, which could be bought for a goodly amount of coin. There were, too, those houses of religious orders which had to be investigated or closed down for being rife with corruption and sins of the flesh. And now too, with the advent of the new interest in humanism, there were many new scholars seeking to read the Scriptures for themselves, in the ancient languages they were originally written in, and these new studies of the word of God were raising new questions and interpretations themselves. It was an interesting time to be introduced to religious theology, and I listened avidly to the talk of those around me.

  But I was yet young, and my opinions were not well-formed in my own mind then. As I did not wish to be branded a heretic and sent home, I was quiet about my doubts, but I also listened carefully to any argument on the subject. I continued to wonder on the idea that perhaps God had intended for all people to understand His words; perhaps their remaining in Latin was not God’s intention… Perhaps the priests had made a mistake, as it seemed, from some of the stories I heard, that they were far from infallible, or incorruptible.

  I learnt, of course, to dance at Mechelen. It was one of the most highly valued skills of any lady or court gallant. As I grew, my figure became elegant. I was not made of the same meld as beautiful women like Margaret, with fair hair and full figures; my body was long and slim, my breasts were not large, but they were budding under my clothes. My waist was like a wasp’s and my legs were strong, shapely and slim. I was growing to be middling tall for a woman, and my face was pale like marble with strong, high cheekbones and the flashing eyes that I was becoming known for. Clothes hung well on me and I was elegant when I danced. I knew this by the admiring eyes of the dance tutor and the jealous glances of the filles I practised with. My feet found the steps of all the dances quite easy to perform; all those hours of hardening my feet in the long gallery at Hever now came into good use.

  I glided like the wind through dances that others would stumble through. Half the reason I was good was because I practised more than the others, but the trick was to always appear as though your dancing was good through natural talent, rather than hours of arduous practise. But for me, dancing was a pleasure, and I sought it happily, no matter how many blisters it granted me, nor how many times I had to soak my feet in herb-infused waters to draw the ache from them at night.

  I could sing well and hold tunes truly. I had known this at Hever, but here at Mechelen I was given such songs to sing! I had not realised that my voice could produce such sweetness until it was so trained and tuned. My voice became an instrument to entertain the court, and Margaret was thrilled with me in this respect. Margaret was a wonderful musician in her own right, and to find that her court’s newest acquisition was gifted with a raw but certain talent was a joy to her. She would go over books of songs and music with me and was working on expanding my skills to include proficiency in all the instruments she considered appropriate for a young woman at court. I still remember the joy in my heart to hear her praise, and the determination that sprung forth from that joy to do better and to please her more. I started to collect my own favourite songs and music in a book all of my own, and carried it with me wherever I travelled from that day forth.

  Margaret would sometimes request that I read to her in Latin from her books of devotion, or sing to her in the evenings when she held court with her favourites in her private chambers. We would listen to others as they read their poetry and as they sang, and then she would ask for me and the other filles d’honneur to perform. Although my heart beat so loudly in my chest with fear at performing before so many people, I would swallow that fear and stand with the others and sing, lifting my voice to follow the lute and the haunting beat of the hide drums. When I closed my eyes, the song would take me away; I was not singing in front of so many people then, I was singing alone, and I lost my fear.

  “La Petite Boulain has a true and sweet voice, do you not think?” Margaret would ask her courtiers, lounging on the cushions of the chamber as they drank their wine and talked of the matters of the day… and they would smile and nod to their mistress, agreeing with her as they did in all matters. “You sing well for God and for us,” Margaret would praise me, often singling me out from the others in my group. This sometimes caused resentment from the other filles, and would make me blush, letting a little flattering colour creep through my pale cheeks, but I cannot deny that it pleased me.

  Margaret’s palace was a haven for music and for musicians. Her court organist, Henri Bredemers, would have died at her feet should she have asked him to; I am sure he thought her an angel sent forth from heaven for her generous patronage of him. I was lucky to be able to learn from him, for he was a genius. He was also a perfectionist who rapped hard on my knuckles and fingers with a thin wooden whip whenever I stumbled on a note. When he caught the edge of my little fingers I would have to use all of my self-control not to swear as I had heard the men do in the stables and the mews, and to put myself to the task of learning my lessons better, so that I did not receive more strikes of the whip.

  But aside from the heavy hands of my tutors at times, the Court of Burgundy was a wonder to me. Everywhere I went there was a song in my throat and a tune in my fingertips. But I only sang in public when I was called to by my mistress. Sometimes in her chambers or at court events, Margaret herself would play for us; there was nothing more beautiful. I felt my performances, proud though I was of them, shiver into insignificance next to the beauty that poured out of Margaret’s mouth and her skilled fingers. Not a wrong note did she make, not a touch out of place; her voice was delicate and yet strong. Bredemers would stand to one side of the gathering listening to her, his eyes closed and a look on his face as tho
ugh he stood at the gates of Heaven, listening to the music of the angels.

  Chapter Twelve

  1513

  Mechelen

  We filles d’honneur at the court of Margaret were most often in the company of our mistress, or watched over sharply by the eyes of la dame d’honneur, one of Margaret’s ladies-in-waiting given the task of ensuring our lessons were learnt and our behaviour was irreproachable. Also under the governance of Margaret though were her nephew, Charles, later to become Charles V the ruler of the Hapsburg Empire, and his sisters, Eleanor, Isabelle, Catherine and Marie. These young children had been born of the union between Margaret’s brother, Phillip the Fair, and his wife Joanna, Princess of Castile, whom some called “The Mad”. They had come under Margaret’s care when their father died. Their mother, who had shown signs of a malady of the mind long before the death of their father, had seemed to grow ever more unstable after the death of her beloved Phillip, refusing at first to bury his body, and instead keeping his corpse enthroned as though he still had life within him. Margaret was therefore chosen as a more suitable guardian for the heir to the Hapsburg Empire, and the young Charles and his sisters came to Mechelen.

  Charles was then perhaps fourteen years old, just a little older than I. He was a spindly youth, with the large Hapsburg chin which jutted out before him as though it wanted to take part in a conversation before his mouth could open. He had a habit of tilting his head, which only served to accentuate his large jaw, but he was a goodly young prince surrounded by a court all his own of young gallants from noble families from throughout the Empire, all wishing for advancement by gaining friendship with the heir. His sisters were all beautiful, perhaps Eleanor, the eldest, in particular. I believe I paid the most note to her because she was a talented musician, and Bredemers was almost as in love with the ability of her swift fingers and keen ear as he was with Margaret herself. The youngest daughters were most often in the care of the nursery, but on occasion we would see them brought out to celebrations.

  But if I was not in the company of the most prestigious people of my own age group, I was far from being unsatisfied with my life. As well as the many and varied lessons in dancing, languages, court etiquette and manners, I was learning much in the way of how to make the best of my own appearance… a skill that can be taught, but can only be honed by an honest realisation of one’s own natural attributes and advantages. Margaret and her ladies designed clothing for themselves and I learnt to do the same. I had a natural artistic flair that Margaret encouraged, but my clothing was designed by me, for me. I was not good at designing clothes which suited everyone; Margaret was talented enough to do this, but I could design for myself and that was all. Bold, bright colours accentuated my pale skin and dark looks and I learnt quickly to find the styles that suited my long and slim frame.

  Margaret taught us how to preserve and protect our complexions from the dangers of the sun and the dangers of the body. She taught us to wear elegant plain masks when out hunting or riding. We sat under the shade of welcome trees to avoid the crude brownness and redness that the sun should bring on our faces. She taught us to make infusions of sage to wash our mouths with, and lozenges of mint and lemon balm, which made our breath sweet. We learned to make our teeth white with mixtures of burnt alum, honey and celandine water, and to pick stray foods from our teeth with elegant little tooth picks made of silver. Margaret taught us remedies for rheum of the head and for soreness of the body, much like those cures my mother had taught us at home, and how to tend to the female body when it was sore during monthly bleeds. Some of her women used belladonna drops to make their eyes bright and wide, but my eyes needed no such treatment. Margaret taught me to darken my eye lashes with compounds of kohl, and to pluck my eyebrows gently and carefully so that my eyes, always my best feature, shone. She instructed us to bathe in boiled water infused with rose petals and jasmine so that we smelt clean and sweet; to wash our faces and hands each morning in freezing cold, herb-scented waters, and bathe our complexions with mixtures of camphire, vinegar and celandine water to prevent unsightly redness or pimples. If you looked at Margaret’s complexion you would never have doubted her knowledge on the subject of the tending of beauty; we followed her advice then, and I still do now. No matter how cold the day, I have washed my face every morning in the coldest waters I could stand, and my complexion has remained ever as beautiful as hers.

  When I washed in those waters, the memory of my mother came to me with the scent of the rose petals; thoughts of her comforted me each and every morning. I remembered my promise to make her proud. I was learning all that I might need to care for myself and for my household when I was older and would marry. And I was also learning how I might attract a husband to me through my own person, rather than through my name, dowry or house alone.

  Mechelen was a court that operated through the ideals and games of courtly love. It was copied throughout the civilised world and all courts, the English Court included, tried to live up to its ideals of chivalry and elegance. Perhaps the only court to rival Margaret’s was the French Court. When I heard people talk of the French Court, I could not quite believe that it could be greater than Mechelen, but then I was so taken by this court that I could bear no other being held up as it’s equal or better. For the first time in my life, I had fallen in love, and it was not with a man; it was with the Court of Margaret of Austria.

  All the games of courtly love revolved around Margaret; she was the object of most of the poetry and music written at Mechelen and she was the one who controlled the games so that they remained elegant and did not become unruly. Young men were allowed to perform for the women of the court and to Margaret; they would write songs and poems extolling the virtues and brilliance of their subjects, or they would ride for them in the joust or spar at the sword for them. These poems, songs and feats of arms celebrated the talents of these men and placed these ladies at the centre of this intellectual adoration. And it was intellectual adoration, as the women would never give in to the pleas of the poets or the fearsome strength of the warriors. The men would call them the mistresses of their hearts and the loves of their lives. The women would smile and receive such attentions publicly with pleasure, but always express disbelief in the honesty of the protestations of their admirers, causing the game to continue to higher levels and greater feats.

  The poetry and the songs were beautiful, but the game was power. We all knew that if the women truly gave in to these advances and protestations of devotion, then the men would tire of them quickly. And Margaret would not suffer her women to debase themselves in such a way; if a woman was found to be dallying physically with a man then the pair would find themselves quickly married, not always to each other, and often banished from her court. I could not imagine a worse punishment than to be banished from her world, and so the first impression of the value of virtue was made on my heart.

  Courtly love was a game of power; as long as the women withheld their physical bodies from the men who worshipped them, then they kept the power, if the knights succeeded in seducing them, then they won. Courtly love maintained the romantic atmosphere of the palace and it gave young men a way to advance themselves through their intellect and skill or through war-like talent or sportsmanship. Young men, eager to advance at court, could rise high with generous patronesses amongst higher born women who enjoyed their poetry or their feats in jousting. High-born men, already established as lords and knights, or even princes of neighbouring lands, paid court to women who were not their wives in order to demonstrate their sophistication to the world. The object of the game was actually rarely about true seduction. It happened of course, but most who played it understood that the real object was to advance within the court, by display of natural talents, or by being the object of desire.

  Young ladies who had been singled out as objects of devotion became more desirable as matches in marriage, and men could become renowned for their talents and prowess. It was a dance we all performed with each o
ther, and at the centre of the performance was Margaret. She was the highest in the land, and to acquire her patronage through poetry and feats of bravery was the goal of many of the young men sent to her court. The same game was played at other courts about Europe too, but here in Mechelen, unlike other courts we heard of, the game was kept strictly intellectual, rather than physical. Margaret was most stern on that point; her maidens must be beyond reproach, for their behaviour reflected on her.

  Margaret was still very young when she first felt the fickle nature of men’s promises in her own life, and perhaps that early experience was why she was so stern about the rules of courtly love within her own kingdom. When she was three years old, she had been promised in marriage to the Dauphin of France. In accordance with the treaty that had sealed this match, she had been sent to France to live in the royal nurseries there, and to be brought up as the future Queen of France. Even at the tender age of three she was married to Charles the Dauphin, and called Queen of France, although due to her extreme youth, the match was obviously not consummated. After ten years, and when she was finally of an age to marry him in truth, Charles, now King of France, had broken his promise to marry Margaret. Charles wanted to marry Anne, Duchess of Brittany, for the greater wealth and lands that this heiress would bring to him. Poor Margaret, young, beautiful and rejected, was kept as a prisoner by the French, continuing to live in a court she had once been destined to rule, and now was kept within as a political bargaining tool.