by G Lawrence
Chapter Twenty-One
1516
France
During my time with Claude’s court I came also to know a most fascinating woman who entered the Queen’s service in 1516. The beautiful Lady Françoise de Foix became a good friend to me, and taught me many lessons in life.
Françoise de Foix was of noble, even royal birth; she was the second cousin of Anne of Brittany, the second of Louis’ Queens, and therefore Françoise was a third cousin to Claude herself. Françoise had married Jean, Count of Chateaubriant, in 1509, although she gave him a daughter in 1508 when they were still only betrothed, to much scandal about the court. Françoise loved her daughter, named Anne, like me, but like so many noble women of the time, she had left her daughter at the country lands of her husband when she came to court to wait upon Queen Claude. The court was no place for children; the airs of the cities in which the court often stayed were considered dangerous to the health of children, and the morals of some within the court were perhaps more dangerous still.
François had requested personally that Françoise de Foix and her husband come to his new, vital court, and there was an obvious reason for this appointment. Françoise was beautiful, with long, lustrous, dark hair and flashing eyes. She was accomplished, being an excellent dancer and fluent in Latin and Italian as well as in her native French, of course. And she was sensual. Deeply attractive and engaging, witty and clever, she was quickly followed around the court by eager, captivated men, desperate to court her. The King was no exception to the strength of her charms. But it was to the household of the Queen that Françoise came, not the court of the King. Although he paid court to her at entertainments, during the days she was safe in Claude’s chambers.
But it was not her accomplishments or her beauty that attracted me. She was a gentle and great friend to me, and her kindness, spirit and steadfastness satisfied my need for a companion in those days when Mary had left and I was once again alone. It was difficult to become close to people at court. In some ways this helped me to become independent and self-reliant; traits which helped me a great deal in later life. These were qualities which I believe, later, made me stand out at the English court. For it was certainly not that I was the most attractive woman at court that drove men to me, it was the difference between the other women and me that made me stand out.
Still, self-reliance and independence can be lonely; being surrounded by people and feeling completely alone is an isolated space to occupy.
King François started to chase Françoise in earnest later that year. He tried to pay the attentions of courtly love to her, and she was polite but cool with him. He heaped favours on her relatives in an effort to win her as his mistress, but Françoise was not willing to enter into the bed of the King for mere favours. She was clear in what she wanted; a secure position, and, more surprisingly perhaps, she wanted to feel that she was in love with the King in truth. Many of the King’s mistresses would give themselves up to him just for the fleeting riches such a title might bestow, but Françoise was not made of that mettle.
Françoise was a complicated woman; she could be hot-tempered and bawdy at times, but she also was cultured and fiercely intelligent. If she was to take a lover, then she wanted one who could offer her stimulation in more places than just the bedchamber. The French were more open about this type of affair than their English cousins; official mistresses were as much a part of a king’s life as were wives. But Françoise wanted to be more than just a diversion to the King.
François the King was a man of many faces and attributes. He was a polished courtier who spoke several languages; he was interested in humanism. He went out of his way to protect the free thinkers and reformers of the Church in France, and he loved art and sculpture. Many works of masters of paint and marble graced his court, not just Leonardo’s. Paintings by Michelangelo and writings by Homer lined the walls of his palaces. There is a sense of greatness in a king who could so admire the works of these illustrious men that he sought to surround himself with them.
But François could also be crass and unfeeling. His behaviour towards my sister was one example, but there were many other times when this polished man suddenly seemed to lose his veneer, and become a crude fool like so many others at court. There were rumours, too, that he was not above forcing a woman should she prove reluctant to give in to his charms, although this, for reasons that may become clear later, I found hard to believe.
And then there was his desire for peace and the countryside. Often Claude’s household would go to see him, only to find that the King had left court for hunting in the great forests. François would go for days at a time; disappearing from his life like a shadow in the sun. He was at once both very ugly and very attractive; his face and body were long and tall, his features, especially his nose, were large. His lips were sensual and full, his figure was broad and well-structured. Only his legs let him down as they were rather spindly at the calves. He was not handsome, and yet he seemed handsome for his confidence and his manner. His dark eyes were warm and clever; his mouth was full of wit and jest, he was a brilliant musician and a wonderful and energetic dancer. He could hunt all day without tiring and desired women like water; he was, by the opinion of the many who had spent nights and days with him, a great and exciting lover.
Yes, he was interesting, this King of France. He commanded such love and adoration from his subjects; not the least of them his mother and sister. Together, the three of them made up the ‘Trinity’. Their loyalty to each other and their tight bond could never be broken by anyone. His mother, Louise of Savoy, Countess d'Angoulême, had worked her whole life to see him achieve the throne. Louise was a lioness who would give anything for her son. Nothing was more important to her than he was, not even her daughter, the great Marguerite d'Angoulême. No, it was François, her ‘Caesar’ as she called him, for whom she would give all. When Louis was still married to Anne of Brittany in 1512, Anne had borne a son, who died almost at the instant of his birth. During this time of sadness, Louise of Savoy was heard to mention that it was a good thing that the Dauphin had died so quickly, so that he could not “prevent the exaltation of my Caesar”. This was the type of woman that she was; ruthlessly devoted, utterly and entirely, to her son, at the cost of all else.
It would have seemed possible that Louise’s daughter, Marguerite, would have resented this special devotion, but no! For Marguerite was also one of the Trinity, devoted to the advancement and protection of François her brother. They were very close, and he valued her opinion on many things. He inspired such total devotion from the women in his life, and it was clear why. Despite all his faults, and there were many, François was a deeply charismatic and charming man. I found it hard not to like him, despite what he had said about my sister.
In 1516, François was in hot pursuit of Françoise; he lavished her and her family with presents and titles, he wrote poetry to her. He invented masques where she, talented woman that she was, could shine in the title roles he gave to her. But still she did not given in to him. Why? Because in truth she really was in love with him. This ugly, yet charming, king was blatantly offering her all she could want in money and riches if she would only lie with him. But she wanted to know that there was truth in his protestations of love, she wanted to know that she would not simply become another conquest to him. It seems simple, does it not? That a woman would love a man and look to him for security of his promises… But in reality, she was asking much more of him than all his other past and fleeting mistresses. She wanted his heart. She wanted security.
We had become friends, Françoise and I, and as we wandered the beautiful gardens of Claude’s palaces, she often spoke to me of François and her deep attraction to him.
“There is something in me, something so powerful, that when he pleads for me to believe in his love and give myself to him…,” she paused, her great dark eyes on the skies. “Ah!” she cried. “All I want is to give in!”
She laughed. “But he is used to
women giving in, is he not? He is used to the easy conquest and he tires so quickly of them afterwards.” She looked at me and shook her head. “Men like François… they are hunters. They want to chase and capture. But the quick and easy chase will not satisfy them; they will not come back for more if it is over too quickly. They will tire, they will wander, they will stray, and then what are we women left with but an empty bed and a name all speak whilst laughing?”
She smiled at me, her lips pursed in a saucy pose that was so characteristic of her when she was in a light mood such as this. “I shall not be the one to be caught with ease,” she said, shaking her head. “I shall give him a good chase, and at the end, he will be the one who is caught by me. The hind will become the huntress, my friend.”
I nodded to her. “My sister was easy prey to capture,” I said. I had, against my father’s wishes, told all of the affair of my sister to my new friend. But I trusted her to say naught of it. “And he tired of her swiftly. I think what you say is true.”
Françoise nodded, biting her nail. “And you will learn from her mistake, and not do the same.”
“I will be no man’s mistress,” I said haughtily. “There is no man that I will have but my husband.”
“And who is he?” she asked, laughing a little. “I am surprised you have not introduced me… do you keep him in your cupboard or under your bed?” She laughed gaily and I could not help but join in. She was entertaining to be around, Françoise. Even when she said something that might be hurtful, she had a way of softening it with her wit.
“I understand your position,” she mused as we continued to walk. “You value yourself highly, and your sister’s example gives you no reason to think your opinion is wrong. But life, Anne… ah, it is never quite as simple as we imagine when we are young.” She smiled at me; she was hardly old, but she had been married young and that certainly gave her more experience in life, and with men, than I.
“You may find, Anne,” she continued “even if you marry happily to a man whom you love, that this may not give you all you want of life, or of love. After a while of being married, or even not that long, you may find that your husband no longer desires you as he did before you were married. You will become familiar to him, and the familiar is always less desirable than the unknown… to most at least.”
She paused and sighed. “When we were first promised to each other, Jean was so energetic and powerful, so romantic. He and I rode for days in his lands, stayed in hunting lodges in the forests and made love for hours, for days. Sometimes we did not make it out of bed until long past noon. Our daughter was conceived in such love, and before marriage! Ah, there was scandal even though we had been long engaged. But that did not matter to me then. I thought then that we were destined to be together and what we were then, what we had then, would be forever.”
She shrugged. “Back then, I would have answered as you do now; that I should be no man’s but his. But now…” there was a silence as she thought and shook her head. “But now, Jean takes his lovers; they are younger and look at me with spiteful eyes. They are paraded before me, even within my own house. I can do nothing about it, and my tears do not move him as once they were able to. Before I came to court, I would cry myself to sleep because of his careless cruelty. I had become too familiar to him, and the love he told me of when we were first together has faded from his heart. But here, with François… I am the special one once more. When the King looks my way, it is as though all other people have vanished from the world. I am the one who is paraded and adored. Once more, I feel as though I am beautiful.”
“No one could ever say that you were not,” I replied hotly, frowning at her.
Françoise smiled. “Beauty is as much in the mind as it is in the body,” she said. “If one does not think they are beautiful, then they can never truly become so. You must believe in yourself to be beautiful; you must know in your heart your own worth. I was losing that self-worth and so I was losing my own beauty. When Jean rejected me, I was downcast. But now I have a new love, and Jean cannot say or do anything against him, because this man is the King. If I choose to, I can have love and hope returned to my life. I can be beautiful. Or I can choose to be a good wife and return to my husband’s cold and indifferent bed. What would you do?” She turned to me. “Would you be the good wife, no matter what the cost, or take love from the arms of another?”
“That is not a question for me,” I shook my head. “This is your choice. I cannot tell you how to live your own life. We all make our own choices, and for good or bad they are ours.”
“You are so clever for one so young, Mistress Boleyn,” she said. “And your beauty grows day by day as your sense of self does. There is something in you that men will start to see soon; they are always further behind than us when it comes to women. With men, it is the obvious they see first, then, they come to appreciate the hidden. With women… we always see the hidden in other women first, especially at court. We always know when there is another to rival us; we can feel it in our bones. You must learn to watch like a serpent for the other women at court; they are the dangerous ones, not the men. I see in you such things that the men have not noticed yet, but they will. There is poise in you, there is power. You understand your worth and are not willing to barter. I am not willing to barter either, I hold my price, but my price is different to yours. You say you will be no man’s mistress, but I am older and have learned my own lessons. I may live in a marriage without love, but I will find love too. Soon, if François is genuine in his attentions to me, I shall be his Mistress en Titre; his official mistress, and no one shall challenge my place in his heart. That is the price I hold out for; those are the terms I have given him.”
I nodded; I understood her desire to be loved. She found it not in her marriage anymore. The position of the King’s official mistress was one of great social standing in France, although not all, of course, considered it an honourable position. She would be recognised not as a plaything or mere diversion, but as a powerful member of court, one who had great influence with the King. But although I understood her price, I did not want the same as her. The position of a mistress was one that was never certain, not even when it was that of an official and recognised mistress. Men were changeable and the position of a mistress was to ever be entirely reliant on her lover. If he decided he loved her no more, then he could leave her without anything. She could become not only rejected, but lost to society and position, without money or friends. Most mistresses of the King were cleverer than that, however; learning to line their pockets well long before they came to be cast off. Many people looked down on them for being money-hungry whores, but really, when the option to abandon them was always there for a king, were they not but looking out for themselves, for the time when the fancy of their lover came to tire of them? Their reputations were always damaged, of course; a man might take a thousand mistresses and hardly be looked on with anything but a gentle smile of amusement, but if a woman took even one, then she was judged as morally repugnant, and disgraced.
With the bond of marriage, at least, the husband had an obligation in law and the eyes of God to his wife. Although this institution was hardly perfect either, it did not leave a woman open to attacks on her morals and character as being a mistress would. Perhaps my ideals were too simple, too high, but I did not like the idea of such insecurity in life. Forever wondering if I fell in love and gave my heart and body to a man, would he simply tire of me and move on to another, leaving me disgraced and alone? That was no way to live, for me at least. I was a sensible young woman at heart and I had learnt well at the courts of France and Burgundy. Mary’s example had plagued me, and when I thought of the things which François had said behind her back, and the things people still called her, it made me feel quite ill. I was determined never to be treated like that, and to my mind, that meant never giving in to the false protestations of love which men seemed to make and break with such devastating ease.
Françoise gave in to
François in 1518, but only after he offered her the position of his Mistress en Titre. She received apartments at his court, horses, servants, litters and other trappings of brilliance which came with her position. She was honoured at state occasions and was at the side of the King constantly. She had her own ladies and her own little court within his. She had come by greatness by setting her price, and demanding it of the King. And she had his love, then at least. Her husband could say nothing on the matter, he was granted titles and lands too, for the position his wife now held with the King. Even if Jean had objected, he had to keep his silence; the King’s will was all that mattered, if one wanted to keep one’s position and standing at court.
It was an example I was to follow well in later life; I had seen how this game was played by a master.
Claude never mentioned Françoise’s position as her husband’s official mistress and the two of them continued to be friends; Françoise often served at Claude’s side at state occasions. Claude knew that François’s affairs were inevitable; I think in her own way, she respected Françoise for holding out for so long. Françoise never pushed herself above her station with Claude, and this was probably another reason that she and the Queen continued to be close. Later, there were other women I saw both in France and England, who pushed beyond the realm of the discreet mistress into public notice. I myself was one of them. When I was in this position, of course, I thought myself justified in the love of the King and the great position I would eventually hold. When, much later, I saw others parading themselves before me, I would know the pain that I had caused to others. Françoise never did this to Claude.