La Petite Boulain

by G Lawrence

  As we approached the seated area where Marguerite and her admirers were seated, she let out a short quip that set her companions roaring with laughter. In the aftermath of their amusement, my father walked into her circle, hovering on the edge until the Princess noted him, and then he walked forwards, to introduce me to one of the most fascinating and powerful women in the world. She waved him towards her; a high honour.

  “I am honoured to see you once more, Your Highness,” my father said as he bowed low and gracefully to the Princess. Marguerite smiled at him, pleased to see an interesting acquaintance approach her.

  “Sir Thomas Boleyn,” she said happily, gesturing to him to rise. “I am so pleased to see you here again. There is always a good discussion to be had with you and as you can see, I am quite starved of intelligent conversation.” She spread her hands about her as though despairing of her company and those surrounding her laughed again, knowing full well she made a jest; there was such merriment in her eyes that her seemingly harsh words turned to lightness. She was talented in making people love her; this I knew from one minute in her company.

  “May I present to you my youngest daughter?” my father asked, clearly trying to distinguish me from Mary whose reputation was infamous at the French Court. “My daughter serves Queen Claude, and served previously at the Court of Mechelen with the Archduchess Margaret.”

  Marguerite raised her eyebrows with interest as I came forwards and dropped to a graceful curtsey before her.

  “Rise,” she said, and as I rose slowly and elegantly before her, she nodded to me with approval. “You are well travelled for one so young, Mistress Boleyn,” she said. “And you are… most striking to the eye, as well as being obviously well-versed in the art of serving royalty.” She smiled and waggled her finger at my father. “But rather like a man, you father has told us all about you and yet managed to forget to tell us your name.” She laughed prettily. “We cannot have that… what are we to call you?”

  I smiled back at her warm face. “My name is Anne Boleyn, Your Highness,” I said.

  Marguerite looked me over and smiled again. “I have seen you at entertainments, Mistress Anne; you shine well at court and you will sparkle further, I think. You seem rather different to your sister, whom I met briefly when she attended the Dowager Queen here.”

  I flushed slightly and cast my eyes downwards, expecting bawdy laughter to erupt from those around her, but it did not. It seemed that Marguerite had her companions well-trained to know when she was jesting and when she was paying a compliment.

  “My sister and I are different, Your Majesty,” I said, feeling somewhat like Judas but not wishing to miss an opportunity to better my own reputation. “I am more… wary with my love and friendship.”

  Marguerite leaned forward and nodded to me. “We think alike then,” she confided. “There are many in this world that trust readily, and without reason. I am not one of them. I keep my own counsel. Perhaps, Mistress Boleyn, you and I shall meet again; we may find that our counsels are beneficial to one another.”

  I nodded to her. “I would like that greatly, Your Highness,” I said, and curtseyed again. As my father and I walked back to the celebrations, I glowed with pleasure to think that such a great woman had taken the time to talk to me, although I did not really think that anything would come of it. Royalty was often given to making easy promises that were not remembered later on. Later that evening, however, as I was finishing a dance, I was given two messages by a servant. The first was from Marguerite, asking if I would join her and her party in the gardens the next day, if and when my duties to Claude allowed me.

  The second note was from my father. He had left the entertainment already and would be gone on the morning’s tides. He bade me remember my family and honour, and to continue to excel at the court. It ended with a customary goodbye, and his name.

  That was all.

  I sighed as I read it, for it seemed to me then that no matter how hard I strove I should receive little in the way of praise from my father.

  In disappointment he was loquacious, violent, vicious… in approval he was silent.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  1518

  France

  I was allowed to join Marguerite’s party in the gardens late the next morning. Claude expressed some pleasure that Marguerite had noticed me, although there was a hint of worry in her pale eyes should her sister-in-law steal away one of her ladies from her retinue.

  I found Marguerite and her company in one of the larger sections of the beautiful gardens; musicians were playing softly and there was a great deal of gentle talk and laughter. There were a lot of people there, some clearly in Marguerite’s inner circle, and some who simply tried to be near her. Most of the party were seated on the soft grass, lying on rugs, cushions and blankets and there was a beautiful scent of violets and lavender in the air. Marguerite sat on brightly coloured cushions at the head of the group; in her lap was a book that her inner circle were clearly discussing avidly with her. The discussion was clearly lively and excited, but it was more serious than was the atmosphere in the rest of the company in the gardens, who were listening to music or chatting gaily of the entertainments of the previous night.

  I approached carefully and softly, feeling shy in front of all these people. Marguerite looked up and around the garden whilst talking and saw me standing hesitantly. She smiled and beckoned me over to her; I approached sweeping to the floor in a curtsey as I did.

  “Mistress Anna Boleyn,” she exclaimed happily, “come and join this discussion we are having. Your father has a fine mind; let us see if it has passed to his daughter.”

  I walked over and smiled nervously at her as I joined the group. The others looked me over with interest as Marguerite introduced me as the daughter of the English ambassador, Sir Thomas Boleyn. The name “Boleyn” brought a few smiles which were quickly hidden in the sleeves of fine coats, and I spoke sternly to my cheeks to stop them flushing, for I was sure those smiles were to do with Mary and her reputation. I looked about me, hoping to distract my mind from such thoughts. I saw amongst Marguerite’s companions courtiers who were writers of court entertainments, and some I knew to be poets and thinkers; this was an interesting group of people. My heart was hammering in my chest as I feared what I might be asked.

  “We are talking of a new philosophy that has come to our interest,” Marguerite said. “Some, who would close their minds to anything new, would say that it is a heresy, but I say that it warrants closer inspection. What say you, Mistress Boleyn?” She asked, and turned to me.

  I shook my head a little, blushing. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but I know not of what you speak and without that knowledge I cannot comment on the nature of the subject.”

  She looked me over with seeming coldness. Suddenly I felt quite worried. “Some would say that the honour due to a princess of France should be enough to warrant your opinion to agree with hers, no matter what the subject,” she said.

  The others looked at me; for a moment I was afraid to speak, so changeable she appeared, but then I thought I could see a twinkling warmth in her seemingly cold eyes, and suddenly I knew this was a test.

  “Some would say so, Madame,” I said carefully. “But like you, Your Highness, I keep my own counsel; I wish to understand the matters of a discussion before I agree or disagree with its principals. I feel that this quality is more useful to a princess of France, than a tendency to blindly agree to all that is said without once considering the truth of the matter.”

  I spoke boldly, but Marguerite roared with laughter as did those around her.

  “You see?” she said happily. “I told you there was a missing member of this group that I thought I had met last night!” She smiled warmly at me. “You are welcome to always speak your mind in this circle, Mistress Anna Boleyn,” she said. “There are few other places in the world where thought is valued as much as here, and few other places where it can be as protected. My brother values my thoughts,
and I protect those I can with his love for me. I bid you welcome, as one of those.”

  I felt honoured to be so welcomed by such a woman as she, and eager to take part in the discussion with Marguerite and her companions. I smiled at the others and they back at me, as Marguerite steered the conversation back to the book in her lap.

  “We are discussing the contents of this book that I have acquired,” she said, tapping her finger on its sheets. “Some call it heresy and would have it burned along with the author, but I believe that it calls for a much needed reform of the practises of the Church within its many arguments.”

  I nodded as she spoke and she raised an eyebrow at me. “You have read it?” she asked, surprised. I shook my head.

  “No, Madame, but I should like to, if it has your approval; I have long thought that certain areas of the Church need to be better regulated: the giving of pardons and indulgences, for example; the behaviour of some members of the priesthood.” I spoke nervously and quietly; words such as these were not supposed to be spoken aloud.

  “Fear not, Anna,” she said gently. “I have said to you that in my circle, thoughts are to be spoken without fear. Although I would not encourage you to do the same in all company, you are safe here. It is interesting that you should speak of the scandal of pardons, for this is the main subjects of this book. It seemed that perhaps you are of a mind with the writer and with me. Shall I lend it to you to read? I have read it many times now.”

  I was speechless as she passed the beautifully bound book to me. The others in the group looked equally interested, as it seemed that Marguerite had taken to me a great deal.

  “Do you think that the consideration of Church reform is heresy?” she asked of the group as a whole. “Should we dare to talk of the reform of something that God has given to rule our souls?”

  “God gave us the Pope and the priests to aid us,” Marguerite continued. “But the priesthood is still made of men, and men are fallible, unlike God. To seek to better the Church I say is not heresy, but our duty as Christian people.”

  We around her nodded with her. Only a princess could dare to go so far, but I agreed with her; there were parts of the Church that were shocking and illicit.

  Quietly I said, “To love… is to be able to question.”

  She nodded at me, a sign to continue.

  “Your Highness, I feel that in questioning something, we can also seek to make it better,” I said, the words only starting to form in my mind as I spoke them. I struggled to bring together the frayed ends of my thoughts. “If we cannot question, if we are not allowed to question, then we are truly not a part of a relationship, and if we are not a part of it, then love fades from a partnership. If we cannot be a part of the Church, then we will come apart from the Church and since we do not seek that, we must be allowed to converse with the Church. We must be allowed to grow closer to God by better understanding his words and to understand, one must question.” I finished then, feeling that I had not really expressed what I meant. Marguerite however nodded at me enthusiastically.

  “Indeed,” she said. “I see your thoughts. We must be allowed to question in order to understand. Only in understanding the word of God can there come true closeness to God. Only by working together with the Church to reform practises which dishonour our faith, can we become closer to God.”

  I smiled at Marguerite, thinking that she was blessed with a much better talent at expressing her thoughts than I.

  Marguerite smiled. “Take that book, Anna, and read it well. But don’t let my royal sister Queen Claude catch you reading it… You’ll be sent to the priest to atone for such sins before you can say ‘question’, if your mistress sees it.”

  The group roared with laughter again.

  “I have no wish to upset my mistress, Madam,” I said. “The Queen is kind and good to me; I will keep the book a secret.”

  Marguerite nodded and rose; the group started to get up also, as the party was clearly disbanded when Marguerite left it.

  “You will join me in the hunt at sometime this week,” she commanded. “I shall ask Claude to spare you from your duties for a day; the park is beautiful at this time of the year and I think that this merry band will enjoy a ride in the forests and a picnic in the woods. Do you know how to hunt with the hawk?”

  “I love to fly the hawk, Madame,” I said. “But I have none of my own here in France.”

  “Then you shall borrow from my mews,” she smiled warmly. “And show me if you can cast birds into the air as well as you cast thoughts.”

  I bowed to her, pleased and excited by her attentions. I had never felt more exhilarated by talking to one person.

  “And see that you read that book well, and swiftly and return it to me,” she tapped the little cover with her fingernail and smiling. “For I wish to discuss it with you, and see what your mind made of it.”

  Marguerite touched my cheek and stared into my eyes; I tried to cast them down, but she shook her head and took hold of my chin, lifting my eyes once more to hers. “Those bright eyes of yours were not made for staring at the floor, Mistress Boleyn,” she said. “Be not afraid of my company.” She let go of my chin and shook herself. “Come,” she said. “It is time to eat, let us go inside.”

  We followed her. I had never felt more youth in my veins or excitement in my heart; Marguerite’s conversation was lively, witty and dangerous too. There are few of us who can deny that when we were young we loved the spark of rebellious thought, but some of Marguerite’s talk bordered on the truly perilous for the Church did not take kindly to those who would question it, and the Church ruled the world. I slipped the book into the pocket of my dress, concealed by the folds of fine velvet and silks. That is where I kept it, hidden from my gentle mistress Claude, to read and absorb in secret.

  The book Marguerite had lent to me had been banned in France… That I knew from the name of the author inside; Martin Luther. The book was a copy of a thesis that this friar had written the previous year called Disputatio pro Declaratione Virtutis Indulgentiarum, or The Ninety-Five Theses on the Power and Efficacy of Indulgences. The thesis largely questioned the practise of selling papal indulgences and pardons, but also contained many general criticisms of the Church. The thesis questioned whether bought pardons could ever truly compare to an act of penance for sins committed, or indeed real contrition. Many people, noble and poor alike, spent much money on pardons that were sold by the Church to alleviate sins or spend less time in purgatory. When they came to Church to confess their sins and receive absolution, they would present the pardons and indulgences rather than performing acts of penance. Many people, myself included, had begun to question this practise, for it seemed as though the Church would allow anyone to be freed of their sins, if they paid enough coin. It did not seem in keeping with the purity of faith for the Church to allow such practises to continue. Luther also questioned the right of the Pope to hold such vast sums of wealth, believing them to be better placed educating scholars or helping the poor. None of the challenges within the thesis were things the Church wanted people to be reading.

  I had heard of the book, for it had spread through the courts of Europe fast, mainly due to it being, in many places, a banned book, but I had never seen a copy of it. It was not strictly illegal to be in possession of this title, certainly it was not something I ever wanted to be caught with by a member of the clergy. It was unlikely however that anyone would know what I was reading, or that the contents of what I was reading were so inflammatory. I did not wish to risk being caught, however, even though I wished very much to be able to read it. Marguerite had obviously gained a copy and kept it through the love and protection of her brother. I would have to be more careful than she.

  To my mind, the fact that it was banned made it all the more enticing to read and the sanction of Marguerite made me feel that there was in fact much worth to be found in such a volume. I found a great deal in the book which I agreed with, and it was written with such fire! You co
uld feel the passion of the author for his subject leaking through the ink of the pages. I became sure that Martin Luther had some very interesting ideas on the reform of the Church, and I also came to understand why Church leaders abhorred this text. It was dangerous to their positions of absolute power and it was dangerous to their coffers.

  That book stayed hidden in the folds of my dresses; a small piece of original thought hidden under the skirts of just another court lady.

  It was through Marguerite that I gained access to many books and ideas that I should not have done otherwise. She opened my imagination to the wonder of free thought and to the greater knowledge of God, through learning. I had held half-formed ideas on reform of the Church for many years, but through Marguerite I learned to formulate those ideas, hone them and mould them, until I understood my own thoughts with clarity. But I could not speak freely to others as I could to her; this world was one where free speech, especially from a woman, was not looked on with favourable eye. The idea of the reforms of which we spoke were causing great unrest in the Church, and many called for men who questioned the Church, like Luther, to be excommunicated or burned at the stake… or both.