Mary, Queen of France: The Story of the Youngest Sister of Henry VIII

Deliberately she threw it to the floor and stamped on it; and looking down at what she had once loved she thought: Like the lute my life is broken and finished.

Louise, eager yet apprehensive, had moved with her family from Cognac to Chinon. Each day she was watching at her turret for messengers from the Court; and she would start up every time she heard the sound of riders approaching the chateau.

Jeanne comforted her as best she could. It was quite impossible, she pointed out, for the King to put away his wife. The Pope would never agree to a divorce. Jeanne, a king’s daughter, would never submit to such treatment; and Anne of Brittany would not marry until at least a year had elapsed since the death of her husband, for she would consider it quite indecent to do so.

“I know Anne of Brittany,” said Louise. “She wants to give birth to the heir of France. There is only one way in which she can do that, and that is by marrying Louis. She’ll take him if she has the chance. She is as jealous of me on account of my son as any woman could be.”

Louis traveled to Chinon with a great retinue and Louise’s anxiety increased, for there were plans to welcome a visitor to France, and this important personage was shortly to arrive in Chinon. His name was Cesare Borgia.

Why was the King so eager to do honors to the illegitimate son of the Pope? Louise anxiously asked herself.

Francois was untouched by her apprehension. From the window of the chateau, his mother beside him and Marguerite close by, he watched the Borgia’s entry into Chinon.

The little boy could not stand still but leaped up and down in his excitement.

“But look, look,” he kept crying, for he had never seen such dazzling color. The Pope’s son had determined to impress the French with his worldly possessions. His attendants were clad in crimson livery; his pages rode on the finest horses; his baggage, covered with satin in dazzling colors, was carried on mules brilliantly caparisoned. Thirty noblemen attended him, all magnificently attired and behind them, accompanied by Georges d’Amboise who had ridden out from the chateau to meet him, was the Borgia himself, lithe, dark and sinister, sitting his horse whose accoutrements glittered with pearls and precious stones of all colors, himself more dazzling than anything which had gone before. His person appeared to be covered in jewels, with rubies—such a foil for his dark lean looks!—in predominance.

Louise, catching at her son’s hand, wondered whether in one of those coffers with which the jewel-decorated mules were laden, was the dispensation which would enable Louis to marry Anne of Brittany.

She was soon to learn.

Louise was in despair. The King had obtained his divorce and Anne of Brittany had overcome her scruples. They were now married.

Louise lay awake at night thinking of them, indefatigably pursuing their efforts to get a child. They were both so eager. Could they fail?

“Holy Mother,” she prayed, “hear me. My little Francois was born to be a king. I beg of you let nothing stand in the way of his coming to the throne.”

Yet, she thought, Anne is offering her prayer to the Virgin with the same vehemence. But surely all must see that it is my Francois who should be King of France.

There was further cause for anxiety. Louis was growing more and more delighted with his bride, and consequently giving way to all her wishes. He knew that he had a wife on whose fidelity he could rely absolutely; Anne of Brittany might not be a beauty; she might walk with a limp; she might be pale and severe; but she was regal, intelligent, a Queen of whom a King—not very young himself, not very robust—could be proud. It was clear that Anne was going to have a great influence on the King’s actions.

Above all, she would not forget Louise and Francois. Although, no doubt, she prayed every night that she might be fruitful, that prayer had not yet been answered, so she wanted Louise where she could keep an eye on her.

Thus she persuaded the King that as, until they had a son they must, though reluctantly, regard Francois as the heir to the throne, they should keep him under surveillance.

Consequently Louise received orders from Court. She was to leave Chinon for Blois.

There was no help for it. The command must be obeyed, and Louise moved her household to Blois. But she hated the place with its nearby tanneries giving off foul odors which she feared might be harmful to the children. The great chateau, built on a rock, supported by buttresses, with its many underground dungeons in which deeds too horrible to be contemplated had been committed, seemed no place for her gay little Francois, for her beautiful Marguerite.

She felt as though she were a prisoner at Blois; and she never ceased to deplore the King’s marriage to one who, she knew, through envy of her Francois, was a rival and an enemy.

She wrote pleadingly to Louis, hoping to reach him without his wife’s knowledge. It was impossible. Anne was determined to rule with her husband; and he was so indulgent that he allowed this to happen.

So Louise of Savoy felt that Blois was like a prison, did she? Let it be. It was necessary to keep a sharp watch on that woman who was ambitious beyond reason.

But as the weeks passed Anne of Brittany softened toward Louise. If the woman hated Blois so much, let her go to Amboise.

Louise was delighted when she received permission to leave Blois, for Amboise would be more salubrious, and she was happier than she had been since she had left Chinon when, surrounded by her family and household, she rode into the little town and saw the conical towers of the old chateau which dominated it.

A royal chateau, she thought, a fitting place to house her little King.

But before many weeks had passed she lost her complacence.

News came to her from the Court. The miracle had happened. The Queen had conceived. She was taking every precaution regarding her pregnancy, consulting the holy men, making all the necessary pilgrimages, carrying many holy relics; she was doing everything possible to ensure the birth of a healthy boy.

There followed some of the most anxious months of Louise’s life. She questioned everyone who came from the Court as to the Queen’s health, until Jeanne trembled for her and begged her to desist. She remained for long periods on her knees, night and morning, beseeching the saints and the Virgin for their help. It did not occur to her that to plead for the death of an unborn child was unseemly, for she was incapable of seeing anything as evil which furthered the