An Accidental Tragedy (9 page)

Henri made sure of Mary’s thorough education in French manners by placing her under the watchful eye of Diane, who continued to act as an intermediary between the king and d’Humières, even training the nurses for the royal nursery personally at her own château of Anet, north-west of Paris. Diane and Mary became close friends, and from the start Diane saw that Mary would grow into a considerable beauty, according to the strictures accepted for female beauty at the time. They were classified in eight groups of three:

3 things white, the skin, the teeth, and the hands.

3 things black, the eyes, the eyebrows, and the eye lashes.

3 things red, the lips, the cheeks, and the nails.

3 things long, the body, the hair, and the hands.

3 things short, the teeth, the ears, and the feet.

3 things narrow, the mouth, the waist, and the ankles.

3 things big, the arms, the thighs, and the calves.

3 things small, the breasts, the nose, and the head.

Of these, Mary already possessed what could be expected of a child for six and Diane could see that, with care, the other attributes would follow in time. She, herself, could tick all the boxes and was widely thought to possess a magic elixir which preserved her beauty. In fact her daily routine had no such magic; she rose at three, bathed in cold water, summer or winter, and then rode for three hours before returning to bed for reading and meditation. She administered her considerable estates herself with great efficiency and ate only sparingly. Amid a court ablaze with all the colours of the rainbow she dressed only in black and white, which were technically the colours of a widow in semi-mourning, but were also her heraldic colours. With her tall figure and upright bearing she stood out from everyone else and could not be ignored. Previously, it had been the custom of a royal mistress to appear with her left breast exposed as a sign that her heart was available to her lover, and Diane may well have done so on occasions. She is never shown thus in portraits, although in the many idealised representations of Diane as her alter ego Diana she often appears totally naked. Interestingly, Diane produced no royal bastards from her liaison with Henri in spite of both of them having children with other partners.

A crucial issue which concerned the court was how the child Mary would relate to her future husband, the Dauphin, even though the marriage was one of dynastic convenience and the principles of royal duty would have been thoroughly explained to Mary by Diane. This was all too necessary since the Dauphin was a complete contrast to the healthy and extrovert Mary, and his conception had been a major trial for Catherine. She knew that her position at court was still highly insecure while she had seemed incapable of producing an heir, and the poor woman had
gone to extraordinary lengths to achieve her goal. Knowing of her husband’s fecundity it is said that the desperate queen had holes bored in the floor above his bedchamber so that she could watch him in bed with Diane. Diane, in her turn, had coerced Henri to do his marital duty as often as possible. Menstrual cycles had been watched, astrological tables had been consulted, foul-smelling poultices had been applied and grisly potions had been drunk by the desperate 25-year-old Catherine. Her personal physician, Dr Fernel, had given her more practical advice, the details of which are unfortunately unknown to us today. Eventually, the welcome result had been Dauphin François. Inevitably, Catherine had been accused of having used witchcraft in order to conceive, though there is no evidence whatsoever to support this claim. In contrast to Mary’s scantily attended christening in the cold of St Michael’s Church in Linlithgow, François had been christened in the Chapel of St Saturnin at Fontainebleau, a month after his birth in January 1543. The ceremony, lit by 300 torches carried by the Royal Guard, had been attended by the nobility of France, the hierarchy of the Church and all foreign ambassadors, arrayed in their finest. François, however, was not the Dauphin that France that Henri had prayed for.

According to contemporaries he had an ‘obstruction of the brain’ which meant that he spoke through his nose – this was probably the result of adenoids – and red livid marks occasionally appeared on his face, which ‘were sure signs of ill health and a short life’. Others said that the Dauphin was timid, bilious, with an underdeveloped intelligence and was incapable of sustained effort; ‘Very good teachers have been provided for him . . . yet their success is very small.’ He was undersized and thin, and seemed to the courtiers to be a prince destined to stay a child. But he tried to overcome his physical failings and astonished the court with his vivacity, loving hunting and weapons. In 1551, when he was only seven years old, he had archery butts built in the galleries at the Palace of Blois.

Though Mary and François had met in the nursery, they had yet to appear in public. This would happen on 4 December 1548
at St Germain, when Mary’s uncle François, Duc de Guise, married Anne d’Este, daughter of the Duke of Ferrara. Protocol demanded that, as a crowned queen, Mary would dance with her limping fiancé immediately after Henri and Catherine had danced together, Lady Fleming having taught her enough simple steps to acquit herself with honour. She was a ready pupil and thoroughly enjoyed not only showing off her aptitude but also the physical pleasure of dancing, a joy that would stay with her for the rest of her life. At the ball, the tiny couple were led onto the floor by Diane and Lady Fleming, the musicians started a prearranged and reasonably slow melody and the display started. With her heavy brocade dress, embroidered with jewellery, and elaborately dressed hair, Mary was at first hesitant, but the music caught her and she started to enjoy herself, even though she found she was supporting the Dauphin. The entire court watched closely. Her limbs seemed straight, her feet were dainty in their satin slippers, and her smile was enchanting. To an audience expert in judging horses and cattle it seemed that she would probably breed healthy dauphins in her turn and the courtiers breathed a sigh of relief – all, that is, except the English ambassador, who saw the union of England’s two greatest enemies made flesh in the two children. The dance ended, and Mary, stooping a little, kissed the Dauphin on the lips as formality required, while members of the court applauded and smiled reassuringly at each other. Lady Fleming led Mary to the king, who bent and kissed his little ‘daughter’ before complimenting Lady Fleming on the skills of her charge for rather longer than either Diane or Queen Catherine would have thought strictly necessary.

From the regular reports from d’Humières that Henri received he was able to reassure himself that Mary and his son ‘got on as well together as if they had known each other all their lives’. Montmorency wrote to Marie in Scotland on 30 March 1549, ‘I will assure you that the Dauphin pays her little attentions, and is enamoured of her, from which it is easy to judge that God gave them birth the one for the other.’ This was due to the careful
instruction of Diane, who taught Mary that her best way of ensuring the affection of the Dauphin was to cosset him and never to allow him to be over-ambitious, ensuring that whatever he attempted was well within his somewhat limited powers. It was through Mary’s encouragement that François became so enthusiastic for outdoor pursuits, and their relationship was that of brother and sister with an overlay of courtly love. Mary never attempted to dominate her little fiancé, and Antoinette, as well as the king, was well pleased with the state of affairs in the nursery.

Henri was not so happy with the Scots in general. Many of the Garde Écossaise wanted to join Mary’s personal service, but this was heavily discouraged. Although formed as a royal bodyguard from noble families in Scotland, they were mercenaries and had a reputation for arrogance, violence and vandalism, even leaving their graffiti on the walls of the chapel at Fontainebleau. They were also expensive to maintain, as were the forces supporting Marie de Guise in Scotland.

In December 1549 Henri had asked for the astronomical sum of 400,000 livres in taxation for his military expenses in Scotland, and he begged d’Humières not to increase Mary’s court. Most of Mary’s male servants had been sent home and replaced with Frenchmen, whilst the Maries had been sent away the previous year to Poissy. Mary’s French was improving due to the facility young children have for learning new languages and, although she continued to understand Scots, French was now her everyday language. Attempts were made to replace Janet Sinclair. She was retained, although now, as only one amongst many servants, she had less personal contact with Mary and was the butt of constant jokes by the French servants for her continued Scottishness. Mary’s Frenchification was proceeding successfully. Her governess, Lady Fleming, remained in charge of all Mary’s female staff for reasons other than her domestic efficiency: she was now a regular occupant of the king’s bed.

This ill-judged affair had the surprising result of uniting Diane and Catherine. Diane also felt that Henri was harming Mary’s standing by encouraging infidelity among her household, but
Montmorency saw a chance of destabilising Diane’s position at court and made public the rumours that she had been supplanted. Although reluctantly tolerated by Catherine, Diane had many enemies and her considerable wealth made her loathed. Apart from her château at Anet, she had vineyards and estates throughout France, and on the death of François I she had seized the jewellery he had given to his mistress the Duchesse d’Étampes. Henri had also given her the château of Chenonceau and the rights to collect various taxes, and even placed a tax on church bells for her. Of this, Rabelais said, ‘the king had hung the chimes of this kingdom on the neck of his mare’. Henri managed to ride out the scandal until one evening when Lady Fleming, who must have been drunk, loudly announced to the court, ‘I have done all that I can and I am pregnant by the king, for which I count myself both honoured and happy. I now carry the royal blood and whatever flowers that may bring.’ The child, a boy, was known as the Bastard of Angôuleme and Lady Fleming was swiftly returned to Scotland, to be replaced by the more strait-laced Mme de Parois as head of Mary’s household.

Some care was taken to explain the change in governesses, and the truth was undoubtedly kept from Mary as she became more and more a princess of France. Being a queen of Scotland – a country of which she now had only hazy memories – had become of secondary importance. Mary’s life in France was so vivid with new experiences that it took over from her past, except, of course, from her memories of her mother who was now planning to visit France. The first letter Mary wrote, in 1549, was to Marie. It was a very formal correspondence, in which she told her mother that de Brézé was to visit her with some news. Typical of any young girl writing in her ‘best handwriting’, Mary shortened the letter, saying that de Brézé would give her mother all the news, which was that Mary’s grandfather Claude, Duc de Guise, had died at the age of fifty-four. Marie had been writing constantly, mainly to Antoinette, concerning the care of her daughter, especially in religious matters. She was to attend Mass daily and had two
personal chaplains, Guillaume de Laon, provided by Henri, and the Prior of Inchmahome, who had accompanied her on the voyage from Dumbarton and remained with her at his own expense, no doubt to the relief of Henri.

In April 1550, Mary was delighted to receive the news that her mother was planning a visit to France, although not solely for the funeral of Claude, which Mary was thought too young to attend. Mary’s uncle, François de Guise, inherited the dukedom. Her letter to her mother about the impending visit is much less formal and shows that she had become fluent in written French by this stage. Meanwhile, Marie wrote to Diane as to the correct mourning in current fashion. It would have been more appropriate to consult Catherine, but Marie, French to her roots, regarded Catherine’s dress sense as Italian – they had never met – and, therefore, barbaric.

Marie did not come to France entirely for family reasons. The English forces had finally retreated from Scotland, leaving Henri’s French garrisons free to return home, as were his forces from Boulogne, which was back in French hands, and he was planning a gala celebration in Rouen. Marie brought with her the entire Scottish court, hoping, as did happen, that their support for her as queen regent would be strengthened after receiving suitable pensions from Henri for their loyalty. In other words, they were getting a free foreign holiday, plus handsome bribes which she, herself, could not afford. Marie knew how to appease her Scottish aristocracy.

Mary and her mother met on 25 September 1550 and, in October, came to Rouen as part of an
entrée joyeuse
Henri had arranged to celebrate the return of Boulogne to France and the final pacification of Scotland. This meant the withdrawal of French troops and the saving of much French money, although even without this welcome bonus Marie and her daughter were guests of honour. However, now the daughter far outshone the mother. Mary was seven years and ten months old, so Nicolas de Moncel, her tailor, had supplied the precocious child with violet, scarlet and yellow velvets, plain Holland linen, white and blue
Venetian satin, violet and black taffeta with pink and white caps, as well as embroidered aprons worn over skirts of cloth of silver. She glittered as she sat on Henri’s right in the royal stand while the procession passed before them led by the dignitaries of Rouen, who uncovered their heads and bowed as they passed. They were followed by 2,000 soldiers escorting ragged English captives in chains – these ‘prisoners’ were probably citizens of Rouen clad in brand-new rags. Four canvas and wood elephants carried flaming pots on their backs, surrounded by Roman gladiators, bowing to a huge cart drawn by plumed horses and carrying ‘Henri’ and his ‘family’ – more volunteer citizens in borrowed plumes. Next, winged horses drew a carriage with figures of fame and victory. Classical warriors carried poles with models of the forts at Boulogne and Calais and giant banners on which were painted artists’ impressions of Haddington, Dundee and Broughty Castle. Finally, there was a floating island on which naked ‘Brazilian’ natives – Rouennais citizens painted pink – were duly overcome by French soldiers. (Henri was keen to establish a colony in Brazil, and in 1555 Admiral Villegaignon would lead an unsuccessful expedition to what is now Rio de Janiero.) There was a mock sea battle fought on the Seine and a solemn Te Deum sung in the cathedral. Henri and Mary adored every minute of it. The following day the display was repeated for the benefit of Queen Catherine, although this time the spectacle was marred when one of the ships in the sea battle actually did sink and the actors playing the crew were drowned in the fast-flowing Seine.