I hesitated and she urged me to go on. I said: “It is the King.”
“François?”
“He…he looks my way.”
She nodded, smiling. “Ah, he is a lusty boy. He always was. He is strong… such a man. He adores beauty. He is going to build beautiful châteaux all over the country. You know he brought Leonardo da Vinci here. Poor man, his stay was short. Genius should be above mortality. It should be granted eternal life. He tried for Raphael. You see, he would bring all the great painters, writers and architects to France so that his country becomes the center of art. He lives for beauty and he sees that in women. Women are essential to him…as art is. And he has seen something in you which attracts him.”
“I do not want…”
She understood as she always did.
“I know. You are young. You are not of an amorous nature… like your sister.”
I shuddered.
She said: “Yes, I understand, Anne. You felt it deeply. It was a great disgrace and humiliation to you. Of course, she was young and innocent. There are others here who do all that she has done… and more…and yet here they live as respected members of the Court. Your sister was not clever enough; she was not devious; she was too open. She enjoyed sexual encounters so much that she could never resist them. There are some women like that. She became a byword at the Court, and that is what could not be endured. There are women at the Court who could not tell you how many beds they have slept in… they are so numerous. But here they stay while poor innocent little Mary is sent away. And the gentlemen… led by the King…if they have not a mistress, they are regarded with suspicion. Yet your poor little sister is sent away as a prostitute.”
“She was never that. She had numerous lovers…yes… but she gave all the time. She never asked for payment.”
“I know. And you think that since you are her sister it might be assumed that you resemble her.”
“Yes, I believe that is so.”
“My dear Anne, nobody could think you resemble your sister. You are a person in your own right. I cannot have you disturbed. I am not surprised that the King is attracted to you. How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“It is a charming age. And you have never had a lover?”
I drew back in horror.
She laughed and said: “You have answered.” She took my hand. “Yes, you are indeed different from so many girls of your age. You have a dignity and respect for yourself. That is it. I shall speak to the King.”
I became alarmed.
“Oh, don't be afraid. You know of this special bond there is between us. We can talk intimately on any subject. It has always been so. I it was who taught him to read. We used to sit under the trees at Cognac and I would tell him stories I invented for him. He was such a beautiful child… clever too. We adored him, my mother and I. I would have done anything for him. I must tell you this little story about our childhood, and then you will learn something special about him. I was six years old; François was four. I had put away my dolls long before. François liked to look at them and he asked me why I no longer wanted to play with them. I said it was because I was too old. He replied that I wanted a real baby not a doll. Then he said he wanted one too…I to be the mother, he the father. You look shocked. It is hard to imagine François innocent, but he was then. He thought that babies just arrived when people wanted them. He already knew that he was the precious one—my mother called him Precious and my King, my Caesar, even at that age. So he believed if he wanted a baby, he would have one.”
I murmured: “How you love him!”
“He is my life,” she said. “Nothing else means the same to me. I want all the best for him now as I did then. Outside the château there was a cottage, and before it a baby was playing on the grass. François said: “There is our baby.” So we picked up the child and took it into the château. We washed it because it was not very clean and I found some of François's garments. They were rather big but we dressed the baby in them. The child was soon missed and traced to the château, and when they wanted to take it home, François was so unhappy. He pleaded to keep it. It was his, he said. He was its father, I was its mother. It was our baby. The result was that the parents—who were very poor—realized what a good life the child could have at the château; and in the end we were allowed to keep her. We had nurses for her and we called her Françoise, which was the nearest we could get to François's name.”
“What a charming story,” I said. “What happened to the girl?”
“She was brought up in the château, and when she was a little older a home was found for her with some worthy people. That is not the end of the story. There was a very strange sequel. It is one of those coincidences in life which often bewilder us but which happen now and then. François liked to go about incognito, and he favored the dress of a student. One day he went to church in this guise and saw there a beautiful young girl and was immediately enamored of her. She was gentle, obviously not wealthy but of good breeding. He followed her to her home—a very pleasant house but quite humble, of course, compared with what he was accustomed to. He did not speak to her immediately but watched her. It was an exciting game to him. Finally she became aware of him and he spoke to her. He said he wished to be her friend but she replied that there could not be friendship between a humble girl and the Dauphin. You see, she knew him. Then she told him who she was. She was our baby Françoise. She insisted that there could be no love between them because she was a virtuous girl and could not be any man's mistress. François was desolate. He came to me as he always did when disturbed. I felt rather indignant with the girl for refusing him. It was always my desire to give François what he wanted—and I thought then that she should be proud to be loved by the Dauphin.”
She paused, smiling.
“I suggested that he should have her abducted and brought to him. When he had seduced her, she would forget her scruples. He was well versed in the arts of love. He would know how to please her. He was delighted. He embraced me and told me that I had always had an answer to his problems.”
I said in a shocked voice: “You could tell him that!”
“I did. You see, I believed that she must be happy and proud to be loved by François. I thought she just had bourgeois scruples which would be swept away by her delight in him. It would be such a beautiful ending to our story. It would make the whole thing full of meaning.”
“So you would abduct the young woman as you did the child.”
“I know you are thinking that I assume royalty has special privileges. Well, has it not?”
“People's lives are their own. They should decide what to do with them.” I spoke boldly, for Marguerite had always encouraged me to say what I thought.
“Sometimes they need a little guidance, a little push in the right direction. Shall I tell you the rest of the story?”
“Please do, Madame.”
“She was brought to him, and he told her he had fallen in love with her and how delighted he was that she was his Françoise whom he had named and who had given him such delight when he was a little boy. Then he sought to make love to her, to take her by storm. She wept; she entreated; she implored. François, as you know, sets great store by chivalry. He has always been the perfect knight. She declared vehemently that, if he dishonored her, she could not live; she would kill herself. François believed her. He saw that she was not feigning reluctance. He was immediately contrite and assured her that she had nothing to fear from him. He loved her and she should go on her way unmolested by him. She fell on her knees and thanked him. François was very touched. She went away. He has not seen her since, but always he inquires after her; and he will see that she is well looked after all her life.”