Marguerite. “Anne has been with us for some time.”
He nodded and seemed to forget me. I was glad of that.
It was soon after that that I became a little anxious.
Mary began to be absent for long stretches of time. There was a change in her. I often saw her smiling to herself as though she found something very amusing.
When I asked her what was happening, she giggled a little. I realized suddenly that others were whispering about her.
One day I said to her: “Mary, what has happened? I know it is something.”
“Happened?” She opened her blue eyes very wide and I could see the laughter behind them. It was a certain gratified laughter.
“Please tell me,” I said. “You seemed very pleased about it. Let me share your pleasure.”
That sent her into fits of laughter.
“You are too young,” she said.
Then, knowing the morals of the Court, I feared the worst. Mary was twelve years old… soon to be thirteen. Girls were often married at that age.
I said: “You have taken a lover.”
“Rather,” she corrected me, “he has taken me.”
“Oh Mary,” I replied, “it will do you no good.”
“But it will. Wait until you know who.”
“Please tell me who.”
“Guess.”
“No, I can't. Tell me.”
“You'll never believe it.”
“I will if you tell me.”
“The King.”
“François?”
“I know of no other King in France.”
“Oh Mary…you
fool
!”
Mary tried to be angry; it was not easy for her. She was astonished at my stupidity, in not understanding the honor—as she thought—this was. She seemed to think she had gained the greatest possible prize because she had been seduced by the most profligate man in France.
“He is delighted with me.”
“For how long?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know that he seduces girls as frequently as he sits down to meals?”
“He likes me a great deal. He calls me his little English mare.”
I felt sick with shame. I thought of elegant, witty Françoise de Foix and the other Court ladies who had enchanted him briefly. How long did Mary think she would last?
I said: “You have disgraced the name of Boleyn.”
Then I almost laughed at myself. Who were the Boleyns? Descendants of merchants who had done good trade and married into the aristocracy. But however humble the family, it should keep its honor.
Even now I would rather not dwell on that time. My sister Mary was one of those women—and this quality always remained with her—whose main purpose in life seemed to be to satisfy her sexual desires and those of her partners. I did not know whether she was a virgin when François discovered this…I call it a failing…in her, but he was the kind of man who would be aware of it at once and seek to exploit it.
Mary must have been born with a sexual competence; she would know how to attract and how to satisfy. This was the purpose of her life, I suppose, her
raison d’ê tre
. It had been present in those early days, only I had not recognized it. Perhaps Mary herself had not.
She amused François for several weeks, which was longer than I expected. Everyone was talking about his new mistress, a girl…very young… but not too young. How long? was the question on everyone's lips.
It was not very long. His ardor waned very quickly, and Mary's visits to the royal bed grew less frequent. This was not to be tolerated by Mary's overwhelming sexuality, and very soon there was a new lover, who no doubt felt himself honored to take that which had delighted the King.
Mary was reckless. She accepted the loss of royal favor with equanimity. There were others—plenty of them.
There was nothing subtle about Mary. She enjoyed her sexual encounters as did those who shared them with her; and in her opinion that should not be the concern of anyone else.
Perhaps it would not have been, if the first to take her up had not been the King.
She was now referred to not as the King's mare but the mare anyone could ride at any time it suited him. This
He nodded and seemed to forget me. I was glad of that.
It was soon after that that I became a little anxious.
Mary began to be absent for long stretches of time. There was a change in her. I often saw her smiling to herself as though she found something very amusing.
When I asked her what was happening, she giggled a little. I realized suddenly that others were whispering about her.
One day I said to her: “Mary, what has happened? I know it is something.”
“Happened?” She opened her blue eyes very wide and I could see the laughter behind them. It was a certain gratified laughter.
“Please tell me,” I said. “You seemed very pleased about it. Let me share your pleasure.”
That sent her into fits of laughter.
“You are too young,” she said.
Then, knowing the morals of the Court, I feared the worst. Mary was twelve years old… soon to be thirteen. Girls were often married at that age.
I said: “You have taken a lover.”
“Rather,” she corrected me, “he has taken me.”
“Oh Mary,” I replied, “it will do you no good.”
“But it will. Wait until you know who.”
“Please tell me who.”
“Guess.”
“No, I can't. Tell me.”
“You'll never believe it.”
“I will if you tell me.”
“The King.”
“François?”
“I know of no other King in France.”
“Oh Mary…you
fool
!”
Mary tried to be angry; it was not easy for her. She was astonished at my stupidity, in not understanding the honor—as she thought—this was. She seemed to think she had gained the greatest possible prize because she had been seduced by the most profligate man in France.
“He is delighted with me.”
“For how long?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know that he seduces girls as frequently as he sits down to meals?”
“He likes me a great deal. He calls me his little English mare.”
I felt sick with shame. I thought of elegant, witty Françoise de Foix and the other Court ladies who had enchanted him briefly. How long did Mary think she would last?
I said: “You have disgraced the name of Boleyn.”
Then I almost laughed at myself. Who were the Boleyns? Descendants of merchants who had done good trade and married into the aristocracy. But however humble the family, it should keep its honor.
Even now I would rather not dwell on that time. My sister Mary was one of those women—and this quality always remained with her—whose main purpose in life seemed to be to satisfy her sexual desires and those of her partners. I did not know whether she was a virgin when François discovered this…I call it a failing…in her, but he was the kind of man who would be aware of it at once and seek to exploit it.
Mary must have been born with a sexual competence; she would know how to attract and how to satisfy. This was the purpose of her life, I suppose, her
raison d’ê tre
. It had been present in those early days, only I had not recognized it. Perhaps Mary herself had not.
She amused François for several weeks, which was longer than I expected. Everyone was talking about his new mistress, a girl…very young… but not too young. How long? was the question on everyone's lips.
It was not very long. His ardor waned very quickly, and Mary's visits to the royal bed grew less frequent. This was not to be tolerated by Mary's overwhelming sexuality, and very soon there was a new lover, who no doubt felt himself honored to take that which had delighted the King.
Mary was reckless. She accepted the loss of royal favor with equanimity. There were others—plenty of them.
There was nothing subtle about Mary. She enjoyed her sexual encounters as did those who shared them with her; and in her opinion that should not be the concern of anyone else.
Perhaps it would not have been, if the first to take her up had not been the King.
She was now referred to not as the King's mare but the mare anyone could ride at any time it suited him. This
Similar Books
