Dark Eminence Catherine De Medici And Her Children by Marguerite Vance (good e books to read .TXT) 📗

None of the pomp and magnificence of that progress was lost on the starry-eyed young Queen. She knew well why she was there. Queen in her own right, she would become the betrothed of a boy named Francis. One day they would

marry and she would be Queen Dauphiness of France. In the tutored mind of this oddly sophisticated child these were facts she accepted without curiosity. Instead, mounted on her pony or on the saddle before one of her gentlemen, riding in the safe circle of his arm, and surrounded by her glittering escort, she rode across the land, small gauntleted hand raised in grave salute to passers-by. Occasionally as they passed through larger towns or villages she slipped on her small black velvet mask lest, as her mother had warned, the French think her overbold. And so at last she came to Saint-Germain.

King Henry and Catherine were on a Progress to Lyon in the south, and so were not at the palace to welcome her. However, word had been left that no expense and no effort should be spared to make her welcome as a daughter of the House. Her escort, with the exception of Lady Fleming, her governess (not little Mary Flemming of her Highland sojourn), were returned to Scotland and a household of her own was set up and a suitable retinue of French ladies and gentlemen appointed. The King further decreed that though Mary and Elizabeth should be companions, Mary should always take precedence over the Valois princesses as she was already Queen of Scotland.

Francis and Elizabeth and even the two-year-old Claude had been prepared for the arrival of Her Majesty, and on a golden morning in late September the three Valois children were taken in solemn procession to the audience chamber to be presented. The Dauphin had been in an agony of nervous anticipation for days.

"Sister," he appealed to Elizabeth as they waited in the

antechamber with their ladies and gentlemen, "please hear me say it once more lest I forget the foremost words. . . ." He was bravely arrayed, this frail lad with the persistent earache. He was wearing a doublet of softest white kid, its neckband topped by an enormous ruff which seemed to be supporting his head and holding it upright. Around his waist was slung a belt of crimson velvet in which he carried a velvet-sheathed dagger and a miniature sword. Full gally-hosen of rose-colored velvet were gathered just below the knee above stockings of palest pink net; and on his feet he wore slippers of cream-colored leather.

Elizabeth, in her tilting cloth-of-gold farthingale and wide ruff, edged away from Madame de Clermont and took Francis's hand. "Say on^mon frere. You kiss Her Majesty's hand and then—now, 'Say on. . . ."

"In the names of our august parents, Their Christian Majesties, we welcome you to France/' the words came in a shaky treble, a whisper out of control, "and we hope God may bestow upon you continued good health and a long and happy life."

"Well done, brother! Oh, see, the door is opening. , . ,"

Seconds later she was looking into the hazel eyes of Mary Stuart, sensing in her little-girl heart that here was a very beautiful being, indeed, but "Je ne laime yos!" She almost said the words aloud. Mary's face under the rippling waves of golden hair escaping from her severe escoffion of pearl-strewn net was bewitching in its coquetry. Catherine, her future mother-in-law, said of her somewhat grudgingly the moment she laid eyes on her, "She has only to smile to have

every Frenchman at her feet/' Mentally she undoubtedly added that it would have been better if this child of the Guises had remained in her native Scotland. And Mary was not yet eight years old.

Why Elizabeth should have found it impossible to love her is not hard to understand. The princess adored her brother; from babyhood they had been inseparable companions; she was "ma soeur bienne aimee" Now suddenly she saw him, his cheeks scarlet, his eyes blazing, staring in open-mouthed worship at Mary Stuart, the little Scottish Queen who seemed to bewitch everyone. For the only time in her life, probably, lovely Elizabeth of Valois was jealous.

Chapter 3 CALLERS FROM SPAIN

THE months, the years flew, each bringing to the outside world of the sixteenth century its own peculiar hurdens of war, trial, torture and intrigue. Only as a wisp of smoke from a great conflagration may occasionally drift in at a distant window did the world's problems touch the royal children. Perhaps they sniffed the air curiously, inescapably aware that they were maneuvered about on the puppet stage of their days for some purpose which most of them understood only vaguely if at all,

Mary Stuart, after a few months at Saint-Germain, was sent to a convent for special religious training and then was returned to Saint-Germain where her education became a sort of tug of war with her uncles, the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine, on one side and her future mother-in-law, Catherine, on the other. As Mary and Elizabeth grew

older and their ages reached a more easily conformable level they had their lessons together and vied with each other in their Latin compositions.

Elizabeth was a good student but Mary was brilliant and often chided Elizabeth over her inferior work. So, an ancient record shows, these two girls had a sharp quarrel during which some unkind words were spoken on both sides and perhaps some bitter tears were shed. A few days later the merry little Queen of Scotland wrote her friend the following letter of reconciliation:

Maria Scotorum Regina, Elizabetae Sororl

I have heard from our master, my sister and darling, that now you are studying