Well... my
initial plan was for Chapter 45 to be the conclusion of the Fürstenkrieg / Italian War that began last chapter. This chapter started as a thread within that part 2, but I quickly realized that the situation I was setting up could not be covered in a few paragraphs and it was quickly taking the Part 2 Chapter way outside of it's designated focus. I ended up ripping out my initial paragraphs for this chapter (which have now been moved to Chapter 46) and turning this into it's own chapter. I'll be honest, it definitely spun out of control 😅 I ended up writing about 8000 words here, but it was very enjoyable to write and introduces one of Mary's daughters as a character in her own right. Consider it a cleanser before we tie up the war in the next chapter!
Chapter 45. An English Rose (With Thorns)
1557-1559; England & France.
"There can be no greater destiny
for my own daughter beyond this,
because it has been ordained by fate.”
— Queen Mary to Princess Isabella, before her departure to France,
Musical Accompaniment: Fuyons tous d'amour le jeu
The Family of Darius before Alexander, Paolo Veronese; c. 1565.
In 1557, the French managed a decent campaign season during their conflict against the Holy Roman Emperor. French troops in the three bishoprics continued to hold their positions—while Montmorency pushed ahead in the Low Countries, taking
Mons, which placed the whole of Hainault under French occupation. The Dauphin François also took on his first prominent role on the frontlines, leading French troops at the
Siege of Ostend.
“The Dauphin is a hero,” one French officer would write to his wife.
“The men under him serve most willingly, for the prince treats his soldiers tenderly and paternally as any good father might. He pays attention to their needs and wants—for those who fall ill, he procures the needed medicines and cures out of his own funds; when a soldier is maimed, he visits them personally—no matter how horrifically they are wounded. He promises them that they and their families shall be cared for because of the soldier’s sacrifice… and when a soldier dies, the Dauphin is always in attendance for their burial. He is a fierce soldier and a kind lad—some would say too kind. The Duc de Montmorency has sternly reminded him that Monseigneur le Dauphin cannot save everyone… and that his resources are finite even as a Prince of France. The Dauphin will not hear it; he said only to Montmorency in return: ‘Monsieur, these men are good Frenchmen. They fight for our cause without a single complaint. They are my father’s subjects, and someday they shall be mine. I cannot look away while they suffer—they must be provided for. If the crown will not do it, then I shall.’ It is said that out of his annual revenues, more than a third is earmarked for pensions to be provided for those under his command who are maimed or killed.’ Ostend would prove to be the Dauphin’s baptism of fire, where he suffered a wound to his shoulder.
With the French continuing to progress against the Habsburgs in the Low Countries, one of François II’s paramount concerns was ensuring that England maintained neutrality in the conflict.
“The Queen of England is an enigma,” François II reportedly told one of his councilors.
“There is no doubt that she follows in her father’s footsteps and seeks to forge her own course. Despite this, she cannot be trusted: she was our enemy once before and may become our enemy again. For now, we must strive to maintain the peace… and our only way forward is a royal marriage.” François II continued to move plans forward for an English marriage for the Dauphin. Even with France entangled in a dangerous conflict, the king was adamant that the marriage date should be set for April 1558.
“No expense should be spared,” François II wrote in a letter from Arras to his wife, Queen Isabelle.
“This is a union between a Fils de France with a princess of the blood royal of England… the first marriage in nearly six hundred years since that of Edwige de Wessex, wife of Charles the Simple and mother of Louis d’Outremer. All of Europe should see the glories of our house and court and marvel at what we can accomplish even in such difficult times. In my tour here of Artois, I have decided that the pair shall be wed at the Cathedral of Arras, for this province is ours by right. Having been denied our joys and gaiety for nearly twenty years, our subjects here shall be invited to rejoice in it alongside us for the first time.”
Negotiations between England and France from 1555 to 1557 to finalize the marriage agreement mainly concerned minor matters. François agreed that the French payment for Boulogne, totaling £150,000, would be paid out in four installments from the date of marriage. Given that France was forfeiting a cash dowry and even paying England for the pleasure of the marriage, Queen Mary proved magnanimous in her negotiations with the Court of France: she agreed not only to pay for Isabella’s trousseau which was estimated at £25,000 but to augment Isabella’s plate with additional jewelry worth some £10,000.
“Princess Isabella’s gowns and dresses proved a boon for England,” one fashion historian wrote in their book of royal fashions.
“With conflict continuing between France and the Holy Roman Empire, trade was greatly constrained between England and Flanders. Even trade with France was limited, with the French instituting strict controls over the territories surrounding the Pale of Calais to combat smuggling. England’s upper-class fashions had long been influenced by the continent—English milliners produced outstanding items for their noble clients using designs from Flanders, France, and Spain… using lace and cloth from Flanders, and silk from France and Italy… for Princess Isabella of England’s trousseau, Queen Mary put forth a radical idea: decreeing that the whole of her wardrobe, while adhering to French fashions, should be produced wholly in England.” In 1555, Queen Mary offered incentives to select Flemish lacemakers in Bedfordshire and Honiton who were chosen to provide lace for the royal trousseau. A tax incentive was also established, with the Flemish lacemakers to receive tax breaks for the number of English apprentices they took on—with subsidies to be granted for each English apprentice who became a journeyman. Incentives were also offered for cloth production: in 1556, Parliament passed the
Cloth Making Act of 1556, which sought to stimulate cloth production in corporate towns and market towns by increasing export duties for raw wool alongside import duties for Flemish cloth. The Cloth Act ultimately failed to make a considerable dent—many English landowners preferred exporting wool to Flanders; despite increased duties, the war had caused a spike in prices, which meant grand profits for those willing to risk it. Despite this, the act led to the establishment of some of the first
Loomshops in Spitalfields by enterprising merchants, where weavers worked side by side on handlooms in the upper stories—with the finished products sold on the lower floors.
Costumes of Two Merchant Couples from Brabant and Antwerp; c. 1577.
Princess Isabella, born in 1542, had her father’s coloring—as well as his eyes. Within the English court, Isabella was known as
le petite danois owing to her Oldenburg features. Of Mary and John’s children, Isabella was perhaps the child
most like the queen. Isabella possessed a fiery temper, with the queen once lamenting in a letter to Baroness Paget:
“Our little danois is a hellion… when she is not causing trouble in the nursery, she is biting her nursemaids… indeed, I know not what I shall do; three have already left, and the remaining poor women insist they can endure no more. I am at my wit’s end. I have offered to increase their wages from £3 per annum to £4, but they insist they would not endure such tantrums and troubles even if I offered to make them ladies.” Isabella was closest in age to the queen’s younger sons: Charles (b. 1545), who became Prince of Wales in 1553, and Edward (b. 1546), the Duke of Somerset. As the youngest princesses, Isabella and Joan had an age gap of seven years, they had separate establishments. Isabella’s initial governess was the Dowager Countess of Essex, but she retired in 1549, citing exhaustion. She was replaced by Catherine Grey née Fitzalan, the Marchioness of Dorset.
“The princess is a wild and lively one,” the marchioness wrote in a letter to Queen Mary following their initial meeting.
“But what she needs is structure, and that is what she will learn, for it must be structure or the birch.” Queen Mary was pleased that the marchioness was not overawed by her young charge and was prepared to treat her firmly and fairly.
“You are most right, madam,” Mary wrote to the Marchioness of Grey in turn.
“What she needs is a firm hand and a strong guide… she possesses that Tudor flame within her; she needs someone who will tell her plainly and who will not coddle or indulge her. I believe you are the answer to my prayers and would be pleased if you become her next governess…” The youthful princess at first resented the dour matron appointed to head her establishment. Still, Catherine Grey’s firm hand would allow Isabella’s fiery energy to be directed into more productive outlets, with the marchioness encouraging Isabella’s love for learning. In this, her spirits and energy were channeled towards developing her mind.
“Princess Isabella perhaps had the most expansive education of the queen’s daughters and was comparable to that of her sons…” one historian would write in their biography of Princess Isabella.
“While Isabella had the typical feminine education based in deportment, etiquette, dancing, and French, it was the urging of the Marchioness of Dorset that saw Isabella included in the masculine lessons of her brothers, the Prince of Wales, and the Duke of Somerset. She attended lessons and lectures about English history given by Polydore Vergil, Bishop of Bath and Wells, until he died in 1555—Vergil had educated Queen Mary in her youth. Italian lessons were provided by the Duke of Somerset’s Italian tutor, Celio Secondo Curione, who pronounced: ‘She speaks the language as lovingly as one born along the Tiber.’ Latin and Greek were taught to the princess by Philip d’Oyly, an English Jesuit who would later be appointed her confessor—the first Jesuit to serve an English prince or princess in such a capacity. Isabella was even allowed to attend lessons planned for the Prince of Wales, such as a lecture by Francis Palgrave, Provost of King’s College, covering the English Parliament and its role in royal governance. ‘She is undoubtedly the smartest—and the wisest of her siblings, including her brothers,’ one royal tutor reportedly uttered. Another apocryphal statement allegedly spoken in the 1570s was more pointed: ‘Queen is but the sweetest word in England, owing to how well we have been served by Queen Mary, our greatest sovereign. A pity then, that queen shall be followed by king, rather than queen yet again—there be no fitter successor for Her Majesty than Princess Isabella. Just as her namesake led Spain into its grandest age, we cannot doubt that the reign of Queen Isabella of England would be glorious… a golden Isabelline age which would raise England to ever greater heights among the crowns of Europe.’ Isabella’s overall religious education was provided by Abbot of Reading, Hugh de Sècheville, who sought to imbue his charge with a strong and practical faith: ‘Hold steadfast always to the faith that nourishes not only your mother, but your ancestors of the English Royal House,’ de Sècheville reportedly told his young charge in 1554, when she was twelve. ‘God judges not just your actions, but the good you do in your life. I beg you—always remember your good luck to be born a Princess of England, for it is just that: luck—and with that luck, you should do all you can to alleviate the suffering of your subjects.’ Isabella’s faith was secure and based on good deeds; as a teenager, she began to give to charity, and in 1555, she participated for the first time in the Royal Maundy service alongside her mother and the Prince of Wales, where she washed the feet of thirteen poor penitent women and provided alms and charity from her own privy purse…”
As Isabella grew from a young girl into a young woman, it could be no surprise that Queen Mary considered her potential marriage of paramount concern. When the Crown Princess of Portugal, Maria of Spain, gave birth to her first child, a son named
Afonso Filipe, in 1544, Mary nursed hopes that the young prince might be a future husband for her young daughter, who might become the next Queen of Portugal.
“I write with regret, madam,” England’s envoy to Portugal, Sir Charles Brydges, wrote in a letter to the queen in mid-1544.
“That the young prince Alfonso perished this evening, shortly after Matins—carried off by the Bloody Flux. To be true, the prince was no bonny lad… in his short life of six months, he suffered from agues, fevers, and frequent convulsions. Despite this, he was silent… never once did the prince cry, and some suspect that, along with being lame, he was perhaps mute as well. The prince’s head was heavier than the whole of his small frame and swelled with fluid—the doctors pierced it regularly in hopes of reducing the swelling and relieving the young prince. The crown prince and princess are inconsolable in their loss, alongside the king and queen. King João despairs most profusely, for he had procured swaddling shortly before the prince’s death, which had allegedly been worn by Princess Joanna of Portugal, that devout princess who had been sought as a bride by the usurper Richard of York, and whom she was wise enough to refuse. Queen Eleanor seeks the light in this dark moment… she prays daily with the crown princess, and at her prie-dieu sits a philatory which contains a bone of St. Rita of Cascia. Both pray several times a day, with Queen Eleanor beseeching that the crown princess quickens yet again and proves more fruitful in her journey to motherhood. It is unseemly, but the commons in Lisbon daily whisper of the curse of the royal family… that of the king’s six children, only three survived—and one son. They fear that the crown prince may suffer as his parents did…” Such a rumor proved prescient: the Crown Princess of Portugal suffered numerous miscarriages. Still, she succeeded in giving birth six more times—to four princes and two princesses—each one weaker and sicklier than the one that proceeded it, with no child living longer than six months.
The Triumph of Death, Pieter Brueghel the Elder; c. 1562.
In the tragedies of the House of Aviz, Mary was forced to look elsewhere. Christian II of Denmark, hoping to mend fences with England following Mary’s renunciation, suggested that Isabella should wed his grandson,
Albrecht (b. 1543)—eldest son of Ludwig X of Bavaria and Princess Christina—a match that many believed that Christian II championed in hopes of naming Albrecht his heir by tying him to an English granddaughter which carried the blood of his son, John—and a match that some within the English Privy Council believed prudent.
“I have made myself clear,” Mary wrote angrily in a letter to Bishop Gardinier, who had become
Lord Chancellor in 1550.
“I wish nothing to do with that murderer, and nothing shall ever sway my mind. That goes for all my children… my sons just as well as my daughters! What right would I have to send one of my finest English roses into the den of iniquity and murder, which is Denmark? No—no, never. Erase it from your mind, good Bishop, and good Chancellor… meddle not in such matters and tell your dog Paget to do the same. I know that neither of you acts out of maliciousness but out of concern for my own welfare—and for the good of our late king, too… but remember what the dear king bade you all do in his will: to obey me in all things, as you often and always have before. As I have clarified my feelings on the Danish king, we should have no further reason to discuss it.” Following the death of Princess Catherine in 1553, some suggested that the Treaty of Asti with the Duke of Savoy might go forward, with Princess Isabella to replace her deceased sister. Filippo III, Catherine’s former betrothed and Duke of Savoy since 1550, expressed little interest in the idea, quipping to his councilors:
“I desire a wife that is ready and ripe for the marriage bed… I have no need for a little wife who will be more interested in her dolls than in my prick.” In some ways, the outbreak of the
Fürstenkrieg proved ideal for an Anglo-French marriage: Mary, concerned with French aggression within the Low Countries, was now more than willing to part with Boulogne. The French were more than eager to appease the English to ensure their neutrality and were prepared to pay the honor.
As 1558 dawned, Isabella was on the cusp of womanhood—fifteen, nearly sixteen.
“The princess, though well educated, had never lost that initial spark of life,” one English courtier wrote in their journal.
“She possessed the same fiery temper of her mother and was not someone who suffered fools willingly—those who displeased her were liable to be struck—either by her hand or her fan.” As Isabella and Mary shared so many similarities, it was little surprise that they were the ones who clashed the most. They fought and argued incessantly; their rows were reminiscent of Queen Catherine’s struggles when Queen Mary was the same age.
“She is impossible…” Mary ranted in a letter to Catherine Blount.
“Every day, without fail, she takes issue with something—be it her privy purse, complaints about her household… if she desires to complain, she shall. It ends the same way… in difficult rows that end with us both in tears. I see myself in every argument and tantrum and cannot help but shudder as I recall the troubles I bestowed upon my blessed mother. How she endured and did not retire to Spain is beyond me.” Mary’s other children were both overawed by her: the Prince of Wales would not dare say a cross word in her presence, while Princess Mary, now married into Spain, continued to write her mother weekly and often asked for her advice. Isabella, in comparison, could not be subjugated:
“She is the queen, and she is my mother,” Isabella reportedly retorted.
“There are no shadows when your mother is the source of all light.” Despite the arguments and troubles, each passing day brought Isabella closer to her destiny in France: a destiny that did not scare her but was instead one that she craved eagerly.
The English court entered high gear in February and March as celebrations were underway for Isabella’s upcoming marriage. Towards the end of February, Isabella took on a lead role in one of the first court masques hosted since the death of King John.
“The masque was an allegory of the princess’s upcoming nuptials—Princess Isabella, dressed in a tunic of cloth of silver, played the role of Brittania, a personification of England,” one courtier wrote in their diary.
“Beseeched by various dancers that represented discord and chaos as they danced around her, the young princess was quickly saved by a figure known as Gallus, representing France, who asked that Brittania join him. The masque closed out with Brittania and Gallus dancing a galliard… the princess exceeded beyond measure.” Mary spared no expense in the lead-up to Isabella’s marriage, with feasts, dances, and other celebrations held several days a week. Though Mary would often open such festivities and events, she retired early in the evening—leaving the youth of her court to enjoy themselves in such revelries late into the night. With the marriage contract finalized at the end of February 1558, Isabella was married by proxy in March.
“It was decided in early March that the French envoy, the Prince of La Roche-sur-Yon, would serve as the Dauphin’s proxy as a Prince of the Blood,” one courtier wrote in a letter to her family.
“The queen hosted the ceremony within the Queen’s Closet at St. Sylvester’s Palace—the first royal marriage celebrated within the new palace. In the absence of the late king, the queen alone gave away the princess. Afterward, Princess Isabella, now the Dauphine of France, was placed into bed to symbolize her marriage, albeit alone. When it was suggested that the Prince of La Roche-sur-Yon should place his bare leg into the bed for the princess to touch, Queen Mary objected most strenuously on the grounds of propriety. The French gave way in this, and that certain ritual was omitted.”
Isabella, now the Dauphine of France, would also be known as
Isabelle d’Angleterre. Plans moved swiftly ahead for Isabella to prepare for her departure to France. Though the princess was excited about the future, it could be of little surprise that part of her was worried.
“I am leaving the only land I know,” Isabella would write in her diary.
“For a place that I know only of my dreams. Shall I ever see my mother again? My brothers, or even my sisters?” Plans were set for Isabella to embark for France from Portsmouth, with plans to disembark at Rouen, which was considered a safer option than Calais. Isabella’s trousseau was fully outfitted, along with her jewels and plate. Among the jewels given to the young princess by her mother were several pieces that had been owned by her grandmother Catherine of Aragon: this included a ruby ring which she had brought from Spain, a gold pomegranate brooch, along with several loose diamonds that Queen Mary had mounted into the form of a rose with a large pearl attached—to be worn about Isabella’s breast. The English court accompanied Isabella from London to Portsmouth on her last journey in England. As Isabella watched as her items were carted onto the
Grande Française, the flagship of the
Flotte de Ponant that would carry her overseas, it was said that she finally lost her composure as she began to weep profusely. Queen Mary also wept, and they began to say their goodbyes. Mary embraced her daughter, who had been so difficult but whom she adored as well.
“Do all you can to please the French,” Mary reportedly told Isabella.
“Make them love and adore you—so they may be sure I have sent them an angel.” Aside from the Dauphine herself, her retinue also included four English maids-of-honor: First was
Etheldreda Paget (b. 1544), daughter of William Paget, Baron Paget, and his wife Jane Seymour—who would become more well-known by her French name,
Etheldrède. Second was
Mary Fitzalan (b. 1542), daughter of the Earl of Arundel and the late Countess of Arundel, Anne Fitzalan—who had been one of Queen Mary’s closest friends. Isabella’s third companion was
Catherine Grey (b. 1543), daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Dorset. Her last companion was to be
Elizabeth Courtenay (b. 1546), daughter of Henry Courtenay, Earl of Devon, and son of the Marquess of Exeter. Isabella’s maids were to be supervised by
Susan Strelley, Lady Fiennes as Mother of the Maids.
Portuguese Carracks Off a Rocky Coast, Anonymous; c. 1540.
Isabella’s travail from Portsmouth and Rouen was relatively calm. The
Grande Française was accompanied by six ships—three warships had been provided by France, while Queen Mary provided three more to further augment her daughter’s flotilla.
“Though we had favorable winds, most of the Dauphine’s young maids—and even Lady Fiennes—became terribly seasick,” the French envoy wrote in a letter home.
“Only the Dauphine was undaunted; when her maids could not entertain her due to their sickness, she took to taking air about the deck… watching the waves and conversing with the sailors as if she had always been at sea.” After three days at sea, the Grande Française arrived in Rouen with no issue. The Dauphine arrived safely in France no worse for wear—though perhaps her maids were leaner than they had been in Portsmouth. The Dauphine was received gallantly at Rouen by Charles-Rémi, the Duke of Vendôme, who welcomed her effusively. At Rouen Isabella was introduced to members of her household for the first time—
Charlotte d’Estouville, Countess of Ligny who was to be Isabella’s
Première Dame d’Honneur, while
Jeanne de l’Aubespine, Baroness of Châteauneuf was to serve as Isabella’s
Dame d’Atours. From the beginning, there was friction within Isabella’s household as her French ladies believed she too highly favored her English servants.
Isabella met the French court near Amiens, where she was formally introduced to King François II and Queen Isabelle—alongside the Dauphin François and the other French royal children.
“A beautiful creature,” Queen Isabelle reportedly told her ladies. Isabella wasted little time flattering her new in-laws, and it was said that she offered up her obeisance with the lowest of curtsies.
“I desire only to please you, papa and maman,” Isabella’s florid speech allegedly began.
“I am still young, but I wish only to be a loyal wife to the Dauphin and a loyal daughter. As I am now in France, I shall look upon you as my parents and counselors and wish only for your guidance. Take pity upon me, for while I am not an orphan, I have been deprived of the guidance of my father in my short life. I hope that your majesty shall see me as a loyal charge.” François II and Isabelle were reportedly most pleased with their young daughter-in-law, while the Dauphin pronounced her as very pretty and lively. Isabella’s own proclamations in private, however, were less glowing:
“I could not ever imagine that a King of France could be a dullard, but this one is.” Isabella wrote in her private diary.
“The queen is kind but weak… she does not so much as sneeze without the king’s permission. The Dauphin, François… is handsome but a soldier above all. I have yet to see him smile or laugh even once.”
Yet Isabella’s own pronouncements were just that: her own. Regardless of what she thought of the Dauphin, she knew that they would be wed. The formal marriage ceremony was celebrated in Arras within Artois, and the ceremony was performed by the king’s almoner, the Bishop of Châlons.
“François II wasted no expense upon the marriage of the Dauphin in Artois,” one historian wrote.
“£40,000 alone was spent to refurbish the cathedral and episcopal palace. Expenses for the royal wardrobe totaled some £30,000, and François II also spent £10,000 to procure new jewels for the Dauphine. Fountains of wine were set up throughout the city, along with feasting tables for Arras’ poorest citizens, which cost the royal coffers some £12,000. Arras consumed thirty tuns of wine and veritable mountains of bread, game, meat, fish, cheese, and pastries. The notables of Arras were treated to a more decadent feast following the wedding at the episcopal palace—a veritable bounty of some one hundred different courses of food that took the Bouche du Roi several days to complete and cost royal coffers another £20,000. Nothing in Arras was left unturned; François II ordered the streets sweetened, and a gilded crimson cloth was laid along the path that the wedding procession would follow… as soon as the procession stepped over the cloth, there was a frenzy as the citizens scrambled to tear at the cloth, hoping to snag even a single scrap. A display of Fireworks was shown in the evening following the wedding that cost another £5000; Italian pyrotechnicians illuminated the episcopal palace, with blasts shot into the sky that displayed the Dolphin of Dauphiné alongside the English lion. Fireballs were shot up into the sky alongside blazing rockets, followed by further displays of legendary beasts—including a large red dragon that moved across the skyline of Arras and breathed actual flames from its mouth, shot in the direction of Flanders and Hainault. Even charity was considered as an expense; François I dispensed some £6000 from the royal coffers so that Queen Isabelle, the Dauphine, and the royal princesses could dispense alms to the needy and destitute women on the morning following the ceremony.” In all, the wedding at Arras represented a coup of French propaganda in the province of Artois. It was not just an attempt for the French crown to display their control over the occupied province but to show the widespread support they enjoyed from their subjects, even if such support was brought through bribes of food and alms.
Civitates Orbis Terrarum, Map of Arras; Late 16th c.
Isabella and the Dauphin François were now wed—though perhaps not happily. François was duty-bound and ascetic, despising the fripperies and luxuries of the court. Though nineteen, he was not hot-blooded like most young men his age.
“Monseigneur is not someone who easily rises to anger,” one of the Dauphin’s servants wrote.
“Even when upset, he easily keeps calm and prefers to seek a solution. I have never seen him utter a cross word towards another; his maître d’hôtel could serve him a blackened and burnt meal, and he would eat it placidly and without complaint, pronouncing it as the best thing he’d ever eaten.” It surprised very few that François was utterly mismatched with his lively English bride: all that she enjoyed, he despised; all that he held dear, she mocked. In her first letter to Queen Mary, Isabella said,
“I came to France to wed the Dauphin… instead, I have been wed to a monk.” From the very beginning, the marriage encountered great difficulties. Queen Mary counseled her daughter to be patient:
“Love flourishes with time. When I wed your father, I was a young woman just a little past twenty, while your father was but a boy of sixteen. I can speak frankly now that at the beginning of our marriage I did not love him but rather despised him… I thought him a mere boy; all that he stood for and enjoyed, I loathed… things improved as we grew up; I quickened quickly with your eldest sister, and your father marched off to war. When he returned, a triumphant hero, he returned a man; as a man, he was more handsome than ever. Our love grew easier after that. That is not to say that we did not quarrel, for we most certainly did… but he understood me in ways that no one ever had and ever will again. In time, you shall find that with your husband.” Despite Mary’s advice, it did not prove helpful to Isabella—the Dauphin was already a man who had been bloodied in war. She saw little hope of affection flourishing within their marriage’s diseased garden.
Rather than sulk over disappointment, Isabella did what she could to keep herself occupied. With her charming personality, she could easily win over both the king and queen: François II adored her, while Queen Isabelle believed that her English spark and gaiety were a tonic the court needed. As second lady of the court behind the queen, Isabella’s days were often filled with official presentations and court entertainments, with François II noting sagely:
“She outworks us all.” On the days that Queen Isabelle was laid low by the migraines or stomach pains that had plagued her since her youth (such days were common and plentiful), Isabella took the queen’s place for ceremonial occasions. When the queen was ill in June 1558, Isabella attended an installation of knights for the
Ordre de Saint-Michel alongside the king. Côme de Sarlabous, one of the men knighted that day, wrote in a letter to his father:
“At the appointed time, we watched as the doors into the chamber swung open. We expected to see the king and queen, but we saw instead His Majesty, hand in hand with the Dauphine… a most beautiful princess, who stole the show. Her hair was curled and coiffed, decorated with pearls—including a band of pearls which held her hair in place. She was dressed in a gown of red silk with puffed sleeves and a wide extended collar, with a girdle of silver decorated with precious stones. Her jewels were few but glittering: pearl drop earrings. She wore several rings upon her fingers—her betrothal ring, a ring of ruby, and another of sapphire. She wore no necklace but instead had a broach shaped like a flower made of gold, its petals rubies; within its center was the famed Mirror of Naples… it is one of the most prized of France’s crown jewels: a table cut diamond, wide as a finger, attached to a pearl the size of a pigeon’s egg, which dangled beneath the brooch.”
Isabella provided a much-needed breath of fresh air to the French court, which, while opulent, had lost some of the luster of the previous reign. She made many friends with little issue, primarily younger noblemen and noblewomen close to her age. Isabella’s close friendships became known as her
cercle. They included
Flamine Pic de Mirandole,
Nicole Viète,
Antoine de Balsac,
Jean de Crissé, and
Charles, the Duke of Angoulême—younger brother of the Dauphin. The Duke of Angoulême was everything his brother was not: he was outgoing, boisterous, and charming—and shared many common interests with the Dauphine that the Dauphin did not. Charles became fast friends with his sister-in-law; he was often available to lend a listening ear and was able to provide necessary advice to Isabella regarding her marriage to his brother. In that same vein, Charles understood Isabella better than his brother and tried to help his brother better appreciate his wife.
Sacred and Profane Love, Titian; 1514.
Despite the Dauphin and Dauphine’s mismatched tempers, the Dauphin rose to the occasion within the marriage bed. Isabella’s courses ceased during the summer. In August 1558, she fainted during a court celebration while dancing the
volta with her brother-in-law. It was soon discovered that Isabella was pregnant. François II and Queen Isabelle were overjoyed. Isabella, on the other hand, was far from pleased. Married for only a few months and still several months from her sixteenth birthday, Isabella glowered at what she believed to be terrible luck.
“She is utterly miserable,” Lady Fiennes wrote in a letter to Queen Mary.
“The Dauphine asks only to be left alone, and when she is, she weeps and weeps… the princess is still young—it is most assuredly nerves and simply fear of what she does not yet fully understand. In time, she shall understand, and I am sure the tears will cease.” In this, Fiennes was utterly off the mark. Isabella did not fear this change; she despised it because of its restrictions—not to mention how her life would change once the child was born.
“I have only begun to enjoy myself,” Isabella lamented in her private journals.
“Balls, masques, riding, hunting, and even presentations… all that I love and enjoy shall now ground to a halt, and all shall remind me most sternly that I must have a care for myself because of the babe. Why must I take care? I shall no longer be allowed to frolic, and when the child is born… what then? I shall no longer be free because I shall be that most dreaded word … mother. I know my life has never been my own, but after this… it shall never be.”
As Isabella acclimated to her new situation, she did what she could to make the best of a terrible situation. Despite her pregnancy, relations between her and François did not improve—indeed, feeling that he had done his duty for a time, he became even more distant from his wife and was absorbed wholly in his affairs. Isabella was soon only seeing her husband on the most formal of occasions.
“The Dauphin thinks only of the war and soldiering,” Philippe de Contay, a
valet de chambre within the Dauphin’s household, wrote in a letter to his fiancée.
“He needs little sleep; he rises at five and spends his morning attending meetings of the Conseil des Affaires, where he continues to press for a bold and aggressive policy in the Low Countries. In the afternoons, the Dauphin conducts reviews of troops that are garrisoned nearby. By the evening, he drowns himself in reports of sundry issues, from provisions to troop morale. All are meticulously reviewed, and the Dauphin often does not retire until after midnight. He is Alexandre le Grand reborn, for this war is his complete and total focus. He has time for nothing else… not even the Dauphine. They live separate lives, each concerned with their own.” As the war between France and the Holy Roman Empire dragged into another year, the Dauphin begged his father daily to allow him to take to the field again. With his shoulder wound healed and the Dauphine pregnant, François II finally consented—and agreed that the Dauphin could rejoin Montmorency’s army in the spring of 1559. In April 1559, scarcely a year since his marriage, François was seen off from the Château of Chambord as he marched off to war yet again. The Dauphin bid farewell to his father, who gave him his blessing, while his mother could not help but embrace him tightly. François and Isabella’s farewell was more perfunctory than heartfelt: François planted a chaste kiss upon her cheek and stated that he hoped for a great victory that would allow him to return in time for the birth of their child. In turn, Isabella expressed a bland farewell:
“Monseigneur—I shall pray daily for your victory and our deliverance. Know that when you return, you shall have a son.”
François II and Queen Isabelle carefully observed Isabella as her pregnancy progressed through 1558. Isabella complained bitterly to her English ladies that she was not a doll and resented how the king and queen coddled her. Though Isabella could still attend court events, she hated being unable to participate in balls or masques. In early 1559, Isabella vowed to attend no further court events until she had given birth. To the dismay of her French servants, Isabella retreated into the security of her chambers and the bonds she shared with her English ladies.
“This situation is most intolerable, madame,” The Countess of Ligny wrote in a letter to Queen Isabelle.
“I beg once again that you speak with the Dauphine… she shows us no care and reserves her affection and trust for her English ladies. We are looked upon no better than carrion; when there is trouble or problems, the English ladies do not have to endure the Dauphine’s venomous tongue nor her blows… it is the good Frenchwomen within her household who do. The Dauphine is under the spell of that wicked Madame Fiennes, who sees herself as head of the Dauphine’s household—she does as she pleases and contradicts not only my commands but those of the Dame d’Atours. I am a Frenchwoman of good birth and breeding: I shall not be dominated by an Englishwoman such as Madame Fiennes; she is not my superior but my inferior… a gentlewoman of base birth and the widow of a knight. I have always outranked her and always shall… it would not matter if the sun ceased rising and the moon hung endlessly in the sky forever more. Even then, I would still outrank her! This cannot continue, madame—if matters cannot be remedied, I shall have to resign from my post.”
Though the queen remonstrated weakly with Isabella to have better care within her household, Isabella paid no mind—and was utterly incensed when she found out that the Countess of Ligny had complained to the queen directly over her own head.
“Remember well that what is said about me always returns to me, Madame Ligny. Most especially when it concerns my own person.” Isabella fumed as she dressed down the Countess of Ligny before her whole household.
“Since you have chosen to attack the reputation of one of my servants, you would do well to remember that you are inferior to me. Madame Fiennes may be only a gentlewoman, but it is obvious to me that good birth is no substitute for good manners. On that account, Madame Fiennes shall always outrank you… I am the Dauphine of France and the sun within this household. So long as I have a single breath left, I shall never set. I am the daughter of the greatest queen in Christendom, and my word shall be law within my own household. I seek to be obeyed, not loved. Since you have taken such issue with how my household is run, there is only one solution which shall please us both—and that is your dismissal. You may take your leave, madame—and take Madame de Châteauneuf with you! I care not where you go! Return to the hells for all I care! But do not ever darken my door again. You may save your weeping and wailing; I am an Englishwoman, and we are made of sterner stuff. There is no world where I would be swayed by the hysterics of a Frenchwoman!” Isabella’s dismissal of her
Première Dame d’Honneur and her
Dame d’Atours was quick and brutal. The drama soon spread beyond Isabella’s household into the court when both women complained directly to François II. Both women begged the king to intervene. They pleaded with the king to restore them to their positions and banish the source of chaos and trouble within the Dauphine’s household: her English servants. François II was utterly besotted with his daughter-in-law and truly believed she could do no wrong. He refused to intervene and asked the ladies to leave the issue alone.
“All shall be well, mesdames. I assure you that you shall continue to receive your wages and the privileges of your offices. Let us revisit the matter after the Dauphine’s confinement… Undoubtedly, the Dauphine’s enceinte has distressed her greatly… she is not herself. You shall see; once the babe is born, you shall be welcomed back into her household with open arms.”
The dramatics within Isabella’s household calmed slightly following her dismissal of the haughty Frenchwomen who had occupied high offices. Isabella dedicated her energies to creating an entertaining atmosphere within her own chambers. Unable to dance or hunt, Isabella chose instead to turn her chambers into a glittering space. She hosted small dinners and other intimate events for members of her
cercle. Soirées held by Isabella included poetry readings and discussion circles—where Isabella and her friends discussed various topics, from philosophy to literature. Isabella’s entertainment was not purely intellectual; she also hosted concerts and gambling parties where significant sums of money were won and lost. Isabella popularized Post and Pair at her tables and introduced the English card game
Pope July to France. Charles regularly attended Isabella’s entertainments, and the pair were often inseparable as their friendship became even more intense.
At dinners, Isabella gave Charles the place of honor as her brother-in-law that might have been occupied instead by her husband. Charles was almost always attached to Isabella’s side regardless of the event or entertainment. Their companionship was evident to any who saw it, and Isabella’s English ladies could not help but gossip about such matters.
“Angoulême is everything which the Dauphin is not,” Etheldrède Paget wrote in a gossipy letter to her sister.
“While the Dauphin is serious and taciturn, his brother is a charming and witty creature, eager to jape and play, which the Dauphine enjoys most profusely. If only you could see them together… he is the only person who can make her laugh and smile.” Isabella’s feelings for her brother-in-law, however, were more guarded. She wrote nothing of the duke in her journals in this period, save perhaps a single entry:
“With each passing day, I am one step closer to becoming a mother… fear that I once scoffed at now fills every piece of me. I think only of death; it stalks me throughout these dreadful halls. Death! How can I not ponder my mortality when I, a mere woman of sixteen, have completed a will and testament to disperse my sundry belongings should I perish within my childbed. I am in the bright of my life, but I see only the dark and melancholia, for I am alone. It does not matter if my husband is near or far, for he has no care for me. Only one person cares for me; he is my tonic and light.”
The Palace of Fontainebleau, Valois Tapestries; c. 1580.
In May 1559, the court moved from Chambord to Fontainebleau—which had undergone an expansion headed by François II and Isabelle in the past decade. Isabella took up residence within whole new chambers designed by Philibert de l’Orme. One of its walls was painted with a massive mural of the Garden of Eden, painted by Francesco Primaticcio. Compared to England, where Queen Mary had entered confinement during her numerous pregnancies, Isabella was not subject to such strictures and entertained heavily throughout May at Fontainebleau.
“It is one custom where I shall admit that the French are superior,” Isabella wrote in a letter to Queen Mary.
“Why must we be shut away in dreary chambers for weeks because of a condition that is most natural to women?” Isabella finally entered labor on the first day of June, early in the morning, as she was preparing to dress for the day. Rushed back into her chambers, the king and queen were urgently alerted, and the midwives and servants who would serve Isabella through her travail were summoned for duty. Some midwives expressed concern over Isabella’s slender frame; they believed they would be settling in for a long labor that might last several days. Instead, things proceeded quite quickly: by noon, Isabella had given birth to a healthy baby girl who would be named
Marie Révérie—in honor of her grandmother, the Queen of England, and Saint Reverianus, whose feast day was the first day of June. The king and queen were well pleased—though François II was disappointed that the Dauphine had not given France a son.
“It does not matter,” François II reportedly told Queen Isabelle.
“They are still young and clearly well-paired. She shall give France a son in due time.” François II’s words would prove prophetic. Several days following the birth of Marie Révérie, a swarm of messengers cloaked in black arrived at Fontainebleau. They brought urgent news to the king from the Low Countries—letters stamped and sealed by the Duke of Montmorency. The letters announced the death of the Dauphin François, who had died at
Ypres several days before from spotted fever. With François’s death, Charles succeeded his elder brother as Dauphin of France.
François II openly wept when the news was delivered to him—for the loss of his son and the loss of his well-laid plans. He reportedly told his councilors:
“Monseigneur has left us with his widow and a princess, but alas—not a prince who might succeed his father as Dauphin. Everything now hangs in the balance… including Boulogne.” François II could not help being concerned. Isabella, though now a widow and mother, was only sixteen. She would certainly not be the first princess in history to be sacrificed at the altar of state in yet another marriage if that was what was decided for her, which it most assuredly would be. François II’s greatest fear was that Queen Mary might seek the return of her daughter to England, which she would have every right to do. Should the English queen decide to do so, François II had no doubt that she might also seek to renege on the Treaty of Paris in 1555 and demand the return to Boulogne. Even worse, England might decide to once more fight alongside the Habsburgs—a headache that the King of France did not even wish to consider. He wanted at all costs to maintain friendly relations with the English court and saw Isabella as his pawn.
“We must use whatever time we have to our advantage,” François II wrote to his council.
“I intend to send Ægidius de l’Étoile, the Abbé de Bœuil as our new ambassador to England. Officially, he will deliver this most tragic news to the English court. Unofficially, he is to ascertain the Queen of England’s thoughts regarding the Dauphine and her future. When the time is right, I have authorized the abbé to broach a most delicate topic… marriage between the dowager Dauphine and our son, the Dauphin Charles.”
