—
It was almost like being back at the court of the Regent. Anne reveled in the erudite atmosphere of Marguerite’s household, which was accommodated in silken pavilions blazoned with the fleurs-de-lis and red borders of Alen?on on a vivid blue ground. She loved the long, intellectual conversations in which the Duchesse liked to engage. It was wonderful to be encouraged once more to write poetry and debate on religion. Above all, it was stimulating to discuss the role of women in society.
“The question is,” Marguerite said one evening, as she and her ladies sat up late after yet another lavish banquet, “are we women essentially virtuous, or are we—as the moralists see us—oversexed disciples of Satan, whose chief function is to tempt men into sin?”
“We are naturally virtuous,” one young woman spoke up, “but men cannot see us that way.”
“They fear us, that is why,” Anne smiled, laying aside her embroidery so that she could concentrate properly on the conversation.
“Very percipient! That is why they want to control us,” Marguerite said. “But we can confound them with our prudence. It is what made Queen Isabella great, what enables the Regent Margaret to govern so wisely. Prudence is the fount of all virtues. Aristotle said it long ago. What we are enjoying now is the reign of the virtuous woman. We are conquering men with our intellect, our gentler virtues being our strength.”
Anne thrilled to hear her speak so.
“This new learning,” Marguerite went on, “which we have from the ancient scholars of Greece and Rome, has opened our eyes to the power women wielded in antiquity. Look at Cleopatra. She was the seventh queen of her name. This teaches us that we are not born just to be subordinate to men. Our flesh might be weak—although those who have borne children might deny that—but our hearts and our intellects are strong. I say we can be a match for any man.”
“Bravo!” Anne cried, and several young women clapped.
“It has been argued,” Marguerite continued, “that men do not oppress women because of some natural law, but because they want to retain their own power and status.”
“My father holds that women are inferior to men because man was created by God first, and is stronger and therefore more important,” a maiden chimed in.
Marguerite smiled. “Ah, but maybe it was Eve, not Adam, who was deceived. And if you think about it, women were greater than men from the first. Adam means Earth, but the name Eve stands for life. Man was created from dust, yet woman was made from something far purer. God’s Creation was perfected when He made woman. Therefore we must celebrate the nobility of women.”
“Do you think these ideas can become widely accepted?” Anne asked.
“They are being debated all over Christendom, particularly in Italy,” Marguerite told her. “And what happens in Italy often influences the rest of the world. Change will come, have no doubt of it, and we women who have power and rank are the ones who will bring it about. So we must continue the fight.”
—
Armored with a new awareness of her own power, Anne confronted her father.
“I do not want to marry James Butler,” she said. “I feel that a better match could surely be found. And this marriage will be of little advantage to you, sir. Yes, I would be a countess, but what good would that do me, hidden away in the wilds of Ireland? Surely you had me educated for better things?”
Father frowned. “It will keep the earldom of Ormond in the family.”
“In the Butler family. But it will not restore it to the Boleyns, where it rightfully belongs.”
Father frowned, eyeing Anne as if she had suddenly turned into a dangerous beast that needed caging. “This is a fine to-do,” he said at length. “Do you want me to look a fool in the eyes of the King and the Cardinal? Your grandsire and I have asked for His Grace’s consent to the match—are we now to say we have changed our minds?”
“Is that so very awful?” Anne asked him. “I imagine that King Henry changes his mind whenever policy requires him to do so; the Cardinal likewise. You could say that you have thought more on the matter and decided that it is not the best solution. Say you want the earldom for yourself. That would make far better sense, sir.” She thought her words might sound less hectoring if she added the “sir.”
To her surprise, Father was now regarding her with something that looked like respect. She realized that she had probably touched a sensitive spot. He did want the earldom for himself.
“I will think on this,” he said finally. “This meeting comes to an end tomorrow, thank God! It cost a king’s ransom and all it has proved is that these sovereigns cordially hate each other. If I get a chance to discuss the matter with your grandsire, I will do so. I doubt it will be easy to gain a moment with the Cardinal. Now mark my words, Anne: if I decide that this marriage must go ahead, and the King agrees, then go ahead it will. But I hear what you say, and will do what is best.”
She left him, light of heart and step. Of course, the decision to withdraw from the negotiations must be his; on no account would he admit that she had swayed him. But she felt confident that the decision he made would be the right one.
—
At last the great pageant came to an end. After Cardinal Wolsey had celebrated High Mass in the open air before the two courts, and there had been a final farewell feast, there was a magnificent display of fireworks, and all was over. Whether the two kings would stay outward friends was anyone’s guess, but they said their farewells warmly enough, and then the splendid sprawling camp broke up, as the royal retinues got down to packing and making their way homeward.
Anne was going back to Paris with Marguerite’s household. She had hoped that Father would have some good news for her before she bade farewell, but when the time came for parting, he told her that Cardinal Wolsey had been too busy to see him, so the matter of her marriage would have to be deferred until he returned to England.
“But you think it will be all right?” she asked.
“It will all depend on what the King says,” he replied.
“But you will make a case for me?”
“I am still considering,” he said. He would never admit defeat.
1522