Royal Road to Fotheringhay - Plaidy Jean (читать книги полностью без сокращений .txt) 📗

THE CARDINAL came to conduct his niece to that chamber wherein the King was waiting for them with Cardinal de Sens, who was the Keeper of the Seals of France, in attendance.

The Cardinal had explained to Mary that this was merely a formality. All she need do was sign her name.

“What paper is it, Uncle?” she asked. “Should I not read it before I sign? You have always said that I should read everything before signing.”

“There is no need to tire yourself. It is such a bore—this language of the lawyers. I can tell you all you want to know. It is a little matter concerning Scotland’s debt to the King. You see, His Majesty and the French have given much money for the defense of Scotland, and you, as the Queen of that land, are going to sign this paper promising that you will arrange that, when Scotland is able to do so, the King is repaid.”

“That is what I would wish,” said Mary.

“Well, that is all it is.”

“But it seems such a solemn occasion for such a small thing, does it not?”

“Remember you are a queen, my child, and now that you are growing up there will be many occasions when some formality, which may seem unnecessary to you, will have to be carried out.”

Mary smiled and allowed the Cardinal to lead her to that chamber in Fontainebleau, and there, with the April sunshine streaming through the windows, put her signature to the documents which gave away that which she had no right to give, and which, although she was a girl not yet sixteen years of age and innocent of wrongdoing, brought great dishonor to her name.

MARY WAS being dressed for her wedding. About her were her four Marys and several attendants who were helping, their eyes bright with admiration and excitement.

Now she stood in her bridal dress; it was so heavy that she could scarcely stand, for its white damask was covered in jewels. Her royal mantle and train of bluish grey velvet was decorated with pearls; her golden crown was studded with pearls and diamonds, sapphires and rubies, and the centerpiece was a hanging carbuncle which alone was worth five hundred thousand crowns.

“You are the most beautiful bride there has ever been!” cried Flem; and the others agreed.

Mary laughed gleefully as she touched the priceless necklace she was wearing. The people in the streets would cheer her as she went from the palace of the Archbishop of Paris—where she, with the royal family, had spent the night—to the Cathedral of Notre Dame. They loved her because she was their charming Reinette, and her marriage to the Dauphin gave them such a show as they had never witnessed before.

Francois was happy too. He was not very nervous, he had told her, although he would have been terrified if he had had to marry anyone else. The thought of Charles worried Mary a little. He was so sullen; he seemed almost murderous and in deadly earnest when he declared he longed to marry her.

It was a pity that the Commissioners from Scotland had come to see her married, for they reminded her that she was Queen of a kingdom very different from this one. Their odd speech was so strange to her, though she supposed she herself had once spoken it. Their clothes were rough and lacking in elegance; they were suspicious of the French, and it had to be admitted that the French did laugh at them and mock them when they were not present. Mary was a little ashamed of her rough countrymen.

She was worried too about her half brother, Lord James, who had come with them. He had changed since she last saw him; outwardly he was as friendly as ever, but he seemed to be watching her furtively all the time; and she knew that James was among those covenanters who were in league with John Knox.

She was not to trust her brother, the Cardinal had warned her. She was to tell no one of the documents she had signed a short while ago. They were of no great importance, of course, but the Cardinal wished them not to be mentioned.

Mary had for years obeyed the Cardinal without question and she did so now.

But all her uneasiness vanished as she walked along the gallery which had been set up between the palace of the Archbishop of Paris and the Cathedral of Notre Dame.

The King—magnificently jeweled—held Mary’s right hand as they walked along the gallery, while the Duke of Lorraine held her left. Mary’s train was borne by young ladies who could scarcely lift it, so heavy was it with the jewels which adorned it. Behind them came Catherine the Queen and Jeanne the Queen of Navarre, followed by the ladies of the Court in order of precedence.

The King of Navarre walked with the Dauphin, and behind them came the two Princes—Charles, still glowering and sullen, and Edouard Alexandre full of gaiety because he had never worn such jewels as he wore that day.

At the door of the cathedral the procession halted and Mary was brought to stand beside the Dauphin.

Henri Deux took a ring from his finger and gave it to the Cardinal of Bourbon who was waiting to receive it, and there, under the blue sky, so that the people of Paris might witness the marriage ceremony, Mary Queen of Scots was married to Francois, Dauphin of France.

She smiled at her bridegroom reassuringly, not forgetting even at that moment that he might be in need of comfort. She knew that the crowds and the shouting would make his head ache. She knew that his jeweled garments would weigh him down and make him very tired.

He held her hand tightly and looked at her continually as though to reassure himself that the beautiful vision, arrayed in such glorious apparel, was after all his beloved Mary.

When the ceremony was over they returned to the Archbishop’s palace and sat down to the banquet which had been prepared for them in the grand hall. Mary ate ravenously, for she was very hungry; she urged Francois to eat, and he did so, saying that although there were so many people about them and the glitter of jewels was almost blinding, and two gentlemen stood behind Mary all the time they ate, holding the crown royal over her head, they were together; they loved each other and everything was the same except that they were married.

Afterward there was dancing. Mary delighted to dance and was enchanted when the King chose her as his partner. Her hand rested in his as they turned slowly in the stately pavanne.

“So you are happy?” asked the King.

“Yes, dearest Papa.”

“Then I am happy too. No one in Paris who saw you this day will ever forget you.”

“I shall never forget this day.”

“You and Francois should be happy. You do not yet know how fortunate you are.”

Mary had caught sight of Francois who was dancing with his mother. He looked very uneasy. She wished that she could have gone to him, to tell him not to be nervous. The King followed her gaze.

“You will always take care of him, will you not, Mary?” he said very seriously.

“Always, Papa.”

“He will need your care, my dear, and I know I can trust you to give it to him. The saints bless you and keep you.”

“I am happy to be the Dauphine, Papa, but I hope I shall never be Queen of France, for I could not be that while you live—so I would wish never to be.”

“My dear child,” he said, “I love you very much.”

By four o’clock in the afternoon the ball at the episcopal palace was over, but the celebrations were to continue. The whole company crossed the Seine to the Palais de Justice. Mary was carried in a litter of gold and silver, and the people shouted to her as she passed. “Long live the Queen-Dauphine!” they cried. And to each other: “But she is beautiful. What a contrast to the Italian woman!” Catherine did not seem to care what they said of her. She accepted humiliations from the Parisians as she did from her husband, with a resigned and almost patient smile.

How the people cheered the King when he rode by on his magnificently caparisoned warhorse! But the loudest cheers of all, some noticed, were for the man dressed in frosted cloth of gold, ablaze with gems, the man of action whom no amount of fine clothes or jewels could disguise. They knew him at once; his tall figure attracted immediate attention as did the scar on his cheek. “Vive le Balafre! Long life to the great Duke of Guise!” shouted the crowds. He knew how to win the hearts of the people. They did not forget that, during the celebrations when the mob had struggled to see the youthful pair but were prevented from doing so by the fine folk on the dais, he had ordered those fine folk to stand aside that the people’s view might not be obstructed. “God bless the Duke! God bless the hero of Metz and the saviour of Calais!”