ver, she had manifested traits that accorded but ill with the
character of her royal mate. For she was not only handsome, spirited,
and naturally independent and intelligent, but fond of intellectual
pursuits, almost a scholar, knowing Latin and Greek, that new tongue
that was just becoming the fashion in Europe, the tongue whose rich and
deep literature, so long misunderstood or unknown during the Middle
Ages, was to be most fruitful of inspirations for the Renaissance.
Imagine her yoked with a prince of frivolous disposition, lacking even
in ordinary intelligence, so ignorant that he could scarcely read and
write, and interested chiefly in the idle shows of that chivalry in
whose ranks he could not shine because of his awkward and weak frame.
With admirable appreciation of her duty, Anne sunk the woman in the wife
and queen, subordinating her own personality to that of a man whom she
could not have respected, whom it seems impossible she could have loved.
She resigned into his hands the administration of her own province of
Brittany, and sought no share in the determination of the policy of the
kingdom. Leaving politics to the king and his councillors, she devoted
herself to the petty affairs of her court, regulated its accounts,
decided its points of etiquette, kept its atmosphere pure and healthy,
just as any little Breton housewife would have governed and made
comfortable the home of her husband. Whether she loved Charles or not,
she always treated him with respect.

The seven years of their married life were passed without a sign from
her that the union had proved anything but the happiest in the world. On
April 7, 1498, Charles, walking hurriedly through a dark corridor of the
Chateau d'Amboise, where his father had kept him in confinement little
different from imprisonment, struck his head against a scaffolding
carelessly left in place by the workmen who were repairing the chateau,
and died a few hours later. Anne made becoming show of grief, refused to
be consoled, would not, it is said, touch food for three days, and
insisted on wearing black in token of her grief, though as queen she was
entitled to wear white. Grief, she said, had unfitted her for the life
at court; she must return to her native Brittany and seek in the
administration of its affairs to banish the memory of the lost husband.

The wisdom of Anne de Beaujeu had united Brittany to France; it now
seemed as if the good results of her diplomacy wer