Renaissance man
Recommends a glittering new biography of one of 16th-century Europe’s most charismatic and complex royals
Francis I by Leonie Frieda Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 400 pages, £25
Western Europe in the first half of the 16th century witnessed a triumvirate of attractive, virile young monarchs, whose relations altered from intense brotherly love to bloody hatred frequently and with wide-reaching consequences. In England, Henry VIII always dominates our view of this period, with Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, and Francis I of France slipping in and out of the spotlight as needed. Henry’s story has been told many times, but Frieda’s new biography of Francis irrefutably proves that it is not the only story worth telling.
Frieda captures early 16th-century France in all its brilliant and dramatic juxtapositions. Francis was in many ways a modern monarch, committed to developments in the arts and sciences, but his unexpected kingship was also rooted in medieval lore: the fulfilment of a prophecy uttered by a hermit, after whom he was named. Even as increasingly advanced gunfire transformed Europe’s battlefields, rivals Francis and Charles V still considered solving their disputes by single combat. And for all the civility and culture of his court, when Francis’s son died unexpectedly, he still exacted his revenge through a cruel medieval style of execution, having his son’s innocent tutor slowly torn apart by four charging horses. Thus Frieda portrays the Game of Thrones- like world that Francis inhabited.
In Frieda’s treatment, Francis becomes the embodiment of juxtaposition and transition. With surprising success, he managed to balance roles as chivalric warrior, Renaissance patron, Machiavellian strategist and Catholic defender, not to mention more private roles as dedicated son, father, brother, and more famously, lothario. It is important, on this last aspect of Francis’s character, not to overly romanticise the king’s ability to ‘ have his way’ with women, something that Frieda at one point equates with his skill in hunting, and at another uses as a reason to suggest his innocence of a rape charge.
The women who surround Francis are intelligent and remarkably influential, more so than many of the king’s male advisors and friends. As this is a book about Francis, it is fair that it only makes indications towards their own lives and characters, but it does make the reader crave more. Francis’s court is more like an ensemble-cast than a one-man show, and Frieda does brilliantly to condense all the captivating personalities, events, intrigues and conflicts of his reign into one book. Francis I transports the reader into the glittering and dangerous world of 16th-century France. It is a testament to its quality that upon closing the book, you don’t entirely want to leave.
Joanne Paul is lecturer in early modern history at the University of Sussex