On December 6, 1560, France is doomed to be shrouded in a gloomy haze.
In the court of the Louvre, with the serious illness of King Francois II of France, all kinds of strange entertainment activities in the past have been stopped in the past few months, so as not to offend Queen Mother Catherine de Medici and Queen Mary Stuart who are worried about the king.
The nobles who used to love luxury gave up hunting, gambling and flirting, the artists stopped their brushes and music, and no longer wrote sonnets in beautiful tones, and even the court maids who loved to dress up began to speak carefully and softly.
At this moment, with the news of the king's real death, the nobles have already prepared to change into black clothes that are only worn at funerals, with sad eyes and handkerchiefs to wipe away the tears from their red and swollen eyes.
They gather together and salute sadly facing the king's bedroom, saying that this is a great misfortune that God has befallen France.
As for how much of the sadness in these tears is sincere, only the omniscient God could know.
After all, François II had always been in poor health.
A blood disease inherited from his ancestors made him pale, weak and painful since he was a child. He was unable to maintain his daily life, let alone fulfill the authority and responsibility of a monarch.
When the king was young, a doctor asserted that he would die young. His ability to live to the age of sixteen was beyond the expectations of many people, including his mother.
Queen Mother Catherine de Medici takes on the responsibility of presiding over the funeral of her king's son.
The Queen Mother, who comes from a merchant family, has little time to grieve. After kissing her son's forehead for the last time, she walks out of the room and begins to order everyone in the palace to move in an orderly manner. Under the care of the priest, the coffin of Francois II is placed in the churchyard.
At the same time, she also begins to prepare for the celebration of another son, Prince Charlie, becoming new king.
No matter how many people cry hypocritically at the funeral, there is one person's sadness that no one would doubt its authenticity.
That is the pain of Mary Stuart, Queen of France and Queen of Scotland.
This young queen, who had set foot on French soil on a big ship at the age of six and spent more than ten years with Francois II as a childhood sweetheart as a fiancĂŠe, no one would doubt the deep friendship between her and the king.
So when she faints at the king's funeral and has a high fever for several days, everyone think that it is understandable, and even some sentimental court ladies begin to pray for the queen, hoping that she would get rid of the grief of losing her husband and get better and better as soon as possible.
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The windows of all the bedrooms are covered with black velvet, and only a swaying light is illuminated for a moment, making the whole room look like an ice cellar, or like being in the cold fifth level of hell.
Even if the flames in the fireplace are burning, it could not warm the hearts of the young girls in the room at all.
The four maids brought by the French queen from her hometown in Scotland gather together and cry, lamenting the hostess and their unfortunate fate.
Look, their hostess was originally the first lady of France, one of the monarchs of this court who was undoubtedly on par with the king... Queen Mother Catherine de Medici or the powerful Duchess of Guise, no matter who it was, when facing their hostess, they had to take a step back to show their respect and humility.
Now, with the death of the King of France, all this has vanished.
With the ascension of the new King of France, their mistress will soon be deprived of this gorgeous queen's crown, and will be worn by another strange noble woman, bowing and yielding to another person, respectfully expressing her humility.
And they, who share the honor and disgrace of the mistress, have lost their former glory and honor in this gorgeous French court as well.
The glorious past has dissipated, and the future is still hidden in the mist and unknown.
Thinking of this, all these maids become more and more sad.
However, at this time, Mary Stuart closes her eyes, opens them again, and the world in front of her remains unchanged.
In the dark room with lights like beans, four young women in black clothes gather together and bury their heads in tears. They are all dressed in the clothes of medieval female nobles. The dark color announces that a funeral has just ended.
In the past few days, her head has been hurting because of two mixed but very different female life memories.
One of them is original owner, Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland, who lived in the ancient sixteenth century and had no control over her life, like a tragedy of fate.
The other one is born in the twenty-first century with advanced technology and open society, and lives as a successful older woman.
Mary thought that her current situation could probably be simply summarized by the three words of transmigration, rebirth, and soul fusion.
"Fleming..." Mary sits up with her forehead covered suddenly, calling the surname of one of the maids, "...give me the dressing mirror."
Because of the naming customs in the West, there are always a lot of people with the same names in the crowd.
These four maids who grew up with her have the same name as her, and they are all called Mary. In order to distinguish them from each other, she is used to calling them by their surnames.
Seeing Her Majesty the Queen wake up, the other maids immediately surround her eagerly.
Some of them hand over a towel soaked in hot water, some of them considerately bring honey water, and some of them immediately put a thick and soft goose feather pillow behind the queen.
Soon, Fleming carefully brings a mercury mirror the size of the Bible.
This mirror is nothing in the eyes of later generations, but to be honest, it is worth a fortune in this era.
The method of making this clear and transparent mirror is still firmly in the hands of the Venetians. They have earned decades of money from the nobles of all Europe with this mysterious technology that has never been passed on. We don't know how many noble ladies who love to compare are willing to exchange the same amount of gold or even more for a mercury mirror.
Even Mary Stuart, who was once the Queen of France, had mercury mirrors that could be counted on one hand, and the largest one was no larger than the size of a head.
Mary Stuart drinks a few sips of warm honey water from the hand of the maid, moistens her throat, and looks at herself in the mirror after forcing herself to cheer up a little.
In front of the bright mirror, a younger lady is reflected.
She is still young and beautiful, with a pale face and slightly tearful eyes due to the death of her husband, but still full of infinite vitality and youth.
How absurd, Mary Stuart thinks indifferently.
She is eighteen years old again.