February 1, 1554
Château Chambord

Arrived last night at twilight. It is the best time to first glimpse Chambord. The entire roof of Chambord can be seen from miles away and almost seems like a chessboard with its countless spires and chimneys that stand like chess pieces bristling against the sky. We have – Francis, Claude and Elizabeth, the four Marys, and myself – tried to count the chimneys. Every time we come up with a different number, but there are well over three hundred, of that we are sure. Chambord is like a world within another world. It is hard to believe that contained within the more than twenty miles of walls there is an immense forest park. The château stands in the centre, but the thickets and glades are astir with wolves and wild boar and stag. It is a hunter’s paradise. Before dawn one hears the sound of the horns summoning the dogs into the courtyards. Each blast on the horn is a specific signal for the dogs. Of course, Francis likes best to hunt with his falcons and hawks. He keeps a dozen or more here. There is only one problem. Queen Catherine forbids us to hunt tomorrow. It is Candlemas Day, the celebration of the purification of the Virgin Mary, and the day must be spent in devotion. Then there is the Candlemas feast in the evening. Indeed we must begin a fast tonight. I do not think I would object so much if Queen Catherine’s form of religion did not seem to me so inconstant. Father Confessor Mamerot despairs over her reliance on sorcerers and seers such as Ruggieri and Nostradamus. He once said to me in an unguarded moment that the Queen, as he put it, “rejects the divine truths of scriptural revelations but believes in these soothsayers and starry messengers.” Thus no hunting tomorrow and Francis is very upset. He whines like a baby.