CHAPTER L.
AN INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN-MOTHER.
The queen-mother was in her bedroom at the Palais Royal, with Madame deMotteville and the Senora Molina. The king, who had been impatientlyexpected the whole day, had not made his appearance; and the queen, whohad grown quite impatient, had often sent to inquire about him. Thewhole atmosphere of the court seemed to indicate an approaching storm;the courtiers and the ladies of the court avoided meeting in theantechambers and the corridors, in order not to converse on compromisingsubjects. Monsieur had joined the king early in the morning for ahunting-party; Madame remained in her own apartments, cool and distantto every one: and the queen-mother, after she had said her prayers inLatin, talked of domestic matters with her two friends, in pureCastilian. Madame de Motteville, who understood the language perfectly,answered her in French. When the three ladies had exhausted every formof dissimulation and politeness, as a circuitous mode of expressingthat the king's conduct was making the queen and the queen-mother pineaway from sheer grief and vexation, and when, in the most guarded andpolished phrases, they had fulminated every variety of imprecationagainst Mademoiselle de la Valliere, the queen-mother terminated herattack by an exclamation indicative of her own reflections andcharacter.
"Estos hijos!" said she to Molina--which means, "These children!" wordsfull of meaning in a mother's lips--words full of terrible significancein the mouth of a queen who, like Anne of Austria, hid many curious anddark secrets in her soul.
"Yes," said Molina, "these children! for whom every mother becomes asacrifice."
"Yes," replied the queen; "a mother has sacrificed everything,certainly." She did not finish her phrase; for she fancied, when sheraised her eyes toward the full-length portrait of the pale Louis XIII.,that light had once more flashed from her husband's dull eyes, and thathis nostrils were inflated by wrath. The portrait seemed animated by aliving expression--speak it did not, but it seemed to menace. A profoundsilence succeeded the queen's last remark. La Molina began to turn overthe ribbons and lace of a large work-table. Madame de Motteville,surprised at the look of mutual intelligence which had been exchangedbetween the confidante and her mistress, cast down her eyes, like adiscreet woman, and, pretending to be observant of nothing that waspassing, listened with the utmost attention instead. She heard nothing,however, but a very significant "hum" on the part of the Spanish duenna,who was the perfect representation of extreme caution--and a profoundsigh on that of the queen. She looked up immediately.
"You are suffering?" she said.
"No, Motteville, no; why do you say that?"
"Your majesty almost groaned just now."
"You are right; I did sigh, in truth."
"Monsieur Vallot is not far off; I believe he is in Madame's apartment."
"Why is he with Madame?"
"Madame is troubled with nervous attacks."
"A very fine disorder, indeed! There is little good in M. Vallot beingthere, when another physician instead would cure Madame."
Madame de Motteville looked up with an air of great surprise, as shereplied, "Another doctor instead of M. Vallot?--whom do you mean?"
"Occupation, Motteville, occupation. If any one is really ill it is mypoor daughter."
"And your majesty, too."
"Less so this evening, though."
"Do not believe that too confidently, madame," said De Motteville. And,as if to justify her caution, a sharp acute pain seized the queen, whoturned deadly pale, and threw herself back in the chair, with everysymptom of a sudden fainting fit. Molina ran to a richly-gildedtortoise-shell cabinet, from which she took a large rock-crystalsmelling-bottle, and immediately held it to the queen's nostrils, whoinhaled it wildly for a few minutes, and murmured:
"It will hasten my death--but Heaven's will be done."
"Your majesty's death is not so near at hand," added Molina, replacingthe smelling-bottle in the cabinet.
"Does your majesty feel better now?" inquired Madame de Motteville.
"Much better," returned the queen, placing her finger on her lips, toimpose silence on her favorite.
"It is very strange," remarked Madame de Motteville, after a pause.
"What is strange?" said the queen.
"Does your majesty remember the day when this pain attacked you for thefirst time?"
"I remember only that it was a grievously sad day for me, Motteville."
"But your majesty had not always regarded that day a sad one."
"Why?"
"Because three and twenty years before, on that very day, his presentmajesty, your own glorious son, was born at the very same hour."
The queen uttered a loud cry, buried her face in her hands, and seemedutterly lost for some minutes; but whether from recollections whicharose in her mind, or from reflection, or even from sheer pain, it wasof course uncertain. La Molina darted almost a furious look at Madame deMotteville, which was so full of bitter reproach, that the poor woman,perfectly ignorant of its meaning, was, in her own exculpation, on thepoint of asking an explanation of its meaning; when, suddenly Anne ofAustria arose and said, "Yes, the 5th of September; my sorrow began onthe 5th of September. The greatest joy, one day; the deepest sorrow thenext:--the sorrow," she added, "the bitter expiation of a too excessivejoy."
And, from that moment, Anne of Austria, whose memory and reason seemedto have become entirely suspended for a time, remained impenetrable,with vacant look, mind almost wandering, and hands hanging heavily down,as if life had almost departed.
"We must put her to bed," said La Molina.
"Presently, Molina."
"Let us leave the queen alone," added the Spanish attendant.
Madame de Motteville rose; large and glistening tears were fast rollingdown the queen's pallid face; and Molina, having observed this sign ofweakness, fixed her black vigilant eyes upon her.
"Yes, yes," replied the queen. "Leave us, Motteville; go."
The word "us," produced a disagreeable effect upon the ears of theFrench favorite; for it signified that an interchange of secrets, or ofrevelations of the past, was about to be made, and that one person was_de trop_ in the conversation which seemed likely to take place.
"Will Molina, alone, be sufficient for your majesty to-night?" inquiredthe Frenchwoman.
"Yes," replied the queen. Madame de Motteville bowed in submission, andwas about to withdraw, when, suddenly, an old female attendant, dressedas if she had belonged to the Spanish court of the year 1620, openedthe door and surprised the queen in her tears. "The remedy!" she cried,delightedly, to the queen, as she unceremoniously approached the group.
"What remedy?" said Anne of Austria.
"For your majesty's sufferings," the former replied.
"Who brings it?" asked Madame de Motteville, eagerly; "Monsieur Vallot?"
"No; a lady from Flanders."
"From Flanders. Is she Spanish?" inquired the queen.
"I don't know."
"Who sent her?"
"M. Colbert."
"Her name?"
"She did not mention it."
"Her position in life?"
"She will answer that herself."
"Her face?"
"She is masked."
"Go, Molina; go and see!" cried the queen.
"It is needless," suddenly replied a voice, at once firm and gentle inits tone, which proceeded from the other side of the tapestry hangings;a voice which made the attendants start and the queen trembleexcessively. At the same moment a masked female appeared through thehangings, and, before the queen could speak a syllable, she added, "I amconnected with the order of the Beguines of Bruges, and do, indeed,bring with me the remedy which is certain to effect a cure of yourmajesty's complaint." No one uttered a sound, and the Beguine did notmove a step.
"Speak," said the queen.
"I will, when we are alone," was the answer.
Anne of Austria looked at her attendants, who immediately withdrew. TheBeguine, thereupon, advanced a few steps toward the q
ueen, and bowedreverently before her. The queen gazed with increasing mistrust at thiswoman, who, in her turn, fixed a pair of brilliant eyes upon her,through her mask.
"The queen of France must, indeed, be very ill," said Anne of Austria,"if it is known at the Beguinage of Bruges that she stands in need ofbeing cured."
"Your majesty is not irremediably ill."
"But, tell me, how do you happen to know I am suffering?"
"Your majesty has friends in Flanders."
"Since these friends, then, have sent you, mention their names."
"Impossible, madame, since your majesty's memory has not been awakenedby your heart."
Anne of Austria looked up, endeavoring to discover through theconcealment of the mask, and through her mysterious language, the nameof her companion, who expressed herself with such familiarity andfreedom; then, suddenly, wearied by a curiosity which wounded everyfeeling of pride in her nature, she said, "You are ignorant, perhaps,that royal personages are never spoken to with the face masked."
"Deign to excuse me, madame," replied the Beguine, humbly.
"I cannot excuse you. I may possibly forgive you, if you throw your maskaside."
"I have made a vow, madame, to attend and aid all afflicted or sufferingpersons, without ever permitting them to behold my face. I might havebeen able to administer some relief to your body and to your mind, too;but, since your majesty forbids me, I will take my leave. Adieu, madame,adieu."
These words were uttered with a harmony of tone and respect of mannerthat deprived the queen of all her anger and suspicion, but did notremove her feeling of curiosity. "You are right," she said; "it illbecomes those who are suffering to reject the means of relief whichHeaven sends them. Speak, then; and may you, indeed, be able, as youassert you can, to administer relief to my body--"
"Let us first speak a little of the mind, if you please," said theBeguine; "of the mind, which, I am sure, must also suffer."
"My mind?"
"There are cancers so insidious in their nature that their verypulsation is invisible. Such cancers, madame, leave the ivory whitenessof the skin untouched, and marble not the firm, fair flesh, with theirblue tints; the physician who bends over the patient's chest hears not,though he listens, the insatiable teeth of the disease grinding itsonward progress through the muscles, as the blood flows freely on; theknife has never been able to destroy, and rarely even, temporarily, todisarm the rage of these mortal scourges; their home is in the mind,which they corrupt; they fill the whole heart until it breaks. Such,madame, are the cancers fatal to queens; are you, too, free from theirscourge?"
Anne slowly raised her arm, dazzling in its perfect whiteness, and purein its rounded outlines, as it was in the time of her earlier days.
"The evils to which you allude," she said, "are the condition of thelives of the high in rank upon earth, to whom Heaven has imparted mind.When those evils become too heavy to be borne, Heaven lightens theirburden by penitence and confession. There we lay down our burden, andthe secrets which oppress us. But, forget not, that the same graciousHeaven, in its mercy, apportions to their trials the strength of thefeeble creatures of its hand; and my strength has enabled me to bear myburden. For the secrets of others, the silence of Heaven is more thansufficient; for my own secrets, that of my confessor is just enough."
"You are as courageous, madame, I see, as ever, against your enemies.You do not acknowledge your confidence in your friends."
"Queens have no friends; if you have nothing further to say to me--ifyou feel yourself inspired by Heaven as a prophetess--leave me, I pray,for I dread the future."
"I should have supposed," said the Beguine, resolutely, "that you wouldrather have dreaded the past."
Hardly had these words escaped her lips, than the queen rose up proudly."Speak," she cried, in a short, imperious tone of voice, "explainyourself briefly, quickly, entirely; or, if not--"
"Nay, do not threaten me, your majesty," said the Beguine, gently; "Icame to you full of compassion and respect. I came here on the part of afriend."
"Prove that to me! Comfort instead of irritating me."
"Easily enough: and your majesty will see who is friendly to you. Whatmisfortune has happened to your majesty during these three and twentyyears past--"
"Serious misfortunes, indeed; have I not lost the king?"
"I speak not of misfortunes of that kind. I wish to ask you, if sincethe birth of the king, any indiscretion on a friend's part has causedyour majesty the slightest serious anxiety or distress?"
"I do not understand you," replied the queen, setting her teeth hardtogether in order to conceal her emotion.
"I will make myself understood, then. Your majesty remembers that theking was born on the 5th of September, 1633, at a quarter-past eleveno'clock."
"Yes," stammered out the queen.
"At half-past twelve," continued the Beguine, "the dauphin, who had beenbaptized by Monseigneur de Meaux in the king's and in your own presence,was acknowledged as the heir of the crown of France. The king then wentto the chapel of the old Chateau de Saint-Germain to hear the _Te Deum_chanted."
"Quite true, quite true," murmured the queen.
"Your majesty's confinement took place in the presence of Monsieur, hismajesty's late uncle, of the princes, and of the ladies attached to thecourt. The king's physician, Bovard, and Honore, the surgeon, werestationed in the antechamber; your majesty slept from three o'clockuntil seven, I believe!"
"Yes, yes: but you tell me no more than every one else knows as well asyou and myself."
"I am now, madame, approaching that which very few persons areacquainted with. Very few persons, did I say, alas! I might almost saytwo only, for formerly there were but five in all, and for many yearspast the secret has been well preserved by the deaths of the principalparticipators in it. The late king sleeps now with his ancestors;Peronne, the midwife, soon followed him; Laporte is already forgotten."
The queen opened her lips as though about to reply; she felt, beneathher icy hand, with which she kept her face half concealed, the beads ofperspiration upon her brow.
"It was eight o'clock," pursued the Beguine; "the king was seated atsupper, full of joy and happiness; around him on all sides arose wildcries of delight and drinking of healths; the people cheered beneath thebalconies; the Swiss guards, the musketeers, and the royal guardswandered through the city, borne about in triumph by the drunkenstudents. Those boisterous sounds of the general joy disturbed thedauphin, the future king of France, who was quietly lying in the arms ofMadame de Hausac, his nurse, and whose eyes, as he opened them andstared about, might have observed two crowns at the foot of his cradle.Suddenly your majesty uttered a piercing cry, and Dame Peronneimmediately flew to your bedside. The doctors were dining in a room atsome distance from your chamber; the palace, deserted from the frequencyof the irruptions made into it, was without either sentinels or guards.The midwife, having questioned and examined your majesty, gave a suddenexclamation, as if in wild astonishment, and taking you in her arms,bewildered almost out of her senses from sheer distress of mind,dispatched Laporte to inform the king that her majesty the queen-motherwished to see him in her room. Laporte, you are aware, madame, was a manof the most admirable calmness and presence of mind. He did not approachthe king as if he were the bearer of alarming intelligence and wished toinspire the terror which he himself experienced; besides, it was not avery terrifying intelligence which awaited the king. Therefore, Laporteappeared with a smile upon his lips, and approached the king's chair,saying to him, 'Sire, the queen is very happy, and would be still moreso to see your majesty.' On that day, Louis XIII. would have given hiscrown away to the veriest beggar for a 'God bless you.' Animated,light-hearted, and full of gayety, the king rose from the table, andsaid to those around him, in a tone that Henry IV. might have adopted,'Gentlemen, I am going to see my wife.' He came to your bedside, madame,at the very moment Dame Peronne presented to him a second prince, asbeautiful and healthy as the former, and said, 'Sire
, Heaven will notallow the kingdom of France to fall into the female line.' The king,yielding to a first impulse, clasped the child in his arms, and cried,'Oh! Heaven, I thank Thee!'"
At this part of her recital, the Beguine paused, observing how intenselythe queen was suffering; she had thrown herself back in her chair, andwith her head bent forward, and her eyes fixed, listened without seemingto hear, and her lips moving convulsively, either breathing a prayer toHeaven or in imprecations against the woman standing before her.
"Ah! do not believe that, because there could be but one dauphin inFrance," exclaimed the Beguine, "or that if the queen allowed that childto vegetate, banished from his royal parents' presence, she was on thataccount an unfeeling mother. Oh! no, no; there are those alive who knowthe floods of bitter tears she shed; there are those who have known andwitnessed the passionate kisses she imprinted on that innocent creaturein exchange for a life of misery and gloom to which state policycondemned the twin brother of Louis XIV."
"Oh! Heaven!" murmured the queen, feebly.
"It is admitted," continued the Beguine, quickly, "that when the kingperceived the effect which would result from the existence of two sons,both equal in age and pretensions, he trembled for the welfare ofFrance, for the tranquillity of the state; and it is equally well knownthat the Cardinal de Richelieu, by the direction of Louis XIII., thoughtover the subject with deep attention, and after an hour's meditation inhis majesty's cabinet, he pronounced the following sentence: 'One princeis peace and safety for the state; two competitors are civil war andanarchy.'"
The queen rose suddenly from her seat, pale as death, and her handsclenched together. "You know too much," she said in a hoarse, thickvoice, "since you refer to secrets of state. As for the friends fromwhom you have acquired this secret, they are false and treacherous. Youare their accomplice in the crime which is being now committed. Now,throw aside your mask, or I will have you arrested by my captain of theguards. Do not think that this secret terrifies me! You have obtainedit, you shall restore it to me. Never shall it leave your bosom, forneither your secret nor your own life belong to you from this moment."
Anne of Austria, joining gesture to the threat, advanced a couple ofsteps toward the Beguine. "Learn," said the latter, "to know and valuethe fidelity, the honor, and secrecy of the friends you have abandoned."And then suddenly threw aside her mask.
"Madame de Chevreuse!" exclaimed the queen.
"With your majesty the sole living confidante of this secret."
"Ah!" murmured Anne of Austria; "come and embrace me, duchesse. Alas!you kill your friend in thus trifling with her terrible distress."
And the queen, leaning her head upon the shoulder of the old duchesse,burst into a flood of bitter tears. "How young you are still!" said thelatter, in a hollow voice; "you can weep!"