Kitabı oku: «Old Court Life in France, Volume II (of 2)», sayfa 6

CHAPTER X.
MIDNIGHT VISITORS

THE Queen could no longer appear in the streets without insult. The mob laughed in her face, and called her Madame Anne. They saluted Mazarin with howls, as her bon ami; some said amant. The words sound much alike when shouted by a mob, and are not indeed always different in point of fact. Gondi, in the parliament, uttered thrilling words about la belle France going to perdition between a Spanish regent and an Italian minister. No president was found to rebuke him. Indeed when he demanded that the law respecting aliens holding office of state, passed against Concini (Maréchal d'Ancre) in the regency of Marie de' Medici, should be amended to suit the present crisis, his words were received with such a fury of applause that the roof was very nearly brought down about his head. Yet if any single member of that noisy parliament had been asked what national misfortune he dreaded, what unpunished crime, what neglect, or what personal hardship he desired to redress, he would have found it difficult to answer. It was the fashion for every one to be discontented and to rebel. If citizens, to call themselves Frondeurs; if nobles, Importants. To object to everything; to harass the Government, refuse to pay taxes and subsidies; and to threaten to call in Spain on the most trivial pretences. And this because two duchesses had quarrelled, and certain hungry princes had lost the sinecures they craved for. Thus began the civil war of the Fronde, which lasted during the whole of the minority of Louis XIV.

Mazarin, when he heard that the parliament, lashed on by Gondi, the Coadjutor, seriously proposed to revive an obsolete law, which would connect his name with that of Concini, who had been shot down like a dog within the precincts of the Louvre, was alarmed. Not being a soldier like Richelieu, nor a patriot like De Retz, but only a soft-spoken Italian, with a slight frame, – no unnecessary bones or muscles, – long thin hands, and a sallow, womanish face, he applied to the all-powerful Condé for help. Condé effected a compromise with Gondi. So no more was heard of the obnoxious law at that particular time. But the parliament had, like a young lion, tasted blood in the way of power, liked it, and was not to be appeased. Spite of Condé, seditious edicts and offensive measures, all suggested by the Coadjutor, continued to be passed; and Mazarin shut himself up within four walls, fearing for his very life.

It is night and very dark; only a few ill-trimmed lamps placed on pulleys across the street, and under the signs of the various shops, at long distances from each other, cast a dim and flickering light. The unpaved streets are muddy and full of holes; a mob is collecting in the darkness between the Louvre, the Church of Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois, and the garden of the Palais Royal. It thickens every moment; group after group of men and some women emerge from the gloom. They pour down from Saint-Jacques and from Saint-Antoine, from the quays and the heart of the old Roman city about Notre-Dame and the Hôtel Dieu. They gather from all quarters. Before an hour has passed, a dense multitude, many thousands in number, are packed together. Those who stand under the dim lamps have a dogged, resolute look. All eyes are directed towards the Palais Royal, separated by a high wall from the street. The huge building rises up a gaunt mass before them. Not a light is to be seen at any of the windows; not a sentinel is visible, they are withdrawn within the postern. Threats and oaths and ribald jests pass from mouth to mouth loudly and without fear; savage cries and shouts of laughter ring along the silent streets. Anne of Austria, with her two sons, is within the palace. She is quite aware what is passing without. From an upper window, in a darkened room, she watches the citizens pressing closer and closer to the gates. From amid the tumult, groans and imprecations are now audible; the words reach her ears. "Where is the little King?" cries one. "We will see him!" shrieks another. "You fool! he is not here," answers a third, a smith, as black as his forge, from the slums of Saint-Antoine. "Why not? where should he be but at home?" another voice asks. "We will force the gates, and find him!" roars a stumpy man, with stentorian voice, shaking his fist, and struggling to the front. "Find him! where will you find him? he is in Spain," shouts one at his elbow. "Curses on the Italian priest!" howl many voices in horrible chorus. This cry excites the entire multitude to frenzy; it is taken up from all parts, and a volley of groans and curses for a time drowns all else. The crowd surges to and fro, like breakers on a rocky shore. Each moment it approaches nearer the palace. A tall spare man, an emissary of De Retz, who all along has taken an active part in inciting the people, seizes on the moment as propitious, and calls out in a loud voice, "Death to Mazarin!" Thousands re-echo, "Death to Mazarin!" With hideous gesticulations they throw their arms aloft; caps fly into the air; innumerable hands are clapped in savage applause. "Death to Mazarin!" passes down the lines of the long streets. It is heard at the crossways, and at every side alley and opening, dying away in the far distance into indistinct murmurs.

The Queen hears this death-cry standing at the darkened window, and trembles. Again the maddened people shout, "Death to Mazarin!" and again, "Death!" is echoed from afar. "He has spirited away our little Louis into Spain to kill him!" "He has murdered the Regent!" yells out the tall, spare man, forcing his way hither and thither. "Death to the traitor!" "To the gallows with all foreigners!" is the murderous response of the mob.

Fresh cries now arise, led by the tall, spare man with the powerful voice. "Vive Gondi, our noble bishop! We will have Gondi! the Queen shall choose Gondi, our Coadjutor!" "Come forth and answer to us, Dame Anne!" shrieks a woman's shrill voice, very near the palace, during a momentary lull. "Come forth, or we will break in and shoot you! Where is our Roi des Halles? Where is Beaufort? Come out to us, and speak like an honest woman! Let Beaufort free! – Give up your lover, Mazarin!" bellows a fat beldame from the Halles. "Give up the bon ami, and we will roast him at the Grève, and dance round the bonfire!" and hideous peals of laughter, yells, hisses, and imprecations rise out of the night. Then, growing impatient, the whole mass, with one accord, vociferate, "We will see the King! where is the King? Show us the little King, or we will set fire to the palace. The King! the King!"

A tremendous rush is made from behind; those in front fall down, screaming that they are killed; others trample upon their bodies. The gates are forced; the foremost find themselves within the court. Pushed on by the press from behind, they now stand under the colonnade, then beneath the portico, on past the Queen's Guards, who, commanded only to defend, not to attack, stand back, drawn swords in their hands, darkly eying the rioters. The lofty portals of the Palais Royal are wide open; there are lights within the ample hall. Beyond is the grand staircase, with gilded banisters. Finding no obstacle, the rioters mount the stairs. On the first landing a woman stands, immovable. It is the Queen. She is alone. She is pale, but betrays no fear. The rude intruders draw back, amazed at the vision of majesty and loveliness before them. Anne of Austria beckons to them to advance. She places her finger on her lip, commanding silence. The rabble, before so noisy, are instantly hushed as by a charm. Signing to the foremost to follow her, she leads the way, through sumptuous chambers and vaulted galleries, to the King's sleeping-room. She approaches his little bed of gilt lattice-work, and gently drawing aside the lace curtains, displays Louis XIV. in the sound and tranquil sleep of childhood. The citizen Frondeurs are satisfied. The mothers bless his baby face and rich auburn curls. The men contemplate the Queen with awe. She stands beside the bed, surveying them with royal unconcern. When they have stared their full at the little King and at her, those who have already entered turn back. No others dare approach. Ashamed and silent, they retreat across the halls and through sculptured galleries in a very different spirit to that in which they came.

Anne of Austria grows more and more devout. She spends long hours in her oratory, prostrate before an image of the Magdalene. She often retires to the Val de Grâce, where she has built a splendid church, as a thank-offering for the birth of her sons. For days together she wears closely fitting serge dresses, buttoned up to the throat, like a lay nun. She fasts, and chastises herself with a severity proper alike to a sinner or a saint.

Yet there are whispers, and confidences, and anecdotes touching her intimacy with Cardinal Mazarin, not quite in accordance with such excessive austerity.

It is a liaison too public for intrigue, uneasy enough for marriage!

The constant reproaches she addresses to her ladies in waiting for their lack of devotion, tends rather to enrage than to edify these pretty sinners. Mademoiselle de Pons, with a smile and a toss of the head, draws Mademoiselle de la Mothe into a corner, and repeats some hard words the Queen has spoken to her. Mademoiselle de Hautefort, of a quick, impulsive temperament, is continually either in a passion or in tears. The Duchesse de Chevreuse is usually grave, and more silent than she ever was before. The Duchesse de Noailles, lady of the bedchamber, her attendance at the Palais Royal over, orders her coach, and, in company with the Duchesse de Sennécy, returns home to her hôtel in the Place Royale, in a very bad humour. Here a party of ladies, "her nineteen bosom friends," are awaiting her arrival. They are all eager for gossip, and all pledged to a vow of eternal secrecy, a promise they will keep as long as the retailer of the scandal is speaking. Coffee has been handed round in delicate cups of Oriental porcelain. Bonbons and cakes, served on trays of gold repoussé, have been discussed; the ladies lean back in their chairs, to listen with greater ease. Then the Duchesse de Noailles, addressing herself particularly to Madame de Sennécy and a certain Comtesse de Lude, remarkable for a thin pinched face and a very red nose, begins.

CHAPTER XI.
THE TWO DUCHESSES

"MESDAMES, you have asked me to give you some details of what is passing in the palace. I will do so; but do not imagine, for Heaven's sake, that I wish to spread evil reports or to act la scandaleuse. Far from it; as long as I remain in the Queen's service, whatever her conduct may be towards me, I shall bear it. I shall not dream of revenge."

"Oh, dear, no, not in the least," the ladies murmur; "nothing can be more proper."

"But, really, when I see such an affectation of devotion, that serge gown, and no ornaments except on state receptions; such severity, too, towards every one who dresses like the rest of the world – she told me the other day my dress was too décolleté– can you conceive? – it is more than human nature can bear. It sets me remembering certain stories well known to everybody within the palace, when her Majesty wore low dresses too, and was not quite such a dévote as she pretends to be now."

The assembled ladies assent silently. The Duchesse de Noailles, who is excited and has spoken quickly, having stopped to take breath, the Duchesse de Sennécy seizes the moment to break in —

"You may do as you please, dear Duchess, but for my part I am indignant with her Majesty. She has no gratitude. I might have ruined her years ago, when my cousin, Louise de Lafayette, could turn the late King Louis XIII. round her finger; one word from her, and the Queen would have been exiled! I am indignant, I repeat – I am actually not allowed to choose my own confessor! Her Majesty insists that I should select a Jesuit – a protégé of Mazarin – a man, as I believe, not to be trusted. And the reason she gives is, 'that it is for the good of my soul!' I can take care of my own soul, I suppose. I always confess twice a year. What is it to her Majesty if I do not confess at all!"

All the ladies murmur acquiescence, and the red-nosed Countess, Madame de Lude, says, "It is an impertinence."

"Every one must see," continues Madame de Sennécy, speaking rapidly, for she observes that Madame de Noailles is eager to proceed, "the power Mazarin exercises over her. In her youth Richelieu loved her: now it is Mazarin. She is born to ensnare the Sacred College – perhaps his Holiness himself, if he crossed the Apennines – "

"Oh, Duchess," exclaim several voices, "how shocking!" and some ladies hold up their fans before their faces.

"Gently, madame," says Madame de Noailles, interrupting; "I detest calumny. I only speak of the past – that cannot hurt her Majesty."

"I speak of the present," cries Madame de Sennécy with irritation. "There is quite enough to talk about in the present, without recalling the past. The partiality of the Queen positively injures Mazarin. I believe that this is the principal reason of the great animosity against him among the citizens of Paris, who call themselves Frondeurs."

"But, my très chère," answers Madame de Noailles, – the Mrs. Candour of that day, who, although quite as spiteful as her friend, had more discretion, and dreaded the mischief that might arise by-and-by if the tongues of all the assembled ladies were let loose, – "but, my très chère, it is believed that her Majesty is privately married to Mazarin; the Cardinal has never taken priest's orders; the Queen is a widow. Madame de Motteville is of this opinion; enfin, I believe it myself: else that sneaking, honey-mouthed Italian, whom we all knew as 'Signor Giulio,' secretary to the great Richelieu, would never dare to be so unkind to the King and the little Duke, or so arrogant to her Majesty."

"Ciel! how contemptuously Mazarin answers the Queen sometimes – how meekly she bears it!" exclaims Madame de Sennécy. "Beringhen tells me that he will not allow the King and his brother proper body-linen, and that the sheets of their beds are in holes."

"Ah, Dieu! what a shame," cry the ladies – "the King of France!" – and the red-nosed Countess declares, "That the parliament ought to know it."

This idea alarms Madame de Noailles extremely. She does not want to lose her place at Court, yet it is sweet to her to hear the Queen abused, who had so sternly forbade her to appear again before her in such low dresses.

"Well, Mazarin is bad enough, mesdames," cries Madame de Sennécy (not to be quelled by the frowns and signs of her senior); "he is bad enough – the blood-sucker – as that dear handsome Duc de Beaufort calls him; but, for my part, I can tolerate him much better than those nieces of his, who come up one by one from Rome – Mancini and Martinozzi, or whatever he calls them – with their bold Italian looks and big eyes, devouring every man they see. How intolerable they are!"

"They are quite improper," puts in the red-nosed Countess, "and very ugly."

Some of the ladies say they do not think so. Others declare that they are sallow, bony, and ill shaped. Madame de Sennécy ends the discussion by declaring that one is deformed, and that the other limps; a statement utterly untrue, but which is received as gospel. Madame de Noailles declares that she is sure the Queen would never allow such creatures to be about the Court if she could help it. It is most dangerous for his Sacred Majesty to be educated with them. He might become attached to Olympia, for instance, the eldest unmarried one.

A shudder passes through the assembled ladies at such a monstrous supposition. The red-nosed Countess opines that the princes of the blood should have such hussies imprisoned in the Bastille, and fed on bread and water.

"Ah, ladies," cries Madame de Noailles, in her shrill voice, "how little you know of the intrigues of a Court! Mazarin fully intends to marry his saucy niece, Olympia, to the King. The Queen cannot help it; she is in his power; she is his wife."

"It is to be hoped so," mutters Madame de Sennécy; and the red-nosed Countess shakes her head, and by this significant gesture endorses her doubt of the fact.

"I wish you would listen to me," says the Duchesse de Noailles peevishly. "I was alluding to some curious old stories connected with the Queen; but perhaps, ladies, you know them already," and she looks inquiringly around.

"Very imperfectly," lisps a thin demoiselle of uncertain age, who had been disappointed of the situation of maid of honour. And the red-nosed Countess settles herself in her chair, drinks another cup of coffee, and begs Madame de Noailles to proceed. Madame de Sennécy also joins in the same request. Another lady, a hanger-on of the Duchesse de Noailles, who had not yet spoken, says, "It is well known that Madame la Duchesse relates everything in such a piquante manner." Thus encouraged, the Duchess begins: —

"I desire to speak of the past. The past cannot injure her Majesty. I am without prejudice, and incapable of malice." The Duchesse de Sennécy laughs behind her fan. "I have listened to all Madame de Sennécy has said with deep concern;" and she crosses her hands, and looks up at the ceiling with mock solemnity. "I am lady of the bedchamber to the Queen – a position involving certain duties, certain reserves. God forbid I should forget them!" Madame de Sennécy stares at her with amazement, wondering what is coming next. "Her Majesty was so cautious formerly – so cautious, I say – nothing more – it is not likely she would commit herself now. I do not therefore agree with Madame de Sennécy in her opinion that she is privately married to Mazarin."

"Then she ought to be," the red-nosed Countess says sententiously.

"Remember she had Madame de Chevreuse to help her formerly," thrusts in Madame de Sennécy sharply.

"With your permission, ladies, I will begin my narrative. But if you interrupt me, I cannot do so." and Madame de Noailles draws herself up with an offended air. "A thousand pardons!" every one exclaims. Not a sound is heard. The Duchess, somewhat pacified, surveys her audience. "I presume, ladies, we all adore the miracle wrought in the person of his present Majesty for the continuance of the royal line; I say, in the person of our present Majesty, Louis XIV., a miracle which was brought about by the intercession of that saint, your cousin, Mademoiselle Louise de Lafayette;" she turns towards Madame de Sennécy, who bows. "It was Mademoiselle de Lafayette who persuaded the King to visit the Queen at the Louvre. A miracle – eh, my dear friends?" and a malicious smile plays about her mouth, and she casts up her eyes and pauses; "a wonderful miracle after twenty-two years of sterility, and the King, too, almost in his grave!"

"Quite so," replies the Duchesse de Sennécy; "incredible!" All the ladies laugh. The red-nosed Countess declares she never had believed it; which was exactly what Madame de Noailles intended, though she would not have said so for the world!

"Well, after this truly miraculous event, and when their Majesties were as much alienated as ever – for the Queen never forgave the insult the King put upon her at the Val de Grâce, in summoning her before the council, and making the Chancellor search her papers – their Majesties being, I repeat, as much alienated as ever, the Beau Buckingham came to Court. ² But, mesdames, this is a long story; you will be fatigued."

"No, no – not in the least," answer all the ladies, speaking at once. "Go on, Duchess, pray go on; tell us about the Beau Buckingham. Did he not let pearls fall from his dress, and when they were picked up refuse to take them back?" asks the Duchesse de Sennécy.

"Exactly," replies Madame de Noailles. "Buckingham was a grand seigneur."

"Pray go on, madame."

"Well, mesdames, an embassy came from Charles I. of England – poor man, he had his head cut off afterward – how perfidious those English are! – to ask the hand of our Princess Henrietta Maria – daughter of Marie de' Medici and Henry IV. – in marriage. The Beau Buckingham was the ambassador chosen, and such a one was never seen before; so magnificent, so handsome, so liberal. His dress, his manners, his cortége, all were perfect. He seemed like a prince out of a fairy tale, just arrived from the moon, who spoke nothing but diamonds and rubies, and at whose feet flowers sprung up. All the ladies lost their hearts to him, the husbands shut themselves up in a rage, and the lovers hanged themselves in sheer despair!

"He soon saw how matters stood with the poor Queen. She dared scarcely open her mouth, and looked so terrified in the presence of her husband and Cardinal Richelieu, that what with her beauty and her evident sufferings, she might have touched a heart of stone. Now the Beau Buckingham was far from having a heart of stone where the ladies were concerned. So, le voilà amoureux, the Beau Buckingham! Indeed, from the first moment he came to Court he saw only the Queen. To her all his looks, all his attentions, were directed, – and such looks, such devotion! Bon Dieu, how well I remember him in a justaucorps of white satin embroidered with gold, leaning against a pillar gazing at the Queen, who evidently was aware of his glances. His long beautiful hair streamed over his shoulders in rich chestnut curls, his noble face beamed with expression; in one hand was a cavalier's hat covered with snowy plumes, the other was placed on his heart.

"The Queen was sensible to his homage. Poor Queen! she really was very ill used; it must have been delightful to be loved at last. Indeed, it was quite evident to me, as well as to the whole Court, that Buckingham's feeling was returned. Sometimes she gazed also, nor did her looks want fire. But, mesdames, I hope you do not misunderstand me," and the Duchess glanced deprecatingly round the circle; "I assure you I am not censorious; I am only relating facts, undoubted facts, which happened long ago – in order to convince you all that Madame de Sennécy is mistaken, and that even when young her Majesty was eminently cautious. She is so still. Believe me, she is not married to Mazarin."

"Pray proceed, dear Duchess," cries Madame de Sennécy; "never mind Mazarin; your story is most interesting."

"We want to hear the dénouement," say all the ladies, and the red-nosed Countess opines that "it is easy to understand what that will be."

"Her Majesty used to delight in dancing. Now she often danced with Buckingham. This was only etiquette, as he represented Charles I. of England at the Court of France. Her Majesty was always very cautious, I assure you, very cautious. Buckingham did all he could to retard the negotiation of marriage, and Richelieu, who knew the Queen well and had watched her closely, having, I suppose, discovered her secret, did everything, on the contrary, to hasten his departure.

"There was a story about some diamonds – an aigrette, I believe. I never quite understood it, ladies, but of course Madame de Chevreuse did – some diamonds that the King had given to the Queen, and which she gave to Buckingham, who was imprudent enough to wear them in public. This nearly caused her ruin, for she was surrounded by enemies and spies. The Cardinal got wind of it, and informed the King, and his Majesty called on the Queen to wear these diamonds on a certain day, and but for the exertions of certain musketeers of the Queen's Guard, by name Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, who journeyed night and day to fetch them from England – at least, so goes the tale – Anne of Austria would have been imprisoned, or perhaps beheaded, à la mode Anglaise, particularly as the Cardinal preferred that mode of execution. You remember that charming Monsieur le Grand, who had his head cut off?" says Madame de Noailles, appealing to the red-nosed Countess.

"Ah! I should think so, the husband of Marion de l'Orme, the Marquis de Cinq-Mars, a sad profligate and coxcomb, who richly deserved his fate."

"At last Buckingham was to go," continues the Duchess; "he could spin out his time no longer. All the Court accompanied him to Amiens. Madame de Chevreuse was with the Queen, who did all she could to conceal her grief, for, believe me, she is very cautious. Ah! her Majesty knows what it is to be in love though, spite of caution and serge gown, and her petit air dévot. She ought to be more charitable, and let her ladies do as they please, eh, mesdames?" and the Duchess looks round, and sees every eye fixed eagerly upon her; the red-nosed Countess, with a visible sneer on her face, and Madame de Sennécy, full of gratified spite, smiling sarcastically. "Madame de Chevreuse did, ladies, hint to me, that the long evening spent at Amiens was not passed – hum! – well, not passed all in public. For a single moment her Majesty did, extraordinary to say, forget her usual caution, and you know, ladies, a moment may do much."

All the ladies laugh behind their fans, and the red-nosed Countess gives it as her decided opinion "that the Queen is not married to Mazarin," for which the Duchesse de Sennécy warmly applauds her excellent judgment, and adds, "she had always said so."

"There was a fête at Amiens," continues Madame de Noailles, her eyes sparkling with malice, "a shady garden, and a moon not too bright – a lover's moon, we will say – revealing much, not all. It is certain that by the management of Madame de Chevreuse, the Queen and Buckingham had a charming little àpart during the fête, in a grove at the end of the gardens, near the city walls. There was a cry, and Putange, who was in waiting, but – instructed by Madame de Chevreuse – standing apart, though within call, hearing the Queen's voice, rushed forward and found her nearly fainting, and Buckingham on his knees before her."

"Bagatelle!" breaks in Madame de Sennécy, "what a romantic story!"

"Certain it is, Buckingham sailed from France that same night. Madame de Chevreuse had too much on her own hands (en fait d'amour) to know more than what Putange told her. Buckingham sailed, the Queen returned ill to Paris, and was nursed by the Duchesse de Chevreuse. Some say that Buckingham returned again privately. At all events, the Queen, as long as Richelieu and Louis XIII. lived, led a miserable life. Mesdames," and the Duchesse de Noailles gives a triumphant glance round the circle, "I have proved, I think, that her Majesty is seldom incautious," and the Duchess smiles a bitter smile, and again looks around for approval and acquiescence.

Just as the ladies had all risen with great animation to give their various opinions and to thank the Duchess, the rattle of a heavy coach is heard below. In a few moments the door is flung open, and Madame la Duchesse de Chevreuse is announced.