AN OMINOUS INTERVIEW.
Louis had not long to wait; scarcely a moment passed before Marie de’
Medici appeared. She entered hastily; marks of violent agitation were on
her countenance; her brows were knit; her eyes flashed. She was in the
prime of middle life, but grown stout and unwieldy; her delicate
complexion had become red and coarse, and her voice was loud and harsh;
but her height, and the long habit of almost absolute command, gave her
still an imposing presence. Louis involuntarily shuddered at her
approach; he had been long accustomed to tremble at her frown. His first
impulse was to fly by the same door through which Mademoiselle de
Hautefort had vanished. He rose, however, bowed low before her, and
offered her a seat.
“My son,” she cried in a husky voice, walking straight up to him, “I
have come to request you instantly to banish Richelieu. If you do not, I
shall return to Florence. The insolence of that villain whom I have made
your minister is intolerable. He has disobeyed my express commands!”
“What has Richelieu done, madame?”
“Is it not enough that I, your mother, who have governed France almost
from your birth, should declare to you my pleasure? Would you prefer a
lackey to your own mother?”[21] “Let it suffice that Richelieu has
offended me past forgiveness. Sit down, my son”--and she seized on the
terrified Louis, and almost forced him into a chair beside the
table--“here are my tablets; write instantly an order that within
twenty-four hours Richelieu leaves France forever.”
Louis took the tablets, but his trembling hands could not hold them. The
jewelled leaves of ivory, set in gold, fell on the ground with a crash.
There was a pause.
“What! Louis, you hesitate to obey me?” and the Queen’s fierce eyes
darted a look of fury at the King, whose slender figure positively
seemed to shrink as she laid her hand upon him.
“My mother,” he said, in a faltering voice, “you have told me nothing. A
great minister like Richelieu cannot be dismissed on the instant.”
“Yes, he can, if there be another to replace him, a better than he; one
who knows the respect due to the Queen-dowager of France, the widow of
Henry the Great, your mother, and still Regent of the kingdom.”
“But, Madame, what has Richelieu done to offend you?” and the King had
the courage to meet his mother’s glance unmoved.
“He has dared to disobey my positive orders. I had appointed the Duc
d’Epernon governor of Poitiers. He has placed there a creature of his
own. After this insult, you will understand, I can never again sit at
the Council with Richelieu.”
“Well, Madame, and suppose you do not!” rejoined the King, whose nervous
dread was rapidly giving place to resentment at his mother’s arrogance.
“I shall still be King of France, and Richelieu will be my minister.”
“Undutiful boy!” exclaimed Marie de’ Medici, and she raised her hand as
if to strike him; “You forget yourself.”
“No, Madame, it is you who forget that, if I am your son, I am also your
king. You may strike me, if you please, Madame,” added he in a lower
voice, “but I will not sign the exile of Richelieu.” The countenance of
Louis darkened with growing passion; the threatening aspect of his
mother standing before him with upraised arm, aroused him to unwonted
courage. “I will not exile Richelieu. I leave him to settle his
differences with you and your favourites--their claims do not concern
me. I will have no more _Concini_, madame; I would rather abdicate at
once.” And turning on his heel, without another word, or even saluting
the Queen, he left the room.
A sudden dizziness, an overwhelming conviction of something new and
strange in her position, sobered the passion of Marie de’ Medici the
instant the King was gone. She stood motionless where he had left her,
save that her uplifted arm dropped to her side. A mournful look--the
shadow of coming misfortunes--clouded her face. Silent and dejected, the
tears streaming from her eyes, she withdrew. When she had reached her
own apartments, she commanded that no one should be admitted.
That same day the King left Compiègne, taking with him only two
attendants. No one knew whither he was gone.
Early the next morning the Queen-mother’s ladies were startled by the
appearance of Cardinal Richelieu in her anteroom. It was long since he,
who was wont never to be absent from her service, had been seen there.
“Tell her Majesty,” he said to the Duchesse d’Epernon, “that I am come
on urgent state business, by the express command of the King, and that I
must speak with her in person.”
After some delay he was admitted into the Queen’s apartment.
Marie de’ Medici wears a long robe of black velvet, and a widow’s coif
upon her head. She looks old, worn, and anxious; she is neither
imperious nor angry. She begins to realise that power is passing from
her; she is intensely curious, not to say alarmed, as to what the
intelligence may be, of which the Cardinal is the bearer; and she now
secretly repents that she has quarrelled with him.
The Cardinal wears a close-fitting black _soutane_ bound with purple,
and a _beretta_ of the same colour on his head; he has nothing of the
churchman in his appearance. He is still a young man, upright in figure
and easy in manner, attractions which he owes to his early military
training. He has piercing black eyes, light brown hair that lies
straight upon his forehead, and a pale, thoughtful face, already lined
with wrinkles. His closely shutting mouth, thin-lipped and stern,
expresses inflexible determination. His manners are composed, almost
gentle; his voice melodious. He has not yet become the imperious
autocrat--the merciless butcher of the chivalrous nobles of France--of
after years. Chalais and Montmorenci have not yet fallen by his order on
the scaffold; and Cinq-Mars is a precocious lad, living with his mother
on the banks of the Loire. Without vanity he knows that he has genius to
conceive great deeds, and industry to elaborate every necessary detail.
Already the consciousness of growing greatness forces itself upon him.
The incompetence of the King, his indolent acquiescence in all his
measures, the jealousy between Louis and his mother whom the King has
hitherto not dared to check, his alienation from the young Queen his
wife, open before Richelieu’s mental vision a vista of almost boundless
power. Now he stands in the presence of his early benefactress, the
sovereign to whom he would have been faithful, had such fidelity been
consistent with the welfare of France and his own ambition. Spite of
habitual self-control, he is greatly moved at her forlorn condition. He
still hopes that he may save her from an overwhelming calamity.
Richelieu advances to where the Queen-mother is seated beside the
hearth, and after making a profound obeisance waits for her to address
him.
“You bear to me a message from my son. What can he have to say to me,
that he cannot speak himself?” Marie asks with dignity.
“Nothing, my most gracious mistress,” replies Richelieu, almost
submissively, “if your Majesty will deign to be guided by my counsel.”
“You call me your mistress, Cardinal,” says Marie bitterly; “but you
have left my service, and you disobey my positive commands. How can I
treat with such a hypocrite?”
“Madame, I beseech you, let not personal animosity towards myself--be I
innocent or guilty of what you accuse me--blind you to the danger in
which you now stand.”
“Danger! What do you mean? To what danger do you allude?”
“The danger that threatens you, Madame, in the displeasure of his
Majesty.”
“Ah, I perceive. My son strikes through you, my creature, that he may
crush me. I congratulate your eminence on your triumphant ingratitude.”
“Madame,” and the Cardinal wrings his hands and advances a step or two
nearer the Queen with an air of earnest entreaty, “hear me, I implore
you. Let us not lose precious time in mere words. I have come here in a
twofold character, as your friend and as minister of state. Permit me
first to address you as the former, Madame, your counsellor and your
sincere friend.” As he speaks his voice trembles, his manner is almost
humble as he seeks to allay the stormy passions that gather on the brow
of his royal mistress.
Marie de’ Medici is so much taken aback at this unusual display of
feeling in the stern Cardinal, that though her eyes glisten with anger
she makes no reply.
“Your Majesty, in honour and greatness,” continued Richelieu, “stands
next to the throne. Be satisfied, Madame, with the second place in the
kingdom. Your own age, Madame,”--Marie starts--“and the increased
experience of his Majesty, justify you in committing the reins of
government into his hands and into the hands of such ministers as he may
appoint.”
“Yourself, for instance,” breaks in Marie bitterly.
“Madame, I implore you, by the respect and the affection I bear you, not
to interrupt me. Withdraw, graciously and cheerfully, from all
interference with state affairs. Resign your place at the council.
Dismiss those nobles who, by their rebellious conduct, excite his
Majesty’s displeasure, specially the Duc d’Epernon.”
“Never!” exclaims Marie passionately. “I will not resign my place at the
council, nor will I sacrifice my supporter, the Duc d’Epernon. My son is
incapable of governing. He has ever been the tool of those about him. I
am his best substitute. This is a miserable plot by which you basely
seek to disgrace me by my own act--to rise by my fall.”
“Oh, Madame, to whom I owe so much,” pleads Richelieu, “whom I would now
serve while I can, hear me. I speak from my heart--I speak for the last
time. Be warned, I beseech you.” His hands are still clasped, his voice
falters, tears flow down his cheeks. Any one less obstinately blind than
the Queen would have been warned by the evidence of such unusual emotion
in a man ordinarily so cold and impassible as the Cardinal.
“Ha, ha, you are an admirable actor, Cardinal!” cries she. “But what if
I refuse to listen to a traitor? Who named me[22] ‘Mother of the
kingdom?’ Who vowed to me ‘that the purple with which I invested him
would be a solemn pledge of his willingness to shed his blood in my
service’? I know you, Armand de Plessis.”
For some minutes neither utters a word. When he addresses the Queen
again, Richelieu has mastered his feelings and speaks with calmness, but
his looks express the profoundest pity.
“I am no traitor, Madame, but the unwilling bearer of a decision that
will infinitely pain you, if you drive me to announce it. But if you
will condescend to listen to my counsel, to conciliate your son the
King, and disarm his wrath by immediate submission, then that terrible
decision never need be revealed. That you should be wise in time,
Madame,” adds he, in a voice full of gentleness, contemplating her with
the utmost compassion, “is my earnest prayer.”
Before he had done speaking the Cardinal sinks on his knees at her feet,
and draws forth from his breast a paper, to which are appended the royal
seals. Marie, whose usual insolence and noisy wrath have given place to
secret fear, still clings to the hope that she is too powerful to be
dispensed with, and that by a dauntless bearing she will intimidate
Richelieu, and, through him, the King, replies coldly--
“I have given you my answer. Now you can withdraw.” Then, rising from
her chair, she turns her back upon Richelieu--who still kneels before
her--and moves forward to leave the room.
“Stay, Madame!” cries Richelieu, rising, stung to the quick by her
arrogant rejection of his sympathy, and ashamed of the unwonted emotion
the forlorn position of his royal mistress had called forth; “stay and
listen to this decree, in the name of his Majesty.” And he unfolds the
parchment. “Once more, Madame, understand. Unless you will on the
instant resign your seat in the Council of State and dismiss the Duc
d’Epernon--a man suspected of a hideous crime, which you at least,
Madame, ought never to have forgotten--from his attendance on your
person, I am commanded by his Majesty----”
“Dismiss D’Epernon!--my only trusty servant, D’Epernon, who has defended
me from your treachery!”--breaks in Marie passionately, her voice rising
higher at every word--“Never--never! Let me die first! How dare you,
Cardinal Richelieu, come hither to affront the mother of your King? I
will NOT dismiss the Duc d’Epernon. It is you who shall be
dismissed!”--and she glares upon him with fury--“despised, dishonoured,
blasted, as you deserve.”
“If you refuse, Madame--and let me implore you to reflect well before
you do,” continues the Cardinal, quite unmoved by her reproaches--“I
have his Majesty’s commands to banish you from Court, and to imprison
you during his pleasure within this palace.”[23]
No sooner has he uttered these words than the Queen, who stands facing
the Cardinal, staggers backwards. A deadly pallor overspreads her face.
She totters, tries to grasp the arm of the chair from which she has
risen, and before Richelieu, who watches her agony with eyes rather of
sorrow than of anger, can catch her, she has fallen fainting on the
floor.
At his cries the Queen’s ladies appear. He leaves her to their care, and
proceeds to the apartments of Anne of Austria, whom, through Madame de
Chevreuse, he informs of what has occurred.
Anne of Austria, on hearing that the Queen-mother was disgraced, saw in
her unfortunate mother-in-law, who had never ceased to persecute her and
to arouse the jealousy of the King, only an unhappy parent. She flew to
her, threw herself into her arms, and readily promised to employ all the
influence she possessed to mitigate the royal wrath.