MATRIMONIAL PROJECTS.
1653-1656
Gayeties in Paris.--Poverty of the court.--Death of the Archbishop of
Paris.--Murmurings.--Escape of Cardinal de Retz.--Manoeuvres of Anne
of Austria.--Olympia de Mancini.--Henrietta of England.--Embarrassment
of Henrietta.--Rudeness of Louis XIV.--Royal quarrel.--Independence
of the king.--Order of the king.--Audacity of Louis.--Submission of
Parliament.--A tournament.--Christina of Sweden.--Reception of
Christina.--Her eccentric character.--Astonishment of Anne of
Austria.--Varied information of Christina.--Rudeness of the
ex-queen.--She visits Mademoiselle.--Christina returns to
Sweden.--Outbreak of Christina.--Letter to Cardinal Mazarin.--Count
de Soissons.--Marriage of Olympia Mancini.--Mademoiselle
d'Argencourt.--The Pope's choir.--Mary Mancini.--Description of Mary
Mancini.--Mary Mancini becomes a member of the court.--Her influence
over Louis.--Ambitious views of Mazarin.--Projects for the marriage
of Louis XIV.--Diplomatic efforts with Spain.--The Princess of
Orange.--Power of Mary Mancini.--The Princess Marguerite.--Anger of
the queen regent.--Decision of the cabinet.--New negotiations.--The
two courts arrange to meet at Lyons.--Fickleness of Louis.--The
royal parties meet.--The Princess Marguerite.--Sorrows of Mary.
"There is nothing so successful as success." The young king returned
to Paris from his coronation and his brief campaign a hero and a
conqueror. The courage he had displayed won universal admiration. The
excitable populace were half frenzied with enthusiasm. The city
resounded with shouts of gladness, and the streets were resplendent
with the display of gorgeous pageants.
The few nobles who still rallied around the court endeavored to
compensate by the magnificence of their equipages, the elegance of
their attire, and the splendor of their festivities, for their
diminished numbers. There were balls and tournaments, where the dress
and customs of the by-gone ages of chivalry were revived. Ladies of
illustrious birth, glittering in jewels, and proud in conscious
beauty, contributed to the gorgeousness of the spectacle. Still, in
the midst of all this splendor, the impoverished court was greatly
embarrassed by straitened circumstances.
Cardinal Mazarin, eager to retain his hold upon the king, did
everything he could to gratify the love of pleasure which his royal
master developed, and strove to multiply seductive amusements to
engross his time and thoughts.
But a few days after Cardinal de Retz had been conducted a prisoner to
Vincennes, his uncle, the Archbishop of Paris, died. The cardinal
could legally claim the succession. The metropolitan clergy, who had
been almost roused to rebellion by his arrest, were now still more
deeply moved, since he had become their archbishop. They regarded his
captivity as political martyrdom, and their murmurs were deep and
prolonged. The pope also addressed several letters to the court,
soliciting the liberation of his cardinal. The excitement daily
increased. Nearly all the pulpits more or less openly denounced his
captivity. At length a pamphlet appeared urging the clergy to close
all their churches till their archbishop should be released.
Mazarin was frightened. He sent an envoy to the captive cardinal
presenting terms of compromise. We have not space to describe the
diplomacy which ensued, but the conference was unavailing. The
cardinal was soon after removed, under an escort of dragoons, to the
fortress of Nantes. From this place he almost miraculously escaped to
his own territory of Retz, where he was regarded as sovereign, and
where he was surrounded by retainers who, in impregnable castles,
would fight to the death for their lord. These scenes took place early
in the summer of 1653.
In the mean time, the young king was amusing himself in his various
palaces with the many beautiful young ladies who embellished his
court. Like other lads of fifteen, he was in the habit of falling in
love with one and another, though the transient passion did not seem
very deeply to affect his heart. Some of these maidens were
exceedingly beautiful. In others, vivacity and intellectual brilliance
quite eclipsed the charms of the highest physical loveliness.
Anne of Austria, forgetting that the all-dominant passion of love had
led her to regret that she was the wife of the king, that she might
marry the Duke of Buckingham, did not deem it possible that her son
could stoop so low as to marry any one who was not of royal blood. She
therefore regarded without much uneasiness his desperate flirtations,
while she was scanning the courts of Europe in search of an alliance
which would add to the power and the renown of her son.
One of the nieces of Cardinal Mazarin, an Italian girl by the name of
Olympia Mancini, was among the first to whom the boy-king of fifteen
became specially attached. Olympia was very beautiful, and her
personal fascinations were rivaled by her mental brilliance, wit, and
tact. She was by nature and education a thorough coquette, amiable and
endearing to an unusual degree. She had a sister a little older than
herself, who was also extremely beautiful, who had recently become the
Duchess of Mercoeur. Etiquette required that in the balls which the
king attended every evening he should recognize the rank of the
duchess by leading her out first in the dance. After this, he devoted
himself exclusively, for the remainder of the evening, to Olympia.
It will be remembered that Henrietta, the widowed queen of Charles
II., who was daughter of Henry IV. and sister of Louis XIII., was then
residing in France. She had no pecuniary means of her own, and,
chagrined and humiliated, was a pensioner upon the bounty of the
impoverished French court. Henrietta had with her a very pretty
daughter, eleven years of age. Being the granddaughter of Henry IV.
and daughter of Charles II., she was entitled, through the purity of
her royal blood, to the highest consideration in the etiquette of the
court. But the mother and the daughter, from their poverty and their
misfortunes, were precluded from any general participation in the
festivities of the palace.
The queen, Anne of Austria, on one occasion, gave a private ball in
honor of these unfortunate guests in her own apartments. None were
invited but a few of her most intimate friends. Henrietta attended
with her daughter, who bore her mother's name. There are few
situations more painful than that of poor relatives visiting their
more prosperous friends, who in charity condescend to pay them some
little attention. The young Henrietta was a fragile and timid girl,
who keenly felt the embarrassment of her situation. As, with her face
suffused with blushes, and her eyes moistened with the conflicting
emotions of joyousness and fear, she entered the brilliant saloon of
Anne of Austria, crowded with those below her in rank, but above her
in prosperity and all worldly aggrandizement, she was received
coldly, with no marks of sympathy or attention. As the music summoned
the dancers to the floor, the king, neglecting his young and royal
cousin, advanced, according to his custom, to the Duchess of
Mercoeur, to lead her out. The queen, shocked at so gross a breach
of etiquette, and even of kindly feeling, rose from her seat, and,
advancing, withdrew the hand of the duchess from her son, and said to
him, in a low voice, "You should dance first with the English
princess." The boy-king sulkily replied, "I am not fond of little
girls." Both Henrietta and her daughter overheard this uncourteous and
cruel remark.
Henrietta, the mother, hastened to the queen, and entreated her not to
attempt to constrain the wishes of his majesty. It was an exceedingly
awkward position for all the parties. The spirit of Anne of Austria
was aroused. Resuming her maternal authority, she declared that if her
niece, the Princess of England, were to remain a spectator at the
ball, her son should do the same. Thus constrained, Louis very
ungraciously led out Henrietta upon the floor. The young princess,
tender in years, sensitive through sorrow, wounded and heart-crushed,
danced with tears streaming down her cheeks.
Upon the departure of the guests, the mother and the son had their
first serious quarrel. Anne rebuked Louis severely for his shameful
conduct. The king rebelled. Haughtily facing his mother, he said, "I
have long enough been guided by your leading-strings. I shall submit
to it no longer." It was a final declaration of independence. Though
there were tears shed on both sides, and the queen made strenuous
efforts at conciliation, she felt, and justly felt, that the control
of her son had passed from her forever. It was a crisis in the life of
the king. From that hour he seemed disposed on all occasions to assert
his manhood.
A remarkable indication of this soon occurred. It was customary, when
the king, through his ministers, issued any decrees, that they should
be registered by the Parliament, to give them full authority. Some
very oppressive decrees had been issued to raise funds for the court.
It was deemed very important that they should be registered. The king
in person attended Parliament, that the influence of his presence
might carry the measure. No one dared to oppose in the presence of the
king.
Louis had now established his summer residence at the castle of
Vincennes. Arrangements had been made for a magnificent hunt in the
forest the next day, to be attended by all the ladies and gentlemen of
the court. The king, after leaving the Parliament, returned to
Vincennes, which is about three miles from Paris. He had scarcely
arrived at the castle when he received information that, immediately
upon his leaving the Parliament, a motion had been made to reconsider
the approval of the decrees.
The king dispatched a courier ordering the Chamber to reassemble the
next morning. The pleasure-loving courtiers were dismayed by this
order, as they thought it would interfere with the hunt. But the king
assured them that business should not be allowed to interfere with his
pleasures.
At half past nine o'clock the next morning the king entered the
chamber of deputies in his hunting-dress. It consisted of a scarlet
coat, a gray beaver hat, and high military boots. He was followed by a
large retinue of the nobles of his court in a similar costume.
"In this unusual attire," writes the Marquis de Montglat, "the king
heard mass, took his place with the accustomed ceremonies, and, with
a whip in his hand, declared to the Parliament that in future it was
his will that his edicts should be registered, and not discussed. He
threatened them that, should the contrary occur, he would return and
enforce obedience."
How potent must have been the circumstances which the feudalism of
ages had created. These assembled nobles yielded without a murmur to
this insolence from a boy of eighteen. Parliament had ventured to try
its strength against Cardinal Mazarin, but did not dare to disobey its
king.
Soon after this, Louis, having learned that Turenne had gained some
important victories over the Fronde, decided to join the army to
witness the siege of the city of Conde and of St. Quilain. Both of
these places soon fell into the hands of the Royalist troops. The king
had looked on. Rapidly he returned to Paris to enjoy almost a Roman
triumph for his great achievement.
As one of the festivities of the city, the king arranged a tournament
in honor of his avowed lady-love, Olympia Mancini. She occupied a
conspicuous seat among the ladies of the court, her lovely person
decorated with a dress of exquisite taste and beauty. The king was
prominent in his attire among all the knights assembled to contest the
palm of chivalry. He was dressed in robes of brilliant scarlet. A
white scarf encircled his waist, and snow-white plumes waved
gracefully from his hat.
The scene was as gorgeous as the wealth and decorative art of the
court could create. There were retainers surrounding the high lords,
and heralds, and pages, and trumpeters, all arrayed in the most
picturesque costume. No one could be so discourteous or impolitic as
to vanquish the king. He consequently bore away all the laurels. This
magnificent tournament gave the name of "The Carousal" to the space
where it was held, between the Louvre and the Tuileries.
Early in the summer the court removed to Compiegne, to spend the
season in rural amusements there. Christina, the young queen of
Sweden, who had just abdicated the throne, and whose eccentricities
had attracted the attention of Europe, came to the frontiers of France
with an imposing retinue, and, announcing her arrival, awaited the
invitation of the king to visit his court. She was one of the most
extraordinary personages of that or any age. Good looking, "strong
minded" to the highest degree, masculine in dress and address, always
self-possessed, absolutely fearing nothing, proud, haughty, speaking
fluently eight languages, familiar with art, and a consummate
_intriguante_, she excited astonishment and a certain degree of
admiration wherever she appeared.
The curiosity of Louis was so greatly excited and so freely expressed
to see this extraordinary personage as to arouse the jealousy of
Olympia. The king perceived this. It is one of the most detestable
traits in our fallen nature that one can take pleasure in making
another unhappy. The unamiable king amused himself in torturing the
feelings of Olympia.
[Illustration: PALACE OF CHANTILLY.]
Christina proceeded at first to Paris. Here she was received with the
greatest honor. For a distance of nearly six miles from the Louvre the
streets were lined with armed citizens, who greeted her with almost
unintermitted applause. The crowd was so great that, though she
reached the suburbs of Paris at two o'clock in the afternoon, she did
not alight at the Louvre until nine o'clock in the evening. This
eccentric princess was then thirty years of age, and, though youthful
in appearance, in dress and manners she affected the Amazon. She
had great powers of pleasing, and her wit, her entire self-reliance,
and extensive information, enabled her to render herself very
attractive whenever she wished to do so.
After spending a few days in Paris, she proceeded to Compiegne to
visit the king and queen. Louis and his brother, with Mazarin and a
crowd of courtiers, rode out as far as Chantilly, a distance of nearly
twenty miles, to meet her. Christina also traveled in state,
accompanied by an imposing retinue. Here there was, at that time, one
of the largest and finest structures in France. The castle belonged to
the family of Conde. The opposite cut presents it to the reader as it
then appeared.
The king and his brother, from some freak, presented themselves to her
at first _incognito_. They were introduced by Mazarin as two of the
most nobly born gentlemen in France. Christina smiled, and promptly
replied,
"Yes, I have no doubt of it, since their birthright is a crown."
She had seen their portraits in the Louvre the day before, and
immediately recognized them.
Christina was to be honored with quite a triumphal entrance to
Compiegne. The king accordingly returned to Compiegne, and the next
day, with the whole court in carriages, rode out a few leagues to a
very splendid mansion belonging to one of the nobles at Fayet. It was
a lovely day, warm and cloudless. Anne of Austria decided to receive
her illustrious guest upon the spacious terrace. There she assembled
her numerous court, resplendent with gorgeous dresses, and blazing
with diamonds. Soon the carriage of the Swedish queen drove up, with
the loud clatter of outriders and the flourish of trumpets. Cardinal
Mazarin and the Duke de Guise assisted her to alight. As she ascended
the terrace the queen advanced to meet her.
Though Anne was at first struck with amazement at the ludicrous
appearance of the attire of Christina, she was immediately fascinated
by her conversational tact and brilliance. Some allusion having been
made to the portrait of the king in the Louvre, the queen held out her
arm to show a still more faithful miniature in the clasp of her
bracelet. Anne of Austria had a very beautiful arm, and was very proud
of it. Christina, instead of looking at the bracelet, surveyed the
undraped arm and hand with admiration.
"How beautiful! how beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Never did I see an arm
and hand of such lovely hue and such exquisite symmetry. I would
willingly have made the journey from Rome to Paris to see this arm."
The queen's heart was won, Christina knew it. The next achievement was
to win the king.
Christina was apparently as familiar with the French court, and all
the intrigues there, from the information which she had obtained, as
if she had always been a resident at that court. She immediately
turned with very marked attention to Olympia Mancini, and seemed
dazzled by her beauty. The heart of the boy-king was won in seeing his
own good taste thus highly appreciated and sanctioned. Having thus
secured the queen and the king, Christina was well aware that she had
captivated the whole court.
An elegant collation was prepared. The plump little queen ate like a
hungry dragoon. The royal cortege, enveloping the Swedish princess,
returned to the palace of Compiegne. Several days were spent at
Compiegne, during which she astonished every one by the remarkable
self-poise of her character, her varied information, and the
versatility of her talents. She conversed upon theology with the
ecclesiastics, upon politics with the ministers, upon all branches of
science and art with philosophers and the _virtuosi_, and eclipsed the
most brilliant of the courtiers in the small-talk of gallantry.
She attended the theatre with the queen. During the tragedy she wept
like a child, heartily and unaffectedly. During the farce, which was
one of those coarse and pungent compositions by the poet Scarron,
which would now be scarcely tolerated, her shouts of laughter echoed
through the theatre. She astonished the court by clapping her hands
and throwing her feet upon the top of the royal box, like a rowdy in a
smoking-room.
[Illustration: VIEW OF FONTAINEBLEAU.]
From Compiegne, Christina, by invitation, went to Fontainebleau to
visit Mademoiselle de Montpensier. The piquant pen of Mademoiselle has
described this interview. Some allowance must perhaps be made for the
vein of satire which pervaded nearly all the utterances of this
haughty princess. The dress of Christina consisted of a skirt of gray
silk, trimmed with gold and silver lace, with a bodice of gold-colored
camlet trimmed like the skirt. She wore a kerchief of Genoa point
about her neck, fastened with a knot of white ribbon. A light wig
concealed her natural hair. Her hat was profusely decorated with white
plumes. She looked, upon the whole, Mademoiselle thought, like a
handsome boy.
Mademoiselle, accustomed to the rigid propriety of the French court,
was not a little surprised to hear Christina, during the comedy,
interlard her conversation with hearty oaths, with all the volubility
of an old guardsman. She flung about her legs in the most astonishing
manner, throwing them over the arms of her chair, and placing herself
in attitudes quite unprecedented in Parisian circles.
Soon after this, this Amazonian princess returned by a circuitous
route to her Northern home. Before taking leave of her, it may be well
to remark that subsequently Christina made a second visit to France
uninvited--not only uninvited, but very unwelcome. She took possession
of the palace of Fontainebleau with her attendants, where with cold
courtesy she was tolerated. In a freak of passion, she accused her
grand equerry, M. Monaldeschi, of high treason, and actually put him
to death. So high-handed an outrage, even in those days of feudal
barbarism, excited throughout France a universal feeling of disgust
and indignation. The sentiment was so strong and general that the king
deemed it necessary to send her a letter through his minister,
Mazarin, expressive of his extreme displeasure.
Christina, much exasperated, sent a reply containing the following
expressions:
"MR. MAZARIN,--Those who acquainted you with the details regarding
Monaldeschi, my equerry, were very ill informed. Your proceeding ought
not, however, to astonish me, silly as it is. But I should never have
believed that either you or your haughty young master would have dared
to exhibit the least resentment toward me. Learn all of you, valets
and masters, little and great, that it was my pleasure to act as I
did; that I need not, and I will not account for my actions to any one
in the world, and particularly to bullies of your description. I wish
you to know, and to say to all who will hear it, that Christina cares
very little about your court, and still less about yourself; and that,
in order to revenge my wrongs, I do not require to have recourse to
your formidable power. Believe me, therefore, Jules,[F] you had better
conduct yourself in a manner to deserve my favor, which you can not
study too much to secure. God preserve you from ever risking the least
indiscreet remark upon my person. Although at the end of the earth, I
shall be informed of your plots. I have friends and courtiers in my
service who are as clever and far-sighted as yours, although they are
not so well paid.
"CHRISTINA."
[Footnote F: Jules, the Christian name of Mazarin.]
Soon after this her Swedish majesty disappeared from France, to the
great relief of the court, and was seen there no more.
Olympia Mancini had ever increasing evidence that the love of the king
for her was but a frivolous and heartless passion. The Count de
Soissons, of Savoy, a young prince who had just become the head of his
house, visited the court of Louis XIV. The marvelous beauty of
Olympia, at first glance, won his heart. He was young, handsome,
chivalric, high-born, and was just entering upon a magnificent
inheritance. Olympia had recently lost by death a mother whom she
greatly revered, and a beloved sister. She was overwhelmed with grief.
The entire want of sympathy manifested by the king shocked her. He
thought of nothing but his own personal pleasure. Regardless of the
grief of Olympia, he exhibited himself, evening after evening, in
court theatricals, emulating the agility of an opera-dancer, and
attired in spangled robes.
Wounded and irritated by such conduct, Olympia accepted the proffered
hand of the Count de Soissons, who was grandson of Charles V. The
marriage was attended with great splendor at the palace of the Louvre.
All the court was present. The king himself seemed not at all
discomposed that another should marry the beautiful maiden whom he had
professed so ardently to love. Indeed, he was already beginning to
transfer his attentions to Mademoiselle d'Argencourt, a queenly beauty
of the high family of Conti. Her figure was perfect, her manners were
courtly in the highest degree, and all who approached her were charmed
with her conversational vivacity and tact.
But Mademoiselle's affections were already engaged, and, being fully
aware that the king flitted from beauty to beauty, like the butterfly
from flower to flower, she very frankly intimated to the king that she
could not receive his attentions. Louis was heart-broken; for such
fragile hearts are easily broken and as easily repaired. He hastened
to his mother, and told her that he must leave Paris to conquer his
passion. The love-sick monarch retired to Vincennes, spent ten days
there, and returned quite cured.
The marriage of Olympia, as we have mentioned, was celebrated with
very great brilliance. The ambitious cardinal, in heart disappointed
that he had not been able to confer the hand of Olympia on the king,
was increasingly desirous of investing the members of his family with
all possible eclat. He had imported for the occasion the principal
members of the Pope's choir. These wonderful vocalists from the
Sistine Chapel astonished the French court with melody and harmony
such as had never been heard in the Louvre before.
Olympia had a younger sister, Mary, fifteen years of age. She had come
from her school in a convent to witness the marriage festivities. The
music and the impressive scene affected the artless child deeply, and
her tears flowed freely. The king, surrounded by the brilliant
beauties of his court, accidentally caught sight of this child. Though
not beautiful, there was something in her unaffected attitude, her
tears, her entire absorption in the scene, which arrested his
attention.
Mary had early developed so bold, independent, and self-reliant a
spirit as to induce her father, on his death-bed, to entreat Madame de
Mancini to compel her to take the veil. In compliance with this
injunction, Mary had been placed in a convent until she should attain
the fitting age to assume the irrevocable vows. Thus trained in
seclusion, and with no ambitious aspirations, she had acquired a
character of perfect simplicity, and her countenance bore an
expression of intelligence and sensibility far more attractive than
ordinary beauty. A contemporaneous writer says,
"Her movements, her manners, and all the bearing of her person were
the result of a nature guided by grace. Her look was tender, the
accents of her voice were enchanting. Her genius was great,
substantial, and extensive, and capable of the grandest conceptions.
She wrote both good prose and pleasing poetry; and Mary Mancini, who
shone in a courtly letter, was equally capable of producing a
political or state dispatch. She would not have been unworthy of the
throne if among us great merit had been entitled to obtain it."
The king inquired her name. Upon learning that she was a niece of the
cardinal, and a sister of Olympia, he desired that she might be
presented to him.
Mary was an enthusiast. The young king was very handsome, very
courtly, and a perfect master of all the phrases of gallantry. Mary
fell in love with him, without knowing it, at first sight. It was not
the _monarch_ which had won her, but the _man_, of exquisitely
symmetrical proportions, so princely in his bearing, so fascinating in
his address. The young schoolgirl returned to her convent with the
image of the king indelibly engraven on her heart. The few words which
passed between them interested the king, for every word she said bore
the impress of her genius. Ere long she was added to the ladies of the
queen's household.
The king, having closed his flirtation with Mademoiselle d'Argencourt,
found himself almost insensibly drawn to Mary Mancini. Though there
were many in his court more beautiful in person, there were none who
could rival her in intellect and wit. Though naturally timid, her
reserve disappeared when in his presence. Though ever approaching him
with the utmost possible deference and respect, she conversed with him
with a frankness to which he was entirely unaccustomed, and which, at
the same time, surprised and charmed him.
His vanity was gratified with the almost religious devotion with which
she unaffectedly regarded her sovereign, while at the same time she
addressed him with a bold simplicity of utterance which astounded the
courtiers and enthralled the king. He was amazed and bewildered by the
grandeur of a character such as he had never encountered before. She
reproved him for his faults, instructed him in his ignorance,
conversed with him upon themes beyond the ordinary range of his
intellect, and endeavored to enkindle within him noble impulses and a
lofty ambition. The king found himself quite unable to compete with
her strength of intellect. His weaker nature became more and more
subject to one endowed with gifts far superior to his own. In every
hour of perplexity, in every serious moment, when the better nature of
the king gained a transient ascendency, he turned from the frivolity
of the gay and thoughtless beings fluttering around him to Mary
Mancini for guidance and strength.
The ambition of Cardinal Mazarin was again excited with the hope that
he might yet place a niece upon the throne of France. But there was
no end to the intrigues of ambitious aspirants, directly or
indirectly, for the hand of the young king. Mademoiselle de
Montpensier had enormous wealth, was of high birth, and was endowed
with marvelous force of character. She had long aspired to share the
throne with her young cousin. When it was evident that this plan had
failed, the Duke of Orleans brought forward a younger daughter by a
second wife. But Mazarin succeeded in thwarting this arrangement. The
Princess Henrietta of England, whom the young king had treated so
cruelly at the ball, was urged upon him. She was lovely in person,
amiable in character, but in poverty and exile. Cromwell was in the
plenitude of his power. There was no probability that her family would
be restored to the throne. The king turned coldly from her.
Portugal was then one of the most wealthy and powerful courts of
Europe. The Queen of Portugal was exceedingly anxious to unite her
daughter with the King of France. Through her embassadors she
endeavored to effect an alliance. A portrait of the princess was sent
to Louis. It was very beautiful. The king made private inquiries. She
was very plain. This settled the question. The Portuguese princess was
thought of no more.
The King of Spain had a very beautiful daughter, Maria Theresa. The
Spanish monarchy then, perhaps, stood second to none other on the
globe. Spain and France were engaged in petty and vexatious
hostilities. A matrimonial alliance would secure friendship. The
matter was much talked of. The proud queen-mother, Anne of Austria,
was very solicitous to secure that alliance, as it would gratify her
highest ambition. Mazarin professed warmly to favor it. He probably
saw insuperable obstacles in the way, but hoped, by co-operating
cordially with the wishes of the queen, to be able finally to secure
the marriage of the king with Mary Mancini.
Maria Theresa was heiress to the throne of Spain. Should she marry
Louis XIV., it would be necessary for her to leave Spain and reside in
Paris. Thus the Queen of France would be the Queen of Spain. In fact,
Spain would be annexed to France as a sort of tributary nation, the
court being at Paris, and all the offices being at the disposal of the
Queen of France, residing there. The pride of the Spaniards revolted
from this, and still the diplomatists were conferring upon the matter.
Henrietta, the unfortunate widow of Charles I. of England, had an
elder daughter, who had married the Prince of Orange, the head of the
illustrious house of Nassau. This Princess of Orange was very
beautiful, young, in the enjoyment of vast possessions, and a widow.
She aspired to the hand, and to share the crown of the King of France.
Surrounded by great magnificence and blazing with jewels, she visited
the court of Louis XIV. Her mission was signally unsuccessful. The
king took a strong dislike to her, and repelled her advances with
marked discourtesy.
While matters were in this state, Charles II. offered his hand to Mary
Mancini. But the proud cardinal would not allow his niece to marry a
crownless and impoverished king. In the mean time, Mary Mancini, by
her increasing beauty and her mental superiority, was gaining daily
more influence over the mind of the king. With a voice of singular
melody, a brilliant eye, a figure as graceful and elastic as that of a
fairy, and with words of wonderful wisdom flowing, as it were,
instinctively from her lips, she seemed effectually and almost
unconsciously to have enthralled the king. All his previous passions
were boyish and ephemeral. But Mary was very different from any other
lady of the court. Her depth of feeling, her pensive yet cheerful
temperament, and her full-souled sympathy in all that was truly noble
in conduct and character, astonished and engrossed the susceptible
monarch.
The Duchess of Savoy had a daughter, Marguerite, whom she wished to
have become the wife of the French king. The princess was by birth of
the highest rank, being a descendant of Henry IV. The duchess sent as
an envoy a young Piedmontese count to treat secretly with the cardinal
for the marriage of the king with the Princess Marguerite. The count
was unsuccessful. It was quite evident that Mazarin was intending to
secure the marriage of the king with his niece.
The proud queen, Anne of Austria, became greatly alarmed. She mortally
offended the cardinal by declaring to him that nothing should induce
her to consent to such a degradation of her son as to permit his
marriage with the niece of the cardinal. She declared that in such an
event she herself would head an insurrection against the king, and
that the whole of France would revolt both against him and his
minister. These bitter words ever after rankled in the bosom of the
cardinal.
The queen summoned a secret assembly of the cabinet, and put to them
the question whether the marriage of her son without her consent would
be a valid one. The unanimous decision was in the negative. She then
had this decision carefully drawn up, and made effectual arrangements
to have it registered by the Parliament, should the king secretly
marry Mary Mancini.
The cardinal now found himself compelled to abandon his ambitious
hopes for his niece, and opened again negotiations with Spain for the
hand of the Infanta Maria Theresa, and with the court of Savoy for the
Princess Marguerite. The Spanish marriage would terminate the war. The
union with Savoy would invest France with new powers for its vigorous
prosecution.
Every day the attachment of the king to Mary Mancini became more
undisguised. She guided his reading; she taught him the Italian
language; she introduced to him the names of great men in the works of
literature and art, and labored heroically to elevate his tastes, and
to inspire him with the ambition of performing glorious deeds.
The queen, in her anxiety, made arrangements for the king to meet the
Princess Marguerite at Lyons, that they might be betrothed. She
greatly preferred the alliance with Spain; but as there seemed to be
insuperable objections to that, she turned her attention to Savoy. The
king continued his marked and almost exclusive attentions to Mary, and
she loved him with the full flow of her ardent affections.
The whole court was to proceed in great magnificence to Lyons, to meet
the court of Savoy. Mary was compelled to accompany the court. She
knew full well the errand upon which Louis was bound. Though her heart
was heavy, and tears dimmed her eyes, she was obliged to appear
cheerful. She had made an earnest effort to avoid the journey, but
Anne of Austria was obdurate and cruel. She assured Mary that she
could not spare her presence when she wished to impress the Princess
Marguerite with the magnificence and beauty of the French court.
The court of Savoy left Turin at the same time that the French court
left Paris. The pledge had been given that, should the king be
pleased with the appearance of Marguerite, the marriage should take
place without delay. During the journey, the heartless and fickle
king, ever charmed by novelty, was in buoyant spirits. Though he still
clung to the side of Mary, giving her a seat in his own carriage, and,
when the weather was fine, riding by her side on horseback, he
tortured her heart by the joyousness with which he spoke of the
anticipated charms of Marguerite and of his approaching marriage.
At Lyons the royal party was received with great magnificence. The
next day it was announced that the court of Savoy was approaching. The
queen-mother and her son, with two ladies in the royal coach,
preceded, and, followed by a considerable retinue, advanced to meet
their guests. The king mounted his horse and galloped forward to get a
sight of Marguerite without being known by her. She was riding in an
open barouche. He soon returned in great glee, and, springing from the
saddle, re-entered the carriage, and informed his mother that the
Princess Marguerite was very beautiful. Scarcely had he said this ere
the two royal coaches met. Both parties alighted. The princess was
introduced to Louis. Then the queen-mother and her son, the Duchess
of Savoy and the Princess Marguerite, and an elder daughter, who was a
widow, entered the royal coach and returned to Lyons. The king was in
exuberant spirits. He at once entered into the most animated and
familiar conversation with the princess.
The Princess Marguerite fully appreciated the embarrassment of her own
situation. She was going to Lyons to present herself to Louis XIV. to
see if he would take her for his wife. The humiliation of being
rejected would be dreadful. In vain she implored her mother to spare
her from such a possibility. But the question seemed to be at once
settled favorably. The king was manifestly much pleased with
Marguerite, and the princess could see nothing but attractions in the
young, handsome, and courtly sovereign of France.
Poor Mary, who was informed of every thing that transpired, was
suffering martyrdom. She was immediately forsaken and forgotten. In
public, all her force of character was called into requisition to
dress her face in smiles. In her secret apartment she wept bitterly.