The Young Queen.--Her Portrait.--Her Whims.--Her Love for the King.--Her
Chagrin.
MARIA THERESA, the King's new consort, was the daughter of the King of
Spain and Elizabeth of France, daughter of Henri IV. At the time of her
marriage she had lost her mother, and it was King Philip, Anne of
Austria's brother, who himself presented her to us at Saint Jean de Luz,
where he signed the peace-contract. The Spanish monarch admired his
nephew, the King, whose stalwart figure, comely face, and polished
manners, were, indeed, well calculated to excite surprise.
Anne of Austria had said to him, "My brother, my one fear during your
journey was lest your ailments and the hardships of travel should hinder
you from getting back here again."
"Was such your thought, sister?" replied the good man. "I would
willingly have come on foot, so as to behold with my own eyes the superb
cavalier that you and I are going to give to my daughter."
After the oath of peace had been sworn upon the Gospels, there was a
general presentation before the two Kings. Cantocarrero, the Castilian
secretary of state, presented the Spanish notabilities, while Cardinal
Mazarin, in his pontifical robes, presented the French. As he announced
M. de Turenne, the old King looked at him repeatedly. "There's one,"
quoth he, "who has given me many a sleepless night."
M. de Turenne bowed respectfully, and both courts could perceive in his
simple bearing his unaffected modesty.
On leaving Spain and the King, young princess was moved to tears. Next
day she thought nothing of it at all. She was wholly engrossed by the
possession of such a King, nor was she at any pains to hide her glee from
us.
Of all her Court ladies I was the most youthful and, perhaps, the most
conspicuous. At the outset the Queen showed a wish to take me into her
confidence but it was the lady-in-waiting who would never consent to
this.
When, at that lottery of the Cardinal's, I won the King's portrait, the
Queen-mother called me into her closet and desired to know how such a
thing could possibly have happened. I replied that, during the
garter-incident, the two tickets had got mixed. "Ah, in that case," said
the princess, "the occurrence was quite a natural one. So keep this
portrait, since it has fallen into your hands; but, for God's sake, don't
try and make yourself pleasant to my son; for you're only too fascinating
as it is. Look at that little La Valliere, what a mess she has got into,
and what chagrin she has caused my poor Maria Theresa!"
I replied to her Majesty that I would rather let myself be buried alive
than ever imitate La Valliere, and I said so then because that was really
what I thought.
The Queen-mother softened, and gave me her hand to kiss, now addressing
me as "madame," and anon as "my daughter." A few days afterwards she
wished to walk in the gallery with me, and said to me, "If God suffers me
to live, I will make you lady-in-waiting; be sure of that."
Anne of Austria was a tall, fine, dark woman, with brown eyes, like those
of the King. The Infanta, her niece, is a very pretty blonde, blue-eyed,
but short in stature.
To her slightest words the Queen-mother gives sense and wit; her
daughter-in-law's speeches and actions are of the simplest, most
commonplace kind. Were it not for the King, she would pass her life in a
dressing-gown, night-cap, and slippers. At Court ceremonies and on
gala-days, she never appears to be in a good humour; everything seems to
weigh her down, notably her diamonds.
However, she has no remarkable defect, and one may say that she is devoid
of goodness, just as she is devoid of badness. When coming among us, she
contrived to bring with her Molina, the daughter of her nurse, a sort of
comedy confidante, who soon gave herself Court airs, and who managed to
form a regular little Court of her own. Without her sanction nothing can
be obtained of the Queen. My lady Molina is the great, the small, and
the unique counsellor of the princess, and the King, like the others,
remains submissive to her decisions and her inspection.
French cookery, by common consent, is held to be well-nigh perfect in its
excellence; yet the Infanta could never get used to our dishes. The
Senora Molina, well furnished with silver kitchen utensils, has a sort of
private kitchen or scullery reserved for her own use, and there it is
that the manufacture takes place of clove-scented chocolate, brown soups
and gravies, stews redolent with garlic, capsicums, and nutmeg, and all
that nauseous pastry in which the young Infanta revels.
Ever since La Valliere's lasting triumph, the Queen seems to have got it
into her head that she is despised; and at table I have often heard her
say, "They will help themselves to everything, and won't leave me
anything."
I am not unjust, and I admit that a husband's public attachments are not
exactly calculated to fill his legitimate consort with joy. But,
fortunately for the Infanta, the King abounds in rectitude and
good-nature. This very good-nature it is which prompts him to use all
the consideration of which a noble nature is capable, and the more his
amours give the Queen just cause for anxiety, the more does he redouble
his kindness and consideration towards her. Of this she is sensible.
Thus she acquiesces, and, as much through tenderness as social tact, she
never reproaches or upbraids him with anything. Nor does the King
scruple to admit that, to secure so good-natured a partner, it is well
worth the trouble of going to fetch her from the other end of the world.