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."
[2] George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, favourite of James I., and of
his son, Charles I., assassinated by Felton, 1628.
"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.