Chapter XLIV. Two Friends.
The queen looked steadily at Madame de Chevreuse, and said: "I believeyou just now made use of the word 'happy' in speaking of me. Hitherto,duchesse, I had thought it impossible that a human creature couldanywhere be found more miserable than the queen of France."
"Your afflictions, madame, have indeed been terrible enough. But by theside of those great and grand misfortunes to which we, two old friends,separated by men's malice, were just now alluding, you possess sourcesof pleasure, slight enough in themselves it may be, but greatly enviedby the world."
"What are they?" said Anne of Austria, bitterly. "What can induce youto pronounce the word 'pleasure,' duchesse--you who, just now, admittedthat my body and my mind both stood in need of remedies?"
Madame de Chevreuse collected herself for a moment, and then murmured,"How far removed kings are from other people!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that they are so far removed from the vulgar herd that theyforget that others often stand in need of the bare necessities of life.They are like the inhabitant of the African mountains, who, gazing fromthe verdant tableland, refreshed by the rills of melted snow, cannotcomprehend that the dwellers in the plains below are perishing fromhunger and thirst in the midst of the desert, burnt up by the heat ofthe sun."
The queen colored, for she now began to perceive the drift of herfriend's remark. "It was very wrong," she said, "to have neglected you."
"Oh! madame, I know the king has inherited the hatred his father boreme. The king would exile me if he knew I were in the Palais Royal."
"I cannot say that the king is very well disposed towards you,duchesse," replied the queen; "but I could--secretly, you know--"
The duchesse's disdainful smile produced a feeling of uneasiness in thequeen's mind. "Duchesse," she hastened to add, "you did perfectlyright to come here, even were it only to give us the happiness ofcontradicting the report of your death."
"Has it been rumored, then, that I was dead?"
"Everywhere."
"And yet my children did not go into mourning."
"Ah! you know, duchesse, the court is very frequently moving about fromplace to place; we see M. Albert de Luynes but seldom, and many thingsescape our minds in the midst of the preoccupations that constantlybeset us."
"Your majesty ought not to have believed the report of my death."
"Why not? Alas! we are all mortal; and you may perceive how rapidlyI, your younger sister, as we used formerly to say, am approaching thetomb."
"If your majesty believed me dead, you ought, in that case, to have beenastonished not to have received the news."
"Death not unfrequently takes us by surprise, duchesse."
"Oh! your majesty, those who are burdened with secrets such as we havejust now discussed must, as a necessity of their nature, satisfy theircraving desire to divulge them, and they feel they must gratify thatdesire before they die. Among the various preparations for their finaljourney, the task of placing their papers in order is not omitted."
The queen started.
"Your majesty will be sure to learn, in a particular manner, the day ofmy death."
"In what way?"
"Because your majesty will receive the next day, under severalcoverings, everything connected with our mysterious correspondence offormer times."
"Did you not burn them?" cried Anne, in alarm.
"Traitors only," replied the duchesse, "destroy a royal correspondence."
"Traitors, do you say?"
"Yes, certainly, or rather they pretend to destroy, instead of whichthey keep or sell it. Faithful friends, on the contrary, most carefullysecrete such treasures, for it may happen that some day or other theywould wish to seek out their queen in order to say to her: 'Madame, I amgetting old; my health is fast failing me; in the presence of the dangerof death, for there is the risk for your majesty that this secret maybe revealed, take, therefore, this paper, so fraught with menace foryourself, and trust not to another to burn it for you.'"
"What paper do you refer to?"
"As far as I am concerned, I have but one, it is true, but that isindeed most dangerous in its nature."
"Oh! duchesse, tell me what it is."
"A letter, dated Tuesday, the 2d of August, 1644, in which you beg me togo to Noisy-le-Sec, to see that unhappy child. In your own handwriting,madame, there are those words, 'that unhappy child!'"
A profound silence ensued; the queen's mind was busy in the past; Madamede Chevreuse was watching the progress of her scheme. "Yes, unhappy,most unhappy!" murmured Anne of Austria; "how sad the existence he led,poor child, to finish it in so cruel a manner."
"Is he dead?" cried the duchesse suddenly, with a curiosity whosegenuine accents the queen instinctively detected.
"He died of consumption, died forgotten, died withered and blighted likethe flowers a lover has given to his mistress, which she leaves to diesecreted in a drawer where she had hid them from the gaze of others."
"Died!" repeated the duchesse with an air of discouragement, which wouldhave afforded the queen the most unfeigned delight, had it notbeen tempered in some measure with a mixture of doubt--"Died--atNoisy-le-Sec?"
"Yes, in the arms of his tutor, a poor, honest man, who did not longsurvive him."
"That can easily be understood; it is so difficult to bear up under theweight of such a loss and such a secret," said Madame de Chevreuse,--theirony of which reflection the queen pretended not to perceive. Madamede Chevreuse continued: "Well, madame, I inquired some years ago atNoisy-le-Sec about this unhappy child. I was told that it was notbelieved he was dead, and that was my reason for not having at firstcondoled with your majesty; for, most certainly, if I could have thoughtit were true, never should I have made the slightest allusion to sodeplorable an event, and thus have re-awakened your majesty's mostnatural distress."
"You say that it is not believed the child died at Noisy?"
"No, madame."
"What did they say about him, then?"
"They said--but, no doubt, they were mistaken--"
"Nay, speak, speak!"
"They said, that one evening, about the year 1645, a lady, beautiful andmajestic in her bearing, which was observed notwithstanding the mask andthe mantle that concealed her figure--a lady of rank, of very high rank,no doubt--came in a carriage to the place where the road branches off;the very same spot, you know, where I awaited news of the young princewhen your majesty was graciously pleased to send me there."
"Well, well?"
"That the boy's tutor, or guardian, took the child to this lady."
"Well, what next?"
"That both the child and his tutor left that part of the country thevery next day."
"There, you see there is some truth in what you relate, since, in pointof fact, the poor child died from a sudden attack of illness, whichmakes the lives of all children, as doctors say, suspended as it were bya thread."
"What your majesty says is quite true; no one knows it better thanyourself--no one believes it more strongly than myself. But yet, howstrange it is--"
"What can it now be?" thought the queen.
"The person who gave me these details, who was sent to inquire after thechild's health--"
"Did you confide such a charge to any one else? Oh, duchesse!"
"Some one as dumb as your majesty, as dumb as myself; we will supposeit was myself, Madame; this some one, some months after, passing throughTouraine--"
"Touraine!"
"Recognized both the tutor and the child, too! I am wrong, thought herecognized them, both living, cheerful, happy, and flourishing, the onein a green old age, the other in the flower of his youth. Judge afterthat what truth can be attributed to the rumors which are circulated, orwhat faith, after that, placed in anything that may happen in the world!But I am fatiguing your majesty; it was not my intention, however, to doso, and I will take my leave of you, after renewing to you the assuranceof my most respectful devotion."
"Stay, duchesse; let us first talk a little about yourself."
"Of myself, madame! I am not worthy that you should bend your looks uponme."
"Why not, indeed? Are you not the oldest friend I have? Are you angrywith me, duchesse?"
"I, indeed! what motive could I have? If I had reason to be angry withyour majesty, should I have come here?"
"Duchesse, age is fast creeping on us both; we should be united againstthat death whose approach cannot be far off."
"You overpower me, madame, with the kindness of your language."
"No one has ever loved or served me as you have done, duchesse."
"Your majesty is too kind in remembering it."
"Not so. Give me a proof of your friendship, duchesse."
"My whole being is devoted to you, madame."
"The proof I require is, that you should ask something of me."
"Ask--"
"Oh, I know you well,--no one is more disinterested, more noble, andtruly loyal."
"Do not praise me too highly, madame," said the duchesse, somewhatanxiously.
"I could never praise you as much as you deserve to be praised."
"And yet, age and misfortune effect a terrible change in people,madame."
"So much the better; for the beautiful, the haughty, the adored duchesseof former days might have answered me ungratefully, 'I do not wish foranything from you.' Heaven be praised! The misfortunes you speak of haveindeed worked a change in you, for you will now, perhaps, answer me, 'Iaccept.'"
The duchesse's look and smile soon changed at this conclusion, and sheno longer attempted to act a false part.
"Speak, dearest, what do you want?"
"I must first explain to you--"
"Do so unhesitatingly."
"Well, then, your majesty can confer the greatest, the most ineffablepleasure upon me."
"What is it?" said the queen, a little distant in her manner, from anuneasiness of feeling produced by this remark. "But do not forget, mygood Chevreuse, that I am quite as much under my son's influence as Iwas formerly under my husband's."
"I will not be too hard, madame."
"Call me as you used to do; it will be a sweet echo of our happy youth."
"Well, then, my dear mistress, my darling Anne--"
"Do you know Spanish, still?"
"Yes."
"Ask me in Spanish, then."
"Will your majesty do me the honor to pass a few days with me atDampierre?"
"Is that all?" said the queen, stupefied. "Nothing more than that?"
"Good heavens! can you possibly imagine that, in asking you that, I amnot asking you the greatest conceivable favor? If that really be thecase, you do not know me. Will you accept?"
"Yes, gladly. And I shall be happy," continued the queen, with somesuspicion, "if my presence can in any way be useful to you."
"Useful!" exclaimed the duchesse, laughing; "oh, no, no,agreeable--delightful, if you like; and you promise me, then?"
"I swear it," said the queen, whereupon the duchesse seized herbeautiful hand, and covered it with kisses. The queen could not helpmurmuring to herself, "She is a good-hearted woman, and very generous,too."
"Will your majesty consent to wait a fortnight before you come?"
"Certainly; but why?"
"Because," said the duchesse, "knowing me to be in disgrace, no onewould lend me the hundred thousand francs, which I require to putDampierre into a state of repair. But when it is known that I requirethat sum for the purpose of receiving your majesty at Dampierreproperly, all the money in Paris will be at my disposal."
"Ah!" said the queen, gently nodding her head in sign of intelligence,"a hundred thousand francs! you want a hundred thousand francs to putDampierre into repair?"
"Quite as much as that."
"And no one will lend you them?"
"No one."
"I will lend them to you, if you like, duchesse."
"Oh, I hardly dare accept such a sum."
"You would be wrong if you did _not_. Besides, a hundred thousand francsis really not much. I know but too well that you never set a right valueupon your silence and secrecy. Push that table a little towards me,duchesse, and I will write you an order on M. Colbert; no, on M.Fouquet, who is a far more courteous and obliging man."
"Will he pay it, though?"
"If he will not pay it, I will; but it will be the first time he willhave refused me."
The queen wrote and handed the duchesse the order, and afterwardsdismissed her with a warm embrace.