"A child!" he exclaimed. "Do you know what he has done, this child?
Disguised as a monk he discovered the whole history in confession from
the executioner of Bethune, and having confessed him, after having
learned everything from him, he gave him absolution by planting this
dagger into his heart. See, it is on fire yet with his hot blood, for it
is not thirty hours since it was drawn from the wound."
And Grimaud threw the dagger on the table.
D’Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis rose and in one spontaneous motion rushed
to their swords. Athos alone remained seated, calm and thoughtful.
"And you say he is dressed as a monk, Grimaud?"
"Yes, as an Augustine monk."
"What sized man is he?"
"About my height; thin, pale, with light blue eyes and tawny flaxen
hair."
"And he did not see Raoul?" asked Athos.
"Yes, on the contrary, they met, and it was the viscount himself who
conducted him to the bed of the dying man."
Athos, in his turn, rising without speaking, went and unhooked his
sword.
"Heigh, sir," said D’Artagnan, trying to laugh, "do you know we look
very much like a flock of silly, mouse-evading women! How is it that we,
four men who have faced armies without blinking, begin to tremble at the
mention of a child?"
"It is true," said Athos, "but this child comes in the name of Heaven."
And very soon they left the inn.
36. A Letter from Charles the First.
The reader must now cross the Seine with us and follow us to the door of
the Carmelite Convent in the Rue Saint Jacques. It is eleven o’clock in
the morning and the pious sisters have just finished saying mass for the
success of the armies of King Charles I. Leaving the church, a woman and
a young girl dressed in black, the one as a widow and the other as an
orphan, have re-entered their cell.
The woman kneels on a prie-dieu of painted wood and at a short distance
from her stands the young girl, leaning against a chair, weeping.
The woman must have once been handsome, but traces of sorrow have aged
her. The young girl is lovely and her tears only embellish her; the lady
appears to be about forty years of age, the girl about fourteen.
"Oh, God!" prayed the kneeling suppliant, "protect my husband, guard my
son, and take my wretched life instead!"
"Oh, God!" murmured the girl, "leave me my mother!"
"Your mother can be of no use to you in this world, Henrietta," said the
lady, turning around. "Your mother has no longer either throne or
husband; she has neither son, money nor friends; the whole world, my
poor child, has abandoned your mother!" And she fell back, weeping, into
her daughter’s arms.
"Courage, take courage, my dear mother!" said the girl.
"Ah! ’tis an unfortunate year for kings," said the mother. "And no one
thinks of us in this country, for each must think about his own affairs.
As long as your brother was with me he kept me up; but he is gone and
can no longer send us news of himself, either to me or to your father. I
have pledged my last jewels, sold your clothes and my own to pay his
servants, who refused to accompany him unless I made this sacrifice. We
are now reduced to live at the expense of these daughters of Heaven; we
are the poor, succored by God."
"But why not address yourself to your sister, the queen?" asked the
girl.
"Alas! the queen, my sister, is no longer queen, my child. Another
reigns in her name. One day you will be able to understand how all this
is."
"Well, then, to the king, your nephew. Shall I speak to him? You know
how much he loves me, my mother.
"Alas! my nephew is not yet king, and you know Laporte has told us
twenty times that he himself is in need of almost everything."
"Then let us pray to Heaven," said the girl.
The two women who thus knelt in united prayer were the daughter and
grand-daughter of Henry IV., the wife and daughter of Charles I.
They had just finished their double prayer, when a nun softly tapped at
the door of the cell.
"Enter, my sister," said the queen.
"I trust your majesty will pardon this intrusion on her meditations, but
a foreign lord has arrived from England and waits in the parlor,
demanding the honor of presenting a letter to your majesty."
"Oh, a letter! a letter from the king, perhaps. News from your father,
do you hear, Henrietta? And the name of this lord?"
"Lord de Winter."
"Lord de Winter!" exclaimed the queen, "the friend of my husband. Oh,
bid him enter!"
And the queen advanced to meet the messenger, whose hand she seized
affectionately, whilst he knelt down and presented a letter to her,
contained in a case of gold.
"Ah! my lord!" said the queen, "you bring us three things which we have
not seen for a long time. Gold, a devoted friend, and a letter from the
king, our husband and master."
De Winter bowed again, unable to reply from excess of emotion.
On their side the mother and daughter retired into the embrasure of a
window to read eagerly the following letter:
"Dear Wife,--We have now reached the moment of decision. I have
concentrated here at Naseby camp all the resources Heaven has left me,
and I write to you in haste from thence. Here I await the army of my
rebellious subjects. I am about to struggle for the last time with them.
If victorious, I shall continue the struggle; if beaten, I am lost. I
shall try, in the latter case (alas! in our position, one must provide
for everything), I shall try to gain the coast of France. But can they,
will they receive an unhappy king, who will bring such a sad story into
a country already agitated by civil discord? Your wisdom and your
affection must serve me as guides. The bearer of this letter will tell
you, madame, what I dare not trust to pen and paper and the risks of
transit. He will explain to you the steps that I expect you to pursue. I
charge him also with my blessing for my children and with the sentiments
of my soul for yourself, my dearest sweetheart."
The letter bore the signature, not of "Charles, King," but of
"Charles--still king."
"And let him be no longer king," cried the queen. "Let him be conquered,
exiled, proscribed, provided he still lives. Alas! in these days the
throne is too dangerous a place for me to wish him to retain it. But my
lord, tell me," she continued, "hide nothing from me--what is, in truth,
the king’s position? Is it as hopeless as he thinks?"
"Alas! madame, more hopeless than he thinks. His majesty has so good a
heart that he cannot understand hatred; is so loyal that he does not
suspect treason! England is torn in twain by a spirit of disturbance
which, I greatly fear, blood alone can exorcise."
"But Lord Montrose," replied the queen, "I have heard of his great and
rapid successes of battles gained. I heard it said that he was marching
to the frontier to join the king."
"Yes, madame; but on the frontier he was met by Lesly; he had tried
victory by means of superhuman undertakings. Now victory has abandoned
him. Montrose, beaten at Philiphaugh, was obliged to disperse the
remains of his army and to fly, disguised as a servant. He is at Bergen,
in Norway."
"Heaven preserve him!" said the queen. "It is at least a consolation to
know that some who have so often risked their lives for us are safe. And
now, my lord, that I see how hopeless the position of the king is, tell
me with what you are charged on the part of my royal husband."
"Well, then, madame," said De Winter, "the king wishes you to try and
discover the dispositions of the king and queen toward him."
"Alas! you know that even now the king is but a child and the queen a
woman weak enough. Here, Monsieur Mazarin is everything."
"Does he desire to play the part in France that Cromwell plays in
England?"
"Oh, no! He is a subtle, conscienceless Italian, who though he very
likely dreams of crime, dares not commit it; and unlike Cromwell, who
disposes of both Houses, Mazarin has had the queen to support him in his
struggle with the parliament."
"More reason, then, he should protect a king pursued by parliament."
The queen shook her head despairingly.
"If I judge for myself, my lord," she said, "the cardinal will do
nothing, and will even, perhaps, act against us. The presence of my
daughter and myself in France is already irksome to him; much more so
would be that of the king. My lord," added Henrietta, with a melancholy
smile, "it is sad and almost shameful to be obliged to say that we have
passed the winter in the Louvre without money, without linen, almost
without bread, and often not rising from bed because we wanted fire."
"Horrible!" cried De Winter; "the daughter of Henry IV., and the wife of
King Charles! Wherefore did you not apply, then, madame, to the first
person you saw from us?"
"Such is the hospitality shown to a queen by the minister from whom a
king demands it."
"But I heard that a marriage between the Prince of Wales and
Mademoiselle d’Orleans was spoken of," said De Winter.
"Yes, for an instant I hoped it was so. The young people felt a mutual
esteem; but the queen, who at first sanctioned their affection, changed
her mind, and Monsieur, the Duc d’Orleans, who had encouraged the
familiarity between them, has forbidden his daughter to think any more
about the union. Oh, my lord!" continued the queen, without restraining
her tears, "it is better to fight as the king has done, and to die, as
perhaps he will, than live in beggary like me."
"Courage, madame! courage! Do not despair! The interests of the French
crown, endangered at this moment, are to discountenance rebellion in a
neighboring nation. Mazarin, as a statesman, will understand the politic
necessity."
"Are you sure," said the queen doubtfully, "that you have not been
forestalled?"
"By whom?"
"By the Joices, the Prinns, the Cromwells?"
"By a tailor, a coachmaker, a brewer! Ah! I hope, madame, that the
cardinal will not enter into negotiations with such men!"
"Ah! what is he himself?" asked Madame Henrietta.
"But for the honor of the king--of the queen."
"Well, let us hope he will do something for the sake of their honor,"
said the queen. "A true friend’s eloquence is so powerful, my lord, that
you have reassured me. Give me your hand and let us go to the minister;
and yet," she added, "suppose he should refuse and that the king loses
the battle?"
"His majesty will then take refuge in Holland, where I hear his highness
the Prince of Wales now is."
"And can his majesty count upon many such subjects as yourself for his
flight?"
"Alas! no, madame," answered De Winter; "but the case is provided for
and I am come to France to seek allies."
"Allies!" said the queen, shaking her head.
"Madame," replied De Winter, "provided I can find some of my good old
friends of former times I will answer for anything."
"Come then, my lord," said the queen, with the painful doubt that is
felt by those who have suffered much; "come, and may Heaven hear you."
37. Cromwell’s Letter.
At the very moment when the queen quitted the convent to go to the
Palais Royal, a young man dismounted at the gate of this royal abode and
announced to the guards that he had something of importance to
communicate to Cardinal Mazarin. Although the cardinal was often
tormented by fear, he was more often in need of counsel and information,
and he was therefore sufficiently accessible. The true difficulty of
being admitted was not to be found at the first door, and even the
second was passed easily enough; but at the third watched, besides the
guard and the doorkeepers, the faithful Bernouin, a Cerberus whom no
speech could soften, no wand, even of gold, could charm.
It was therefore at the third door that those who solicited or were
bidden to an audience underwent their formal interrogatory.
The young man having left his horse tied to the gate in the court,
mounted the great staircase and addressed the guard in the first
chamber.
"Cardinal Mazarin?" said he.
"Pass on," replied the guard.
The cavalier entered the second hall, which was guarded by the
musketeers and doorkeepers.
"Have you a letter of audience?" asked a porter, advancing to the new
arrival.
"I have one, but not one from Cardinal Mazarin."
"Enter, and ask for Monsieur Bernouin," said the porter, opening the
door of the third room. Whether he only held his usual post or whether
it was by accident, Monsieur Bernouin was found standing behind the door
and must have heard all that had passed.
"You seek me, sir," said he. "From whom may the letter be you bear to
his eminence?"
"From General Oliver Cromwell," said the new comer. "Be so good as to
mention this name to his eminence and to bring me word whether he will
receive me--yes or no."
Saying which, he resumed the proud and sombre bearing peculiar at that
time to Puritans. Bernouin cast an inquisitorial glance at the person of
the young man and entered the cabinet of the cardinal, to whom he
transmitted the messenger’s words.
"A man bringing a letter from Oliver Cromwell?" said Mazarin. "And what
kind of a man?"
"A genuine Englishman, your eminence. Hair sandy-red--more red than
sandy; gray-blue eyes--more gray than blue; and for the rest, stiff and
proud."
"Let him give in his letter."
"His eminence asks for the letter," said Bernouin, passing back into the
ante-chamber.
"His eminence cannot see the letter without the bearer of it," replied
the young man; "but to convince you that I am really the bearer of a
letter, see, here it is; and kindly add," continued he, "that I am not a
simple messenger, but an envoy extraordinary."
Bernouin re-entered the cabinet, returning in a few seconds. "Enter,
sir," said he.
The young man appeared on the threshold of the minister’s closet, in one
hand holding his hat, in the other the letter. Mazarin rose. "Have you,
sir," asked he, "a letter accrediting you to me?"
"There it is, my lord," said the young man.
Mazarin took the letter and read it thus:
"Mr. Mordaunt, one of my secretaries, will remit this letter of
introduction to His Eminence, the Cardinal Mazarin, in Paris. He is also
the bearer of a second confidential epistle for his eminence.
"Oliver Cromwell."
"Very well, Monsieur Mordaunt," said Mazarin, "give me this second
letter and sit down."
The young man drew from his pocket a second letter, presented it to the
cardinal, and took his seat. The cardinal, however, did not unseal the
letter at once, but continued to turn it again and again in his hand;
then, in accordance with his usual custom and judging from experience
that few people could hide anything from him when he began to question
them, fixing his eyes upon them at the same time, he thus addressed the
messenger:
"You are very young, Monsieur Mordaunt, for this difficult task of
ambassador, in which the oldest diplomatists often fail."
"My lord, I am twenty-three years of age; but your eminence is mistaken
in saying that I am young. I am older than your eminence, although I
possess not your wisdom. Years of suffering, in my opinion, count
double, and I have suffered for twenty years."
"Ah, yes, I understand," said Mazarin; "want of fortune, perhaps. You
are poor, are you not?" Then he added to himself: "These English
Revolutionists are all beggars and ill-bred."
"My lord, I ought to have a fortune of six millions, but it has been
taken from me."
"You are not, then, a man of the people?" said Mazarin, astonished.
"If I bore my proper title I should be a lord. If I bore my name you
would have heard one of the most illustrious names of England."
"What is your name, then?" asked Mazarin.
"My name is Mordaunt," replied the young man, bowing.
Mazarin now understood that Cromwell’s envoy desired to retain his
incognito. He was silent for an instant, and during that time he scanned
the young man even more attentively than he had done at first. The
messenger was unmoved.
"Devil take these Puritans," said Mazarin aside; "they are carved from
granite." Then he added aloud, "But you have relations left you?"
"I have one remaining. Three times I presented myself to ask his support
and three times he ordered his servants to turn me away."
"Oh, mon Dieu! my dear Mr. Mordaunt," said Mazarin, hoping by a display
of affected pity to catch the young man in a snare, "how extremely your
history interests me! You know not, then, anything of your birth--you
have never seen your mother?"
"Yes, my lord; she came three times, whilst I was a child, to my nurse’s
house; I remember the last time she came as well as if it were to-day."
"You have a good memory," said Mazarin.
"Oh! yes, my lord," said the young man, with such peculiar emphasis that
the cardinal felt a shudder run through every vein.
"And who brought you up?" he asked again.
"A French nurse, who sent me away when I was five years old because no
one paid her for me, telling me the name of a relation of whom she had
heard my mother often speak."
"What became of you?"
"As I was weeping and begging on the high road, a minister from Kingston
took me in, instructed me in the Calvinistic faith, taught me all he
knew himself and aided me in my researches after my family."
"And these researches?"
"Were fruitless; chance did everything."
"You discovered what had become of your mother?"
"I learned that she had been assassinated by my relation, aided by four
friends, but I was already aware that I had been robbed of my wealth and
degraded from my nobility by King Charles I."
"Oh! I now understand why you are in the service of Cromwell; you hate
the king."
"Yes, my lord, I hate him!" said the young man.
Mazarin marked with surprise the diabolical expression with which the
young man uttered these words. Just as, ordinarily, faces are colored by
blood, his face seemed dyed by hatred and became livid.
"Your history is a terrible one, Mr. Mordaunt, and touches me keenly;
but happily for you, you serve an all-powerful master; he ought to aid
you in your search; we have so many means of gaining information."
"My lord, to a well-bred dog it is only necessary to show one end of a
track; he is certain to reach the other."
"But this relation you mentioned--do you wish me to speak to him?" said
Mazarin, who was anxious to make a friend about Cromwell’s person.
"Thanks, my lord, I will speak to him myself. He will treat me better
the next time I see him."
"You have the means, then, of touching him?"
"I have the means of making myself feared."
Mazarin looked at the young man, but at the fire which shot from his
glance he bent his head; then, embarrassed how to continue such a
conversation, he opened Cromwell’s letter.
The young man’s eyes gradually resumed their dull and glassy appearance
and he fell into a profound reverie. After reading the first lines of
the letter Mazarin gave a side glance at him to see if he was watching
the expression of his face as he read. Observing his indifference, he
shrugged his shoulders, saying:
"Send on your business those who do theirs at the same time! Let us see
what this letter contains."
We here present the letter verbatim:
"To his Eminence, Monseigneur le Cardinal Mazarini:
"I have wished, monseigneur, to learn your intentions relating to the
existing state of affairs in England. The two kingdoms are so near that
France must be interested in our situation, as we are interested in that
of France. The English are almost of one mind in contending against the
tyranny of Charles and his adherents. Placed by popular confidence at
the head of that movement, I can appreciate better than any other its
significance and its probable results. I am at present in the midst of
war, and am about to deliver a decisive battle against King Charles. I
shall gain it, for the hope of the nation and the Spirit of the Lord are
with me. This battle won by me, the king will have no further resources
in England or in Scotland; and if he is not captured or killed, he will
endeavor to pass over into France to recruit soldiers and to refurnish
himself with arms and money. France has already received Queen
Henrietta, and, unintentionally, doubtless, has maintained a centre of
inextinguishable civil war in my country. But Madame Henrietta is a
daughter of France and was entitled to the hospitality of France. As to
King Charles, the question must be viewed differently; in receiving and
aiding him, France will censure the acts of the English nation, and thus
so essentially harm England, and especially the well-being of the
government, that such a proceeding will be equivalent to pronounced
hostilities."
At this moment Mazarin became very uneasy at the turn which the letter
was taking and paused to glance under his eyes at the young man. The
latter continued in thought. Mazarin resumed his reading:
"It is important, therefore, monseigneur, that I should be informed as
to the intentions of France. The interests of that kingdom and those of
England, though taking now diverse directions, are very nearly the same.
England needs tranquillity at home, in order to consummate the expulsion
of her king; France needs tranquillity to establish on solid foundations
the throne of her young monarch. You need, as much as we do, that
interior condition of repose which, thanks to the energy of our
government, we are about to attain.
"Your quarrels with the parliament, your noisy dissensions with the
princes, who fight for you to-day and to-morrow will fight against you,
the popular following directed by the coadjutor, President Blancmesnil,
and Councillor Broussel--all that disorder, in short, which pervades the
several departments of the state, must lead you to view with uneasiness
the possibility of a foreign war; for in that event England, exalted by
the enthusiasm of new ideas, will ally herself with Spain, already
seeking that alliance. I have therefore believed, monseigneur, knowing
your prudence and your personal relation to the events of the present
time, that you will choose to hold your forces concentrated in the
interior of the French kingdom and leave to her own the new government
of England. That neutrality consists simply in excluding King Charles
from the territory of France and in refraining from helping him--a
stranger to your country--with arms, with money or with troops.
"My letter is private and confidential, and for that reason I send it to
you by a man who shares my most intimate counsels. It anticipates,
through a sentiment which your eminence will appreciate, measures to be
taken after the events. Oliver Cromwell considered it more expedient to
declare himself to a mind as intelligent as Mazarin’s than to a queen
admirable for firmness, without doubt, but too much guided by vain
prejudices of birth and of divine right.
"Farewell, monseigneur; should I not receive a reply in the space of
fifteen days, I shall presume my letter will have miscarried.
"Oliver Cromwell."
"Mr. Mordaunt," said the cardinal, raising his voice, as if to arouse
the dreamer, "my reply to this letter will be more satisfactory to
General Cromwell if I am convinced that all are ignorant of my having
given one; go, therefore, and await it at Boulogne-sur-Mer, and promise
me to set out to-morrow morning."
"I promise, my lord," replied Mordaunt; "but how many days does your
eminence expect me to await your reply?"
"If you do not receive it in ten days you can leave."
Mordaunt bowed.
"That is not all, sir," continued Mazarin; "your private adventures have
touched me to the quick; besides, the letter from Mr. Cromwell makes you
an important person as ambassador; come, tell me, what can I do for
you?"
Mordaunt reflected a moment and, after some hesitation, was about to
speak, when Bernouin entered hastily and bending down to the ear of the
cardinal, whispered:
"My lord, the Queen Henrietta Maria, accompanied by an English noble, is
entering the Palais Royal at this moment."
Mazarin made a bound from his chair, which did not escape the attention
of the young man and suppressed the confidence he was about to make.
"Sir," said the cardinal, "you have heard me? I fix on Boulogne because
I presume that every town in France is indifferent to you; if you prefer
another, name it; but you can easily conceive that, surrounded as I am
by influences I can only muzzle by discretion, I desire your presence in
Paris to be unknown."
"I go, sir," said Mordaunt, advancing a few steps to the door by which
he had entered.
"No, not that way, I beg, sir," quickly exclaimed the cardinal, "be so
good as to pass by yonder gallery, by which you can regain the hall. I
do not wish you to be seen leaving; our interview must be kept secret."
Mordaunt followed Bernouin, who led him through the adjacent chamber and
left him with a doorkeeper, showing him the way out.
38. Henrietta Maria and Mazarin.
The cardinal rose, and advanced in haste to receive the queen of
England. He showed the more respect to this queen, deprived of every
mark of pomp and stripped of followers, as he felt some self-reproach
for his own want of heart and his avarice. But supplicants for favor
know how to accommodate the expression of their features, and the
daughter of Henry IV. smiled as she advanced to meet a man she hated and
despised.
"Ah!" said Mazarin to himself, "what a sweet face; does she come to
borrow money of me?"
And he threw an uneasy glance at his strong box; he even turned inside
the bevel of the magnificent diamond ring, the brilliancy of which drew
every eye upon his hand, which indeed was white and handsome.
"Your eminence," said the august visitor, "it was my first intention to
speak of the matters that have brought me here to the queen, my sister,
but I have reflected that political affairs are more especially the
concern of men."
"Madame," said Mazarin, "your majesty overwhelms me with flattering
distinction."
"He is very gracious," thought the queen; "can he have guessed my
errand?"
"Give," continued the cardinal, "your commands to the most respectful of
your servants."
"Alas, sir," replied the queen, "I have lost the habit of commanding and
have adopted instead that of making petitions. I am here to petition
you, too happy should my prayer be favorably heard."
"I am listening, madame, with the greatest interest," said Mazarin.
"Your eminence, it concerns the war which the king, my husband, is now
sustaining against his rebellious subjects. You are perhaps ignorant
that they are fighting in England," added she, with a melancholy smile,
"and that in a short time they will fight in a much more decided fashion
than they have done hitherto."
"I am completely ignorant of it, madame," said the cardinal,
accompanying his words with a slight shrug of the shoulders; "alas, our
own wars quite absorb the time and the mind of a poor, incapable, infirm
old minister like me."
"Well, then, your eminence," said the queen, "I must inform you that
Charles I., my husband, is on the eve of a decisive engagement. In case
of a check" (Mazarin made a slight movement), "one must foresee
everything; in the case of a check, he desires to retire into France and
to live here as a private individual. What do you say to this project?"
The cardinal had listened without permitting a single fibre of his face
to betray what he felt, and his smile remained as it ever was--false and
flattering; and when the queen finished speaking, he said:
"Do you think, madame, that France, agitated and disturbed as it is,
would be a safe retreat for a dethroned king? How will the crown, which
is scarce firmly set on the head of Louis XIV., support a double
weight?"
"The weight was not so heavy when I was in peril," interrupted the
queen, with a sad smile, "and I ask no more for my husband than has been
done for me; you see that we are very humble monarchs, sir."
"Oh, you, madame," the cardinal hastened to say, in order to cut short
the explanation he foresaw was coming, "with regard to you, that is
another thing. A daughter of Henry IV., of that great, that sublime
sovereign----"
"All which does not prevent you refusing hospitality to his son-in-law,
sir! Nevertheless, you ought to remember that that great, that sublime
monarch, when proscribed at one time, as my husband may be, demanded aid
from England and England accorded it to him; and it is but just to say
that Queen Elizabeth was not his niece."
"Peccato!" said Mazarin, writhing beneath this simple eloquence, "your
majesty does not understand me; you judge my intentions wrongly, and
that is partly because, doubtless, I explain myself in French."
"Speak Italian, sir. Ere the cardinal, your predecessor, sent our
mother, Marie de Medicis, to die in exile, she taught us that language.
If anything yet remains of that great, that sublime king, Henry, of whom
you have just spoken, he would be much surprised at so little pity for
his family being united to such a profound admiration of himself."
The perspiration stood in large drops on Mazarin’s brow.
"That admiration is, on the contrary, so great, so real, madame,"
returned Mazarin, without noticing the change of language offered to him
by the queen, "that if the king, Charles I.--whom Heaven protect from
evil!--came into France, I would offer him my house--my own house; but,
alas! it would be but an unsafe retreat. Some day the people will burn
that house, as they burned that of the Marechal d’Ancre. Poor Concino
Concini! And yet he but desired the good of the people."
"Yes, my lord, like yourself!" said the queen, ironically.
Mazarin pretended not to understand the double meaning of his own
sentence, but continued to compassionate the fate of Concino Concini.
"Well then, your eminence," said the queen, becoming impatient, "what is
your answer?"
"Madame," cried Mazarin, more and more moved, "will your majesty permit
me to give you counsel?"
"Speak, sir," replied the queen; "the counsels of so prudent a man as
yourself ought certainly to be available."
"Madame, believe me, the king ought to defend himself to the last."
"He has done so, sir, and this last battle, which he encounters with
resources much inferior to those of the enemy, proves that he will not
yield without a struggle; but in case he is beaten?"
"Well, madame, in that case, my advice--I know that I am very bold to
offer advice to your majesty--my advice is that the king should not
leave his kingdom. Absent kings are very soon forgotten; if he passes
over into France his cause is lost."
"But," persisted the queen, "if such be your advice and you have his
interest at heart, send him help of men and money, for I can do nothing
for him; I have sold even to my last diamond to aid him. If I had had a
single ornament left, I should have bought wood this winter to make a
fire for my daughter and myself."
"Oh, madame," said Mazarin, "your majesty knows not what you ask. On the
day when foreign succor follows in the train of a king to replace him on
his throne, it is an avowal that he no longer possesses the help and
love of his own subjects."
"To the point, sir," said the queen, "to the point, and answer me, yes
or no; if the king persists in remaining in England will you send him
succor? If he comes to France will you accord him hospitality? What do
you intend to do? Speak."
"Madame," said the cardinal, affecting an effusive frankness of speech,
"I shall convince your majesty, I trust, of my devotion to you and my
desire to terminate an affair which you have so much at heart. After
which your majesty will, I think, no longer doubt my zeal in your
behalf."
The queen bit her lips and moved impatiently on her chair.
"Well, what do you propose to do?" she, said at length; "come, speak."
"I will go this instant and consult the queen, and we will refer the
affair at once to parliament."
"With which you are at war--is it not so? You will charge Broussel to
report it. Enough, sir, enough. I understand you or rather, I am wrong.
Go to the parliament, for it was from this parliament, the enemy of
monarchs, that the daughter of the great, the sublime Henry IV., whom
you so much admire, received the only relief this winter which prevented
her from dying of hunger and cold!"
And with these words Henrietta rose in majestic indignation, whilst the
cardinal, raising his hands clasped toward her, exclaimed, "Ah, madame,
madame, how little you know me, mon Dieu!"
But Queen Henrietta, without even turning toward him who made these
hypocritical pretensions, crossed the cabinet, opened the door for
herself and passing through the midst of the cardinal’s numerous guards,
courtiers eager to pay homage, the luxurious show of a competing
royalty, she went and took the hand of De Winter, who stood apart in
isolation. Poor queen, already fallen! Though all bowed before her, as
etiquette required, she had now but a single arm on which she could
lean.
"It signifies little," said Mazarin, when he was alone. "It gave me pain
and it was an ungracious part to play, but I have said nothing either to
the one or to the other. Bernouin!"
Bernouin entered.
"See if the young man with the black doublet and the short hair, who was
with me just now, is still in the palace."
Bernouin went out and soon returned with Comminges, who was on guard.
"Your eminence," said Comminges, "as I was re-conducting the young man
for whom you have asked, he approached the glass door of the gallery,
and gazed intently upon some object, doubtless the picture by Raphael,
which is opposite the door. He reflected for a second and then descended
the stairs. I believe I saw him mount a gray horse and leave the palace
court. But is not your eminence going to the queen?"
"For what purpose?"
"Monsieur de Guitant, my uncle, has just told me that her majesty had
received news of the army."
"It is well; I will go."
Comminges had seen rightly, and Mordaunt had really acted as he had
related. In crossing the gallery parallel to the large glass gallery, he
perceived De Winter, who was waiting until the queen had finished her
negotiation.
At this sight the young man stopped short, not in admiration of
Raphael’s picture, but as if fascinated at the sight of some terrible
object. His eyes dilated and a shudder ran through his body. One would
have said that he longed to break through the wall of glass which
separated him from his enemy; for if Comminges had seen with what an
expression of hatred the eyes of this young man were fixed upon De
Winter, he would not have doubted for an instant that the Englishman was
his eternal foe.
But he stopped, doubtless to reflect; for instead of allowing his first
impulse, which had been to go straight to Lord de Winter, to carry him
away, he leisurely descended the staircase, left the palace with his
head down, mounted his horse, which he reined in at the corner of the
Rue Richelieu, and with his eyes fixed on the gate, waited until the
queen’s carriage had left the court.
He had not long to wait, for the queen scarcely remained a quarter of an
hour with Mazarin, but this quarter of an hour of expectation appeared a
century to him. At last the heavy machine, which was called a chariot in
those days, came out, rumbling against the gates, and De Winter, still
on horseback, bent again to the door to converse with her majesty.
The horses started on a trot and took the road to the Louvre, which they
entered. Before leaving the convent of the Carmelites, Henrietta had
desired her daughter to attend her at the palace, which she had
inhabited for a long time and which she had only left because their
poverty seemed to them more difficult to bear in gilded chambers.
Mordaunt followed the carriage, and when he had watched it drive beneath
the sombre arches he went and stationed himself under a wall over which
the shadow was extended, and remained motionless, amidst the moldings of
Jean Goujon, like a bas-relievo, representing an equestrian statue.
39. How, sometimes, the Unhappy mistake Chance for Providence.
Well, madame," said De Winter, when the queen had dismissed her
attendants.
"Well, my lord, what I foresaw has come to pass."
"What? does the cardinal refuse to receive the king? France refuse
hospitality to an unfortunate prince? Ay, but it is for the first time, madame!" |
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