CHAPTER 92
Forever!
The Duke of Buckingham, obedient to the queen-mother's
invitation, presented himself in her apartments half an hour
after the departure of the Duc d'Orleans. When his name was
announced by the gentleman-usher in attendance, the queen,
who was sitting with her elbow resting on a table, and her
head buried in her hands, rose, and smilingly received the
graceful and respectful salutation which the duke addressed
to her. Anne of Austria was still beautiful. It is well
known that at her then somewhat advanced age, her long
auburn hair, perfectly formed hands, and bright ruby lips,
were still the admiration of all who saw her. On the present
occasion, abandoned entirely to a remembrance which evoked
all the past in her heart, she looked almost as beautiful as
in the days of her youth, when her palace was open to the
visits of the Duke of Buckingham's father, then a young and
impassioned man, as well as an unfortunate prince, who lived
for her alone, and died with her name upon his lips. Anne of
Austria fixed upon Buckingham a look so tender in its
expression, that it denoted, not alone the indulgence of
maternal affection, but a gentleness of expression like the
coquetry of a woman who loves.
"Your majesty," said Buckingham, respectfully, "desired to
speak to me."
"Yes, duke," said the queen, in English; "will you be good
enough to sit down?"
The favor which Anne of Austria thus extended to the young
man, and the welcome sound of the language of a country from
which the duke had been estranged since his stay in France,
deeply affected him. He immediately conjectured that the
queen had a request to make of him. After having abandoned
the first few moments to the irrepressible emotions she
experienced, the queen resumed the smiling air with which
she had received him. "What do you think of France?" she
said, in French.
"It is a lovely country, madame," replied the duke.
"Had you ever seen it before?"
"Once only, madame."
"But, like all true Englishmen, you prefer England?"
"I prefer my own native land to France," replied the duke;
"but if your majesty were to ask me which of the two cities,
London or Paris, I should prefer as a residence, I should be
forced to answer, Paris."
Anne of Austria observed the ardent manner with which these
words had been pronounced. "I am told my lord, you have rich
possessions in your own country and that you live in a
splendid and time-honored palace."
"It was my father's residence," replied Buckingham, casting
down his eyes.
"Those are indeed great advantages and souvenirs," replied
the queen, alluding, in spite of herself, to recollections
from which it is impossible voluntarily to detach one's
self.
"In fact," said the duke, yielding to the melancholy
influence of this opening conversation, "sensitive persons
live as much in the past or the future, as in the present."
"That is very true," said the queen, in a low tone of voice.
"It follows, then, my lord,' she added, "that you, who are a
man of feeling, will soon quit France in order to shut
yourself up with your wealth and your relics of the past."
Buckingham raised his head and said, "I think not, madame."
"What do you mean?"
"On the contrary, I think of leaving England in order to
take up my residence in France."
It was now Anne of Austria's turn to exhibit surprise.
"Why?" she said. "Are you not in favor with the new king?"
"Perfectly so, madame, for his majesty's kindness to me is
unbounded."
"It cannot," said the queen, "be because your fortune has
diminished, for it is said to be enormous."
"My income, madame, has never been so large."
"There is some secret cause, then?"
"No, madame," said Buckingham, eagerly, "there is nothing
secret in my reason for this determination. I prefer
residence in France; I like a court so distinguished by its
refinement and courtesy; I like the amusements, somewhat
serious in their nature, which are not the amusements of my
own country, and which are met with in France."
Anne of Austria smiled shrewdly. "Amusements of a serious
nature?" she said. "Has your Grace well reflected on their
seriousness?" The duke hesitated. "There is no amusement so
serious," continued the queen, "as to prevent a man of your
rank ---- "
"Your majesty seems to insist greatly on that point,"
interrupted the duke.
"Do you think so, my lord?"
"If you will forgive me for saying so, it is the second time
you have vaunted the attractions of England at the expense
of the delight which all experience who live in France."
Anne of Austria approached the young man, and placing her
beautiful hand upon his shoulder, which trembled at the
touch, said, "Believe me, monsieur, nothing can equal a
residence in one's own native country. I have very
frequently had occasion to regret Spain. I have lived long,
my lord, very long for a woman, and I confess to you, that
not a year has passed I have not regretted Spain."
"Not one year, madame?" said the young duke coldly. "Not one
of those years when you reigned Queen of Beauty -- as you
still are, indeed?"
"A truce to flattery, duke, for I am old enough to be your
mother." She emphasized these latter words in a manner, and
with a gentleness, which penetrated Buckingham's heart.
"Yes," she said, "I am old enough to be your mother; and for
this reason, I will give you a word of advice."
"That advice being that I should return to London?" he
exclaimed.
"Yes, my lord."
The duke clasped his hands with a terrified gesture which
could not fail of its effect upon the queen, already
disposed to softer feelings by the tenderness of her own
recollections. "It must be so," added the queen.
"What!" he again exclaimed, "am I seriously told that I must
leave, -- that I must exile myself, -- that I am to flee at
once?"
"Exile yourself, did you say? One would fancy France was
your native country."
"Madame, the country of those who love is the country of
those whom they love."
"Not another word, my lord; you forget whom you are
addressing."
Buckingham threw himself on his knees. "Madame, you are the
source of intelligence, of goodness, and of compassion; you
are the first person in this kingdom, not only by your rank,
but the first person in the world on account of your angelic
attributes. I have said nothing, madame. Have I, indeed,
said anything you should answer with such a cruel remark?
What have I betrayed?"
"You have betrayed yourself," said the queen, in a low tone
of voice.
"I have said nothing, -- I know nothing."
"You forget you have spoken and thought in the presence of a
woman, and besides ---- "
"Besides," said the duke, "no one knows you are listening to
me."
"On the contrary, it is known; you have all the defects and
all the qualities of youth."
"I have been betrayed or denounced, then?"
"By whom?"
"By those who, at Havre, had, with infernal perspicacity,
read my heart like an open book."
"I do not know whom you mean."
"M. de Bragelonne, for instance."
"I know the name without being acquainted with the person to
whom it belongs. M. de Bragelonne has said nothing."
"Who can it be, then? If any one, madame, had had the
boldness to notice in me that which I do not myself wish to
behold ---- "
"What would you do, duke?"
"There are secrets which kill those who discover them."
"He, then, who has discovered your secret, madman that you
are, still lives; and, what is more, you will not slay him,
for he is armed on all sides, -- he is a husband, a jealous
man, -- he is the second gentleman in France, -- he is my
son, the Duc d'Orleans."
The duke turned pale as death. "You are very cruel, madame,"
he said.
"You see, Buckingham," said Anne of Austria, sadly, "how you
pass from one extreme to another, and fight with shadows,
when it would seem so easy to remain at peace with
yourself."
"If we fight, madame, we die on the field of battle,"
replied the young man, gently, abandoning himself to the
most gloomy depression.
Anne ran towards him and took him by the hand. "Villiers,"
she said, in English, with a vehemence of tone which nothing
could resist, "what is it you ask? Do you ask a mother to
sacrifice her son, -- a queen to consent to the dishonor of
her house? Child that you are, do not dream of it. What! in
order to spare your tears am I to commit these crimes?
Villiers! you speak of the dead; the dead, at least, were
full of respect and submission; they resigned themselves to
an order of exile; they carried their despair away with them
in their hearts, like a priceless possession, because the
despair was caused by the woman they loved, and because
death, thus deceptive, was like a gift or a favor conferred
upon them."
Buckingham rose, his features distorted, and his hands
pressed against his heart. "You are right, madame," he said,
"but those of whom you speak had received their order of
exile from the lips of the one whom they loved; they were
not driven away; they were entreated to leave, and were not
laughed at."
"No," murmured Anne of Austria, "they were not forgotten.
But who says you are driven away, or that you are exiled?
Who says that your devotion will not be remembered? I do not
speak on any one's behalf but my own, when I tell you to
leave. Do me this kindness -- grant me this favor; let me,
for this also, be indebted to one of your name."
"It is for your sake, then, madame?"
"For mine alone."
"No one whom I shall leave behind me will venture to mock,
-- no prince even who shall say, `I required it.'"
"Listen to me, duke," and hereupon the dignified features of
the queen assumed a solemn expression. "I swear to you that
no one commands in this matter but myself. I swear to you
that, not only shall no one either laugh or boast in any
way, but no one even shall fail in the respect due to your
rank. Rely upon me, duke, as I rely upon you."
"You do not explain yourself, madame; my heart is full of
bitterness, and I am in utter despair; no consolation,
however gentle and affectionate, can afford me relief."
"Do you remember your mother, duke?" replied the queen, with
a winning smile.
"Very slightly, madame; yet I remember how she used to cover
me with her caresses and her tears whenever I wept."
"Villiers," murmured the queen, passing her arm round the
young man's neck, "look upon me as your mother, and believe
that no one shall ever make my son weep."
"I thank you, madame," said the young man, affected and
almost suffocated by his emotion, "I feel there is indeed
still room in my heart for a gentler and nobler sentiment
than love."
The queen-mother looked at him and pressed his hand. "Go,"
she said.
"When must I leave? Command me."
"At any time that may suit you, my lord," resumed the queen;
"you will choose your own day of departure. Instead,
however, of setting off to-day, as you would doubtless wish
to do, or to-morrow, as others may have expected, leave the
day after to-morrow, in the evening; but announce to-day
that it is your wish to leave."
"My wish?" murmured the young duke.
"Yes, duke."
"And shall I never return to France?"
Anne of Austria reflected for a moment, seemingly absorbed
in sad and serious thought. "It would be a consolation for
me," she said, "if you were to return on the day when I
shall be carried to my final resting-place at Saint-Denis
beside the king, my husband."
"Madame, you are goodness itself; the tide of prosperity is
setting in on you; your cup brims over with happiness, and
many long years are yet before you."
"In that case you will not come for some time, then," said
the queen, endeavoring to smile.
"I shall not return," said Buckingham, "young as I am. Death
does not reckon by years; it is impartial; some die young,
some reach old age."
"I will not harbor any sorrowful ideas, duke. Let me comfort
you; return in two years. I perceive from your face that the
very idea which saddens you so much now, will have
disappeared before six months have passed, and will be not
only dead but forgotten in the period of absence I have
assigned you.'
"I think you judged me better a little while ago madame,"
replied the young man, "when you said that time is powerless
against members of the family of Buckingham."
"Silence," said the queen, kissing the duke upon the
forehead with an affection she could not restrain. "Go, go;
spare me and forget yourself no longer. I am the queen; you
are the subject of the king of England. King Charles awaits
your return. Adieu, Villiers, -- farewell."
"Forever!" replied the young man, and he fled, endeavoring
to master his emotion.
Anne leaned her head upon her hands, and then looking at
herself in the glass, murmured, "It has been truly said,
that a woman who has truly loved is always young, and that
the bloom of twenty years ever lies concealed in some secret
cloister of the heart."
