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Chapter XII
Chapter XII
George Villiers, Duke Of Buckingham
Madame Bonacieux and the duke entered the Louvre without difficulty:
Madame Bonacieux was known to belong to the queen, the duke wore the uniform
of the musketeers of M. de Treville, who were, as we have said, that evening
on guard. Besides, Germain was in the interests of the queen, and, if
anything should happen, Madame Bonacieux would only be accused of having
introduced her lover into the Louvre. She took the risk upon herself; to
be sure her reputation was jeopardized, but of what value in the world was
the reputation of the little wife of a mercer?
Once entered into the interior of the court, the duke and the young
woman kept along the wall for about twenty-five steps; this space passed,
Madame Bonacieux pushed a little side-door, open by day, but generally closed
at night. The door yielded: both entered, and found themselves in darkness;
but Madame Bonacieux was acquainted with all the turnings and windings of
this part of the Louvre, destined for the people of the household. She
closed the door after her, took the duke by the hand, advanced a little,
feeling her way, came to a balustrade, put her foot upon the bottom step, and
began to ascend a flight of stairs; the duke counted two stories. She then
turned to the right, followed the course of a long corridor, redescended a
story, went a few steps further, introduced a key into a lock, opened a door,
and pushed the duke into an apartment lighted only by a night lamp, saying,
"Remain here, milord-duke; some one will come." She then went out by the
same door, which she locked, so that the duke found himself literally a
prisoner.
Nevertheless, isolated as he was, we must say that the Duke of
Buckingham did not experience an instant of fear: one of the salient sides
of his character was the seeking of adventures and a love of the romantic.
Brave, even rash, and enterprising, this was not the first time he had risked
his life in such attempts; he had learned that the pretended message from
Anne of Austria, upon the faith of which he had come to Paris, was a snare,
and instead of regaining England, he had, abusing the position in which he
had been placed, declared to the queen that he would not go back again
without having seen her. The queen had at first positively refused, but at
length became afraid that the duke, if exasperated, would commit some
rashness. She had already decided upon seeing him and urging his immediate
departure, when, on the very evening of coming to this decision, Madame
Bonacieux, who was charged with going to fetch the duke and conducting him
to the Louvre, was carried off. During two days it was not known what had
become of her, and everything remained in suspense. But when once free, and
placed in communication with Laporte, matters having resumed their course,
she accomplished the perilous enterprise, which, but for her abduction, would
have been executed three days earlier.
Buckingham, on being left alone, walked toward a mirror. His
musketeer`s uniform became him wonderfully well.
At thirty-five, which was then his age, he passed with just title, for
the handsomest gentleman and the most elegant cavalier of France or England.
The favorite of two kings, immensely rich, all powerful in a kingdom
which he threw into disorder at his fancy, and calmed again at his caprice,
George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, passed through one of those fabulous
existences which remain in the course of centuries as an astonishment for
posterity.
Thus, sure of himself, convinced of his own power, certain that the laws
which rule other men could not reach him, he went straight to the object he
aimed at, even were this object so elevated and so dazzling that it would
have been madness for any other even to have contemplated it. It was thus
he had succeeded in gaining access several times to the beautiful and haughty
Anne of Austria, and making himself loved by her, by astonishing her.
George Villiers then placed himself before the mirror, as we have said,
restored the undulations to his beautiful hair, which the weight of his hat
had disordered, turned his moustache, and, with a heart swelling with joy,
happy and proud of being near the moment he had so long sighed for, he smiled
upon himself with pride and hope.
At this moment a door concealed in the tapestry opened, and a woman
appeared. Buckingham saw this apparition in the glass; he uttered a cry -
it was the queen!
Anne of Austria was then from twenty-six to twenty-seven years of age
- that is to say, she was in the full splendor of her beauty.
Her carriage was that of a queen or a goddess; her eyes, which cast the
brilliancy of emeralds, were perfectly beautiful, and yet were, at the same
time, full of sweetness and majesty.
Her mouth was small and rosy, and although her underlip, like that of
the princes of the house of Austria, protruded slightly beyond the other, it
was eminently lovely in its smile, but as profoundly disdainful in the
expression of contempt.
Her skin was admired for its velvety softness, her hands and arms were
of surpassing beauty, all the poets of the time singing them as incomparable.
Lastly, her hair, which, from being light in her youth, had become
chestnut, and which she wore curled very plain, and with much powder,
admirably set off her face, in which the most rigid critic could only have
descried a little less rouge, and the most fastidious statuary a little more
fineness in the nose.
Buckingham remained for a moment dazzled; never had Anne of Austria
appeared to him so beautiful, amid balls, fetes, or carousals, as she
appeared to him at this moment, dressed in a simple robe of white satin, and
accompanied by Donna Estafania, the only one of her Spanish women that had
not been driven from her by the jealousy of the king, or by the persecutions
of the cardinal.
Anne of Austria made two steps forward; Buckingham threw himself at her
feet, and before the queen could prevent him, kissed the hem of her robe.
"Duke, you already know that it is not I who have caused you to be
written to."
"Yes, yes, madame! yes, your majesty!" cried the duke; "I know that I
must have been mad, senseless, to believe that snow would become animated or
marble warm; but what then! they who love easily believe in love - besides,
this voyage is not a loss, since I see you."
"Yes," replied Anne, "but you know why and how I see you, milord! I see
you out of pity for yourself; I see you because, insensible to all my
sufferings, you persist in remaining in a city where, by remaining, you run
the risk of your own life, and make me run the risk of my honor; I see you
to tell you that everything separates us, the depths of the sea, the enmity
of kingdoms, the sanctity of vows. It is sacrilege to struggle against so
many things, milord. In short, I see you to tell you that we must never
see each other again.
"Speak on, madame, speak on, queen," said Buckingham; "the sweetness of
your voice covers the harshness of your words. You talk of sacrilege! why,
the sacrilege is the separation of two hearts formed by God for each other."
"Milord," cried the queen, "you forget that I have never told you I
loved you."
"But you have never told me that you did not love me, and truly, to
speak such words to me would be, on the part of your majesty, too great an
ingratitude. For tell me, where can you find a love like mine, a love which
neither time, nor absence, nor despair can extinguish; a love which contents
itself with a lost ribbon, a stray look, or a chance word? It is now three
years, madame, since I saw you for the first time, and during those three
years I have loved you thus.
"Shall I tell you how you were dressed the first time I saw you? shall
I describe to you every one of the ornaments you wore? Mark! I see you now;
you were seated upon cushions in the Spanish fashion; you wore a robe of
green satin embroidered with gold and silver, hanging sleeves, fastened up
upon your beautiful arms, upon those lovely arms, with large diamonds; you
wore a close ruff, a small cap upon your head of the same color as your robe,
and in that cap a heron`s feather.
"Oh, madame! madame! I shut my eyes and I can see you such as you then
were; I open them again and I see you such as you are now - a hundred times
still more beautiful!"
"What folly!" murmured Anne of Austria, who had not the courage to find
fault with the duke for having so well preserved her portrait in his heart;
"what folly to feed a useless passion with such remembrances!"
"And upon what then must I live? I have nothing but remembrances. They
are my happiness, my treasures, my hopes. Every time that I see you is a
fresh diamond which I enclose in the casket of my heart. This is the fourth
which you have let fall and I have picked up; for, in three years, madame,
I have only seen you four times; the first which I have just described to
you, the second at the mansion of Madame de Chevreuse, the third in the
gardens of Amiens."
"Duke," said the queen, blushing, "never name that evening."
"Oh, yes! let me speak of it, on the contrary, let me speak of it; that
is the most happy and brilliant evening of my life! Do you not remember what
a beautiful night it was? How soft and perfumed the air was? and how lovely
the blue star-enameled sky was?
"Ah! that time, madame, I was able for one instant to be alone with
you; that time you were about to tell me all, the isolation of your life, the
griefs of your heart. You leaned upon my arm; upon this, madame! I felt,
as leaning my head toward you, your beautiful hair touched my cheek, and
every time that it did touch me, I trembled from head to foot. Oh, queen,
queen! you do not know what felicity from heaven, what joys from paradise,
are comprised in a moment like that! I would give all my wealth, all my
fortunes, all my glory, all the days I have to live, for such an instant, for
a night like that! for that night, madame, that night you loved me, I will
swear it."
"Milord, yes, it is possible that the influence of the place the charm
of the beautiful evening, the fascination of your look, the thousand
circumstances, in short, which sometimes unite to destroy a woman, were
grouped around me on that fatal evening; but, milord, you saw the queen come
to the aid of the woman who faltered: at the first word you dared to utter,
at the first freedom to which I had to reply, I summoned my attendants."
"Yes, yes! that is true, and any other love but mine would have sunk
beneath this ordeal, but my love came out from it more ardent and more
eternal. You believed you should fly from me by returning to Paris, you
believed that I should not dare to quit the treasure over which my master had
charged me to watch. What to me were all the treasures in the world, or all
the kings of the earth! Eight days after I was back again, madame. That
time you had nothing to say to me; I had risked my life and my favor to see
you but for a second; I did not even touch your hand, and you pardoned me on
seeing me so submissive and so repentant."
"Yes, but calumny seized upon all those follies in which I took no part,
as you well know, milord. The king, excited by M. the Cardinal, made a
terrible clamor; Madame de Vernet was driven from me, Putange was exiled,
Madame de Chevreuse fell into disgrace, and when you wished to come back as
ambassador to France, the king himself, remember, milord, the king himself
opposed it."
"Yes, and France is about to pay for her king`s refusal with a war. I
am not allowed to see you, madame, but you shall every day hear speak of me!
What object, think you, has this expedition to Re and this league with the
Protestants of Rochelle which I am projecting? The pleasure of seeing you.
"I have no hope of penetrating sword in hand to Paris, I know that well;
but this war may bring round a peace, this peace will require a negotiator,
that negotiator will be me. They will not dare to refuse me then, and I will
see you, and will be happy for an instant. Thousands of men, it is true,
will have to pay for my happiness with their lives, but what will that
signify to me, provided I see you again! All this is perhaps madness, folly,
but tell me what woman has a lover more truly in love? what queen has a
servant more faithful or more ardent?"
"Milord! milord! you invoke in your defense things which accuse you
more strongly: milord, all these proofs of love that you boast are little
better than crimes."
"Because you do not love me, madame: if you loved me, you would view all
this much otherwise: if you loved me, oh! if you loved me, that would be
happiness too great, and I should run mad. Ah! Madame de Chevreuse, of whom
you spoke but now, Madame de Chevreuse was less cruel than you. Holland
loved her, and she responded to his love."
"Madame de Chevreuse was not a queen," murmured Anne of Austria,
overcome in spite of herself by the expression of so profound a passion.
"You would love me, then, if you were no one; you, madame, say that you
would love me then? I am then to believe that it is the dignity of your rank
alone that makes you cruel to me: I may then believe that if you had been
Madame de Chevreuse, the poor Buckingham might have hoped? Thanks for those
sweet words! oh, my lovely queen! a hundred times, thanks!"
"Oh! milord! you have ill understood, wrongly interpreted; I did not
mean to say - "
"Silence! silence!" cried the duke; "if I am happy in an error do not
have the cruelty to deprive me of it. You have told me yourself, madame,
that I have been drawn into a snare, and I, perhaps, shall leave my life in
it; for, although it be strange, I have for some time had a presentiment that
I shall shortly die." And the duke smiled, with a smile at once sad and
charming.
"Oh! my God!" cried Anne of Austria, with an accent of terror which
proved how much greater an interest she took in the duke than she ventured
to tell.
"I do not tell you this, madame, to terrify you; no, it is even
ridiculous for me to name it to you, and, believe me, I take no heed of such
dreams. But the words you have just spoken, the hope you have almost given
me, will have richly paid all - were it my life."
"Oh! but I," said Anne, "I, duke, have had presentiments likewise, I
have had dreams. I dreamed that I saw you lying bleeding, wounded."
"In the left side, was it not, and with a knife" interrupted Buckingham.
"Yes, it was so, milord, it was so, in the left side, and with a knife.
Who can possibly have told you I had had that dream; I have imparted it to
no one but my God, and that in my prayers."
"I ask for no more; you love me, madame? it is enough."
"I love you! I!"
"Yes, yes. Would God send the same dreams to you as to me, if you did
not love me? Should we have the same presentiments if our existences were
not associated by our hearts? You love me, my beautiful queen, and you will
weep for me?"
"Oh! my God! my God!" cried Anne of Austria, "this is more than I can
bear! In the name of heaven, duke, leave me, go! I do not know whether I
love you or do not love you, but what I know is that I will not be a perjured
woman. Take pity on me, then, and go. Oh! if you are struck in France, if
you die in France, if I could imagine that your love for me was the cause of
your death, nothing could console me, I should run mad. Depart, go then, I
implore you!"
"Oh! how beautiful you are thus! Oh! how I love you!" said
Buckingham.
"Oh! but go! go! I implore you, and come back hereafter; come back
as ambassador, come back as minister, come back surrounded with guards who
will defend you, with servants who will watch over you, and then - then I
shall be no longer in fear for your days, and I shall be happy in seeing
you."
"Oh! is this true, is it true what you say?"
"Yes."
"Oh! then, some pledge of your indulgence, some object which, coming
from you, may assure me that I have not dreamed; something you have worn, and
that I may wear in my turn - a ring, a necklace, a chain."
"Will you go then, will you go, if I give you that you ask for?"
"Yes."
"This very instant?"
"Yes."
"You will leave France, you will return to England?"
"I will, I swear to you I will."
"Wait, then, wait."
And Anne of Austria re-entered her apartment, and came out again almost
immediately, holding a casket in her hand made of rosewood, with her cipher
upon it in gold letters.
"Here, milord, here," said she, "keep this in memory of me."
Buckingham took the casket, and fell a second time on his knees.
"You promised me you would go," said the queen.
"And I keep my word. Your hand, madame, your hand, and I depart."
Anne of Austria stretched forth her hand, closing her eyes, and leaning
with the other upon Estafania, for she felt her strength ready to fail her.
Buckingham applied his lips passionately to that beautiful hand, and
then rising said:
"Within six months, if I am not dead, I shall have seen you again,
madame; even if I have confounded the whole world for that object, I shall
have seen you again."
Faithful to the promise he had made, with a desperate effort, he rushed
out of the apartment.
In the corridor he met Madame Bonacieux, who waited for him, and who,
with the same precautions and the same good fortune, conducted him out of the
Louvre.
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