France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction
“No! not the first prince of the blood, not the king’s uncle, but the
base conspirator, the soul of every cabal, who pretends to lead the
brave people who are weak enough to believe in the honor of a prince of
the blood—not the prince nearest to the throne, not the king’s uncle, I
repeat, but the murderer of Chalais, of Montmorency and of Cinq-Mars,
who is playing now the same game he played long ago and who thinks that
he will win the game because he has a new adversary—instead of a man
who threatened, a man who smiles. But he is mistaken; I shall not leave
so near the queen that source of discord with which the deceased
cardinal so often caused the anger of the king to rage above the
boiling point.”
Anne blushed and buried her face in her hands.
“What am I to do?” she said, bowed down beneath the voice of her
tyrant.
“Endeavor to remember the names of those faithful servants who crossed
the Channel, in spite of Monsieur de Richelieu, tracking the roads
along which they passed by their blood, to bring back to your majesty
certain jewels given by you to Buckingham.”
Anne arose, full of majesty, and as if touched by a spring, and looking
at the cardinal with the haughty dignity which in the days of her youth
had made her so powerful: “You are insulting me!” she said.
“I wish,” continued Mazarin, finishing, as it were, the speech this
sudden movement of the queen had cut; “I wish, in fact, that you should
now do for your husband what you formerly did for your lover.”
“Again that accusation!” cried the queen. “I thought that calumny was
stifled or extinct; you have spared me till now, but since you speak of
it, once for all, I tell you——”
“Madame, I do not ask you to tell me,” said Mazarin, astounded by this
returning courage.
“I will tell you all,” replied Anne. “Listen: there were in truth, at
that epoch, four devoted hearts, four loyal spirits, four faithful
swords, who saved more than my life—my honor——”
“Ah! you confess it!” exclaimed Mazarin.
“Is it only the guilty whose honor is at the sport of others, sir? and
cannot women be dishonored by appearances? Yes, appearances were
against me and I was about to suffer dishonor. However, I swear I was
not guilty, I swear it by——”
The queen looked around her for some sacred object by which she could
swear, and taking out of a cupboard hidden in the tapestry, a small
coffer of rosewood set in silver, and laying it on the altar:
“I swear,” she said, “by these sacred relics that Buckingham was not my
lover.”
“What relics are those by which you swear?” asked Mazarin, smiling. “I
am incredulous.”
The queen untied from around her throat a small golden key which hung
there, and presented it to the cardinal.
“Open, sir,” she said, “and look for yourself.”
Mazarin opened the coffer; a knife, covered with rust, and two letters,
one of which was stained with blood, alone met his gaze.
“What are these things?” he asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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