On the night of the King's arrival at Blois, this damsel was disfigured with mosquito bites. Her dancing was much extolled, but on this special evening, she danced very badly. Gaston had announced that this little girl of ten "would astonish every one with her brilliant conversation."

No one could draw a single word from her. In short, nothing succeeded.

Mademoiselle was not especially vexed at this failure; she had trembled at the thought of seeing her younger sister "above her."

Hardly had the Court remounted their carriages, before the royal cavalcade, according to the universal custom, commenced to mock its hosts. The King joked at the sight of his uncle's face on seeing the pheasants fall dead. Mademoiselle laughed with the others. She had, however, been moved by a tender scene played by her father.

He had come to awaken her at four o'clock in the morning:

He seated himself on my bed and said: "I believe that you will not be vexed at being waked since I shall not soon have the chance of again seeing you. You are going to take a long journey. I am old, exhausted; I may die during your absence. If I do die, I recommend your sisters to you. I know very well that you do not love Madame: that her behaviour towards you has not been all it should be; but her children have had nothing to do with this, for my sake take care of them. They will have need of you; as for Madame, she will be of little help to them."

He embraced me three or four times. I received all this with much tenderness; for I have a good heart. We separated on the best terms, and I went again to sleep.

Mademoiselle believed that at length they again loved each other. Six weeks later a scandal broke out at the Court of France, then at Bordeaux.

The Duc de Savoie had refused to marry the Princess Marguerite d'Orleans, and Mademoiselle was accused of having secretly written to him that her sister was a humpback. The accusation came from Gaston himself, who said that he had proof of it. This was a most disagreeable incident for Mademoiselle and further illusion was impossible; Gaston was always Gaston, the most dangerous man in France.

From Bordeaux, the Court went to Toulouse; there it was rejoined by Mazarin, who had just signed the peace of the Pyrenees (November 7, 1659).

All histories give the articles of this peace. The results for Europe have been summed up in some brilliant lines written by the great German historian, Leopold Ranke, who had been struck with the advantages which this treaty gave France over Germany:

If it were necessary to characterise in a general fashion the results of this peace ... we would say that the importance of the treaty consisted in the formation and extension of the great (geographically) military system of the French monarchy.

On all sides, to the Pyrenees, to the Alps, above all, to the frontiers of the German Empire and of the Netherlands, France acquired new fortified points ... many positions as important for defence as favourable for attack. The position of France upon the upper Rhine, which it owes to the peace of Westphalia, received by this new treaty its greatest extension.[76]

Mazarin found that he had done well in himself following the campaigning armies. He knew the military importance of most of the places. The Spanish negotiator could not have said as much. In the interior, the first comer could easily comprehend the political benefits of a treaty which should as far as possible abolish the past. Conde had been included in the terms of the peace and returned to France, well resolved to keep quiet. He rejoined the Court at Aix, January 27, 1660, and found there was a certain curiosity exhibited as to how he would be received.

Mademoiselle hastened to Anne of Austria: "My niece," said the Queen to her, "return to your own dwelling; M. le Prince has especially asked that I should be absolutely alone when I first receive him."

I began to smile with vexation, but said: "I am n.o.body; I believe that M. le Prince will be very astonished if he does not find me here." The Queen insisted in a very sharp tone; I went away resolved to complain to M. le Cardinal; this I did on the following day, saying that if such a thing happened again, I should leave the Court. He made many excuses. This was Mazarin's system. He poured forth explanations but in no way changed his methods in the future.

It is known that M. le Prince demanded pardon on his knees, and that he found before him in Louis XIV. a judge grave and cold, who held himself "very straight."[77] To fight against the King was decidedly no more to be considered a joke; it could not be overlooked, even if one were the conqueror of Rocroy.

Mademoiselle did not succeed in comprehending the real situation. Conde, surprised and deceived, felt his way. One evening at a dance, when talking with Mademoiselle, the King joined them. The conversation fell upon the Fronde. On the part of a man of as much _esprit_ as M. le Prince, one can well believe that this was not by chance: "The war was much spoken of," relates Mademoiselle, "and we joked at all the follies of which we had been guilty, the King with the best grace in the world joining in these pleasantries. Although I was suffering with a severe headache, I was not in the least bored." Mademoiselle had laughed without any second thoughts. Conde, clearer sighted, trembled during the remainder of his days, before this monarch so capable of dissimulation, and so perfectly master of himself.

Almost at the same moment there expired another of those belated feudal ideas, which neither royalty nor manners could any longer suffer among the n.o.bility. Gaston d'Orleans died at Blois, February 2nd,[78] his death being caused by an attack of apoplexy. They had heard him murmur from his bed regarding his wife and children, _Domus mea domus desolationis vocabitur_ ("My house will be called the House of Desolation"). He spoke better than he knew. Madame surpa.s.sed herself in blunders, and still more. She went to dinner while her husband was receiving the last unction, sent away the servants of Monsieur immediately after the final sigh, locked up everything, and concerned herself no more. Her women refused a sheet in which to wrap the body; it was necessary to beg one from the ladies of the Court. Some priests came to sit up with the dead, but finding neither "light nor fire" they returned, and the corpse remained alone, more completely abandoned than had been that of his brother, the King, Louis XIII. The body was borne without "pomp or expense"[79] to Saint-Denis, and the widow hastened to Paris, to take possession of the Palace of the Luxembourg, in the absence of Mademoiselle.

The Court did not take the trouble to feign regrets. The King gave the tone in saying to his cousin, gaily, after the first formal compliments: "You will see my brother to-morrow in a training mantle. I believe that he is delighted at the news of your father's death. He believes that he is heir to all his belongings and state; he can talk of nothing else; but he must wait awhile."

Anne of Austria heard this, and smiled. "It is true," pursues Mademoiselle, "that Monsieur appeared the next day in a wonderful mantle." Mademoiselle had great difficulty in keeping her own countenance. Her grief was, however, very real, notwithstanding the past, or rather, perhaps, on account of what had gone before; it was, however, only an impulse affected by the impression of the moment. She exhibited this sorrow a little too effectively:

I wished to wear the most formal and deepest mourning. Every one of my household was clad in black, even to the cooks, the servants, and the valets; the coverings of the mules, all the caparisons of my horses and of the other beasts of burden.

Nothing could be more beautiful the first time we marched than to see this grand train, expressive of grief. It had an air very magnificent and of real grandeur. Everybody says how much wealth she must possess!

The mules' mourning is well worth the training mantle of the little Monsieur. This magnificent funeral pomp had the one inconvenience of recalling to all comers that Mademoiselle must resign other pleasures.

At the end of some weeks, she would have willingly resumed her share in Court gaieties; Anne of Austria kindly commanded her to return to life.

The summer was, however, approaching. The Court continued to drag itself from city to city, waiting until it should please the King of Spain to bring his daughter, and the time seemed long. Mazarin shut himself up to work. Louis drilled the soldiers of his guard. The Queen Mother spent long days in convents. Mademoiselle wrote, or worked tapestry. A large number of the courtiers, no longer able to stand the ennui, had returned to Paris; those who remained, lived lives of complete idleness. The King had at this time a fine occasion to study the condition of his provinces; but he did not possess an investigating mind. He spent long months in front of the Pyrenees, without seeking to know anything of their formation, showing an unusual indifference to knowledge, even for this period. One of the few persons who risked themselves in the Pyrenees, Mme. de Motteville, relates her astonishment at discovering valleys, torrents, cultivated fields, and inhabitants. She had believed that she should only find a great wall of rock, "deserted and untilled."

The journey went on; but nature had not yet the right of entrance into literature, and society spoke but rarely of its charms. Of the vast world, only what came directly under the eyes of the individual was known.

At length, on June 2d (1660), the Court of France, "kicking its heels"

at Saint-Jean-de-Luz during an entire month, received news of the arrival at Fontarabia of Philip IV. and of the Infanta Marie Therese.

The next day, the marriage ceremonies commenced.

Six long days and the best intentions on both sides were needed to consummate this great affair without offending etiquette. The problem presented was this: How to marry the King of France with the daughter of the King of Spain, without permitting the King of France to put his foot on Spanish territory, nor the King of Spain on that belonging to France, and at the same time not to allow the Infanta to quit her father before the ceremony had actually taken place?

On the side of the French Court, whose discipline left much to be desired, difficulties of detail arose constantly to complicate affairs.

The little Monsieur wept for desire to go to Fontarabia to see a Spanish ceremony; but etiquette made it necessary to consider this brother of the King the present heir presumptive to the crown, and, alleged Louis XIV., "the heir presumptive of Spain could not enter France to see a ceremony."[80]

After consideration of this point, the heir was forbidden to pa.s.s the frontier. Then Mademoiselle arrived, who wished to be of the party. She represented that the order was not applicable to her, and cited the Salic law which gave her the right to traverse the Bida.s.soa: "I do not inherit," said she; "I should have some compensation. Since daughters are of no value in France, they should at least be permitted to enjoy spectacles."

Mazarin convoked the ministers to submit this argument. The discussion lasted "three or four hours." Finally, Mademoiselle gained her cause, although the King himself was rather against her. The important question of "trains" gave also some embarra.s.sment to the Cardinal. A duke had offered to bear the train of Mademoiselle in the nuptial cortege.

Mazarin was obliged to seek two other dukes for the younger sisters of Mademoiselle, two children whom the lady of honour of their mother had led to the marriage. He could only find a marquis and a count; the dukes hid themselves. The lady of honour uttered loud protests; "her Princesses must have 'tail-bearers' as t.i.tled as those of their tall sister, or they should not go at all." "I will do what I can," replied the Cardinal; "but no one wishes the task."

Mademoiselle had the good grace to sacrifice her duke, and Mazarin believed the affair terminated, when the Princess Palatine[81] caused a novel incident, upon the day of the ceremony, and even when the last moment was approaching. She appeared in the Queen's chamber, wearing a train, to which, being a foreign Princess, she had no right. La Palatine had counted upon the general confusion to smuggle herself in and to create a precedent. It was needful to delay matters. The train had been reported to Mademoiselle, and no marriage should prevent her protest.

The Cardinal and after him the King were forced to listen to a discourse upon the limitations of foreign princesses. "I believe," writes Mademoiselle, "that I was very eloquent." She proved herself at least very convincing, for La Palatine received the order to take off her train.

But it is necessary to retrace our steps; trains have carried us too far. The relations between the two monarchs had been regulated with a minutia worthy of Asiatic courts. They met only in a hall, built expressly for the purpose upon the Isle des Faisans, and on horseback upon the frontier. The building was half in French, half in Spanish territory. The decorations of the two sides were different. Louis XIV.

must walk upon French carpets, Philip IV. upon Spanish ones. The one must only sit upon a French chair, write only upon a French table with French ink, seek the time only from a French clock, placed in his half of the hall; the other guarded himself with the same care from every object not Spanish. Two opposite doors gave pa.s.sage at precisely the same instant. An equal number of steps led them to the place where the red carpet of France joined the gold and silver one of Spain; and the two Kings addressed each other and embraced over the frontier. Thus demanded the laws of ceremonial monarchy. Their rigour commenced to astonish the good people of France. The interviews upon the Isle des Faisans became legendary. La Fontaine has alluded to them in one of his last fables, _Les Deux Chevres_,[82] in which he has found no better comparison for the solemnity with which the two goats, equally "tainted"

with their rank, equally curbed, advanced towards each other upon the fragile and narrow bridge.

Je m'imagine voir, avec Louis le Grand, Philippe quatre qui s'avance Dans l'isle de la Conference[83]

Ainsi s'avancaient pas a pas, Nez a nez, nos aventurieres.

When all was arranged, on June 3rd, neither the bride and bridegroom nor their parents having seen each other, the King of France, represented by Don Luis de Haro, was married by proxy in the church of Fontarabia to the Infanta Marie-Therese.

This was the expedient which saved the dignity of the two crowns. After the ceremony, the new Queen returned to her father. She wrote the next day a letter of official compliment to her husband. We possess the response of Louis XIV., in which he has well performed a somewhat difficult task.

SAINT-JEAN-DE-LUZ, June 4, 1660.

To receive at the same time a letter from your Majesty, and the news of the celebration of our marriage, and to be on the eve of seeing you, these are a.s.suredly causes of indelible joy for me.

My cousin, the Duke of Crequi, first gentleman of my chamber, whom I am sending expressly to your Majesty, will communicate to you the sentiments of my heart, in which you will remark always increasingly an extreme impatience to convey these sentiments in person.

He will also present to you some trifles on my part.

The same day, in the afternoon, Anne of Austria met for the first time with her brother and niece together. The interview took place in the hall of the Isle des Faisans. Philip IV. astonished the French, decidedly less bound up in tradition than the Spanish. Philip dwelt so immobile in his gravity that one would have hardly taken him for a living man.[84]

Anne of Austria wishing to embrace her brother, whom she had not seen for forty-five years, he decided to make a movement, but it was only "to withdraw his head so far that she could not catch it."[85] The Queen Mother had forgotten the customs of her own land. To embrace in Spain was not to kiss; it only consisted in giving a greeting without touching the lips, as we see done at the Comedie Francaise by personages of the cla.s.sic repertoire. Kissing was, as we read in Moliere only permitted in certain rare cases. In the _Malade Imaginaire_, Thomas Diafoirus consults his father before kissing his fiancee: "Shall I kiss her?"

"Yes," replies M. Diafoirus.

The evening of the interview, June 4th, Mademoiselle was curious to know whether the King of Spain had kissed the Queen Mother. "I asked her; she told me 'no'; that they had embraced according to the fashion of their own country."

How was this strange fashion established at the Court of France, and from there transferred to our theatres? Was it after the marriage of Louis XIV.? I leave to the amateurs of the theatre the solving of this little problem in dramatic history.

They brought a French chair for the Queen Mother, a Spanish one for Philip IV., and they seated themselves nearly "upon the line which separated the two kingdoms."[86]

Marie-Therese, Infanta of Spain and bride by proxy of the King of France, was still to be seated. Should this be done in France or Spain?

upon a Spanish or French chair? They brought one Spanish and two French cushions; piled them upon Spanish territory, and the young Queen found herself seated in a mixed fashion, suitable to her ambiguous situation.