A Visit to John Stuart Mill at Avignon [pp. 785-788]

1873.] A VISIT TO JOHN STUART iWILL AT A VIGNON 785
"Richelieu is a traitor, a hypocrite, a libertine-not even his sovereign's wife is
sacred to him!"
"Ah, madame, it is natural that you
and Richelieu should disagree," retorted
the king, with an incredulous sneer.
' He is a match for you and for the duchess your counsellor-the duchess whose
life disgraces my court."
Anne had now thrown herself into a
chair, her hands were crossed on her
bosom, her eyes bent steadily on the
king, as if prepared for whatever fresh
extravagance he might utter. Even the
enraged Louis felt the influence of her
fixed, stern gaze. He ceased speaking,
grew suddenly confused, paced up and
down hurriedly, stopped, essayed again
to address her-then abruptly strode out
of the room.
The queen and her ladies are seated
on a stone balcony that overlooks the parterre and the park of Saint-Germain. Below, the king's violins are playing some
music of his composition, set to words in
praise of friendship, full of covert allusions to Mademoiselle de Hautefort. The
queen's fair young face is clouded with
care; she leans back listlessly in her
chair, and takes no heed of the music or
of what is passing around her. The Chevalier de Jars approaches her. There is
something in his air that alarms her; she
signs to him to place himself beside
her.
Mademoiselle de Hautefort, conscious
that every one is watching the effect of
the music and the words upon her, sits
apart at the farther end of the gallery,
from which the balcony projects, almost
concealed from view. A door near her
opens noiselessly, and the king puts in his
head. He peers round cautiously, sees
that no one has perceived him, and that
Mademoiselle de Haitefort is alone, then
he creeps in and seats himself by her side.
He looks saddened and perplexed.
"Why do you shun me?" he asks, abruptly.
"You have been absent, sire."
"Did you miss me?" His voice
sounds so strange and hollow that Mademoiselle de Hautefort looks up into his
face. Something had happened; what
could it be? Some misfortune to the
queen is always her first thought. Before she can reply, Louis sighs profoundly, so profoundly that he almost groans,
contemplating her, at the same time, with
looks of inexpressible sorrow. "Alas! "
exclaims he at last, "I had hoped so much
from this interview when we parted at
Fontainebleau; I have lived upon the
thought, and now-my dream is ended;
all is over!" The maid-of-honor grows
alarmed; either he is gone mad, she
thinks, or something dreadful has happened.
"I cannot conceive what you mean,
sire?" she replies, not knowing what to
say.
"Are you, too, false?" he continues,
"with those eyes so full of truth? Yet
it must be you, it can be no other. False
like the rest; a devil with an angel's
face!" The maid-of-honor is more and
more amazed. "Yet I trusted you; with
my whole heart I have trusted you," and
he turns to her with a piteous expression,
and wrings his hands. "I unfolded to
you my forlorn and desolate condition.
It might have touched you. Tell me,"
he continues, in a tone of anguish, "tell
me the truth; was it you who betrayed
me?"
Mademoiselle de Hautefort is terribly
confused. She understands now what
the king means; a mortal terror seizes
her: what shall she say to him? She is
too conscientious to deny point-blank that
she has told his secret, so she replies evasively, that she is "his majesty's faithful
servant."
"But, speak," insists the king, "give
me a plain answer. How does the queen
know a state secret, that I confided to
you alone, that I even whispered in your
ear?"
"Sire, I-I do not know," falters the
maid- of-honor.
"Swear to me, mademoiselle, that
you have not betrayed me to the queen;
swear, and I will believe you. Pardieu!
I will believe you even if it is not true!"
Louis's eyes shine with hidden fire; his
slight frame quivers.
Mademoiselle de Hautefort, trembling
for her mistress, with difficulty controls
herself. "Your majesty must judge me
as you please," she replies, struggling to
speak with unconcern. "I call God to
witness I have been faithful to my trust."
"I would fain believe it," replies the
king, watching her in painful suspense;
he seems to wait for some further justification, but not another syllable passes
her lips. Still the king lingers; his looks
are riveted upon her.
At this moment the music ceases. The
maid-of-honor starts up, for the queen
has left the balcony. The king had vanished.
Anne of Austria, quitting those around
her, advances alone to the spot where
Mademoiselle de Hautefort had been talking with the king. "I am going at once
to the Yal de Grace," she whispers, in
great agitation.
"Indeed, madame; so suddenly?"
"Yes, at once. I have just heard
from the Chevalier de Jars that Chalais
is arrested at Nantes. He accuses me
and the Duchesse de Chevreuse of conspiring with him. Richelieu meditates
some coup de main against me. I shall
be safe at the Val de GrAce. You and
the duchess will accompany me. Here is
a letter I have written in pencil to my
brother; it is most important. I dare
not carry it about me; take care to deliver it yourself to Laporte."
The queen drew from her pocket a letter, placed it in the maid-of-honor's hand,
and hastened back to rejoin the company.
Mademoiselle was about to follow her,
when Louis suddenly rose up before her,
and barred her advance.
"Mademoiselle de Hautefort," he said,
"I have heard all. I was concealed behind that curtain. Give me that letter,
written by my wife, I command you."
"Never, sire, never! " and Mademoiselle de Hautefort crushed the letter in
her hand.
"How-dare you refuse me? Give
it to me instantly!" and he tried to tear
it from her grasp. She eluded him, retreated a few steps, and paused for a moment to think; then, as if a sudden inspiration had struck her, she opened the
lace kerchief which covered her neck,
thrust the letter into her bosom, and exclaimed:
"Here it is, sire; come and take it I!"
With outstretched arms she stood before him; her cheeks aglow with blushes,
her bosom wildly heaving. Wistfully he
regarded her for a moment, then thrust
out his hand to seize the letter, plainly
visible beneath the gauzy covering. One
glance from her flashing eye, and the
king, crimson to the temples, drew back;
irresistibly impelled, he advanced again
and once more retreated, then with a
look of baffied fury shouted, "Now I
know you are a traitress!" and rushed
from the gallery.
[To BE CONTINqU D.]
A VISIT TO JOHN STUART
MILL AT AVIGNON.
IN September, 1869, I arrived at Avignon
(France) from Barcelona, having ridden
over the Pyrenees in the diligence. On the
way we had met parties of soldiers returning
from pursuit of Carlists, but had encountered
no enemy except the custom-house officers on
the frontier. Alighting at the station outside
the walls, disregarding the appeals of stagedrivers and hackmen, and slinging my travelling-bag over my shoulder (leaving my baggage in charge of the station-master), I quickly reached the city. Shaking off at last the
undesired attendance of a rough fellow who
had followed me from the station with importunate offers of his services as guide,
porter, or any thing else by which he could
deplete the purse of one he seemed to consider his rightful prey, I proceeded to the
counting-house of the bankers on whom I had
a letter of credit. Having, under their advice, independent of the runners who infested
the station, chosen an hotel, I gave the afternoon and evening to inspecting the Palace
of the Popes, where from 1305 to 1378
the heads of the Church found refuge in
a stormy and violent age. Well adapted indeed for such a use was Avignon. The pal
1873.]
A4 VISIT TO JOfON STU7ART MILL A1T A VIGNfO.Y
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