“Never!” exclaims Marie passionately. “I will not resign my place at the council, nor will I sacrifice my supporter, the Duc d’Epernon. My son is incapable of governing. He has ever been the tool of those about him. I am his best substitute. This is a miserable plot by which you basely seek to disgrace me by my own act—to rise by my fall.”
“Oh, Madame, to whom I owe so much,” pleads Richelieu, “whom I would now serve while I can, hear me. I speak from my heart—I speak for the last time. Be warned, I beseech you.” His hands are still clasped, his voice falters, tears flow down his cheeks. Any one less obstinately blind than the Queen would have been warned by the evidence of such unusual emotion in a man ordinarily so cold and impassible as the Cardinal.
“Ha, ha, you are an admirable actor, Cardinal!” cries she. “But what if I refuse to listen to a traitor? Who named me[22] ‘Mother of the kingdom?’ Who vowed to me ‘that the purple with which I invested him would be a solemn pledge of his willingness to shed his blood in my service’? I know you, Armand de Plessis.”
For some minutes neither utters a word. When he addresses the Queen again, Richelieu has mastered his feelings and speaks with calmness, but his looks express the profoundest pity.
“I am no traitor, Madame, but the unwilling bearer of a decision that will infinitely pain you, if you drive me to announce it. But if you will condescend to listen to my counsel, to conciliate your son the King, and disarm his wrath by immediate submission, then that terrible decision never need be revealed. That you should be wise in time, Madame,” adds he, in a voice full of gentleness, contemplating her with the utmost compassion, “is my earnest prayer.”
Before he had done speaking the Cardinal sinks on his knees at her feet, and draws forth from his breast a paper, to which are appended the royal seals. Marie, whose usual insolence and noisy wrath have given place to secret fear, still clings to the hope that she is too powerful to be dispensed with, and that by a dauntless bearing she will intimidate Richelieu, and, through him, the King, replies coldly—
“I have given you my answer. Now you can withdraw.” Then, rising from her chair, she turns her back upon Richelieu—who still kneels before her—and moves forward to leave the room.
“Stay, Madame!” cries Richelieu, rising, stung to the quick by her arrogant rejection of his sympathy, and ashamed of the unwonted emotion the forlorn position of his royal mistress had called forth; “stay and listen to this decree, in the name of his Majesty.” And he unfolds the parchment. “Once more, Madame, understand. Unless you will on the instant resign your seat in the Council of State and dismiss the Duc d’Epernon—a man suspected of a hideous crime, which you at least, Madame, ought never to have forgotten—from his attendance on your person, I am commanded by his Majesty——”
“Dismiss D’Epernon!—my only trusty servant, D’Epernon, who has defended me from your treachery!”—breaks in Marie passionately, her voice rising higher at every word—“Never—never! Let me die first! How dare you, Cardinal Richelieu, come hither to affront the mother of your King? I will NOT dismiss the Duc d’Epernon. It is you who shall be dismissed!”—and she glares upon him with fury—“despised, dishonoured, blasted, as you deserve.”
“If you refuse, Madame—and let me implore you to reflect well before you do,” continues the Cardinal, quite unmoved by her reproaches—“I have his Majesty’s commands to banish you from Court, and to imprison you during his pleasure within this palace.”[23]