[This refers to “Les Dames Galantes,” and not to the present volume.]
Now, to thoroughly consider how fine a sight was this troupe of beautiful ladies and damoiselles, creatures divine rather than human, we must imagine the entries into Paris and other cities, the sacred and superlative bridals of our kings of France, and their sisters, the daughters of France; such as those of the dauphin, of King Charles, of King Henri III., of the Queen of Spain, of Madame de Lorraine, of the Queen of Navarre, not to speak of many other grand weddings of the princes and princesses, like that of M. de Joyeuse, which would have surpassed them all if the Queen of Navarre had been there. Also we must picture to ourselves the interview at Bayonne, the arrival of the Poles, and an infinite number of other and like magnificences, which I could never finish naming, where I saw these ladies appear, each more beautiful than the rest; some more finely appointed and better dressed than others, because for such festivals, in addition to their great means, the king and queen would give them splendid liveries.
In short, nothing was ever seen finer, more dazzling, dainty, superb; the glory of Niquée never approached it [enchanted palace in “Amadis”]. All this shone in a ballroom of the Tuileries or the Louvre as the stars of heaven in the azure sky. The queen-mother wished and commanded her ladies always to appear in grand and superb apparel, though she herself during her widowhood never clothed herself in worldly silks, unless they were lugubrious, but always properly and so well-fitting that she looked the queen above all else. It is true that on the days of the weddings of her two sons Henri and Charles, she wore gowns of black velvet, wishing, she said, to solemnize the event by so signal an act. While she was married she always dressed very richly and superbly, and looked what she was. And it was fine to see and admire her in the general processions that were made, both in Paris and other cities, such as the Fête Dieu, that of the Rameaux [Palm Sunday], bearing palms and branches with such grace, and on Candlemas Day, when the torches were borne by all the Court, the flames of which contended against their own brilliancy. At these three processions, which are most solemn, we certainly saw nothing but beauty, grace, a noble bearing, a fine gait and splendid apparel, all of which delighted the spectators.
It was fine also to see the queen in her married life going through the country in her litter, being pregnant, or afterwards on horseback attended by forty or fifty ladies and damoiselles mounted on handsome hackneys well caparisoned, and sitting their horses with such good grace that the men could not do better, either in equestrian style or apparel; their hats adorned with plumes which floated in the air as if demanding either love or war. Virgil, who took upon himself to write of the apparel of Queen Dido when she went to the chase, says nothing that approaches the luxury of that of our queen with her ladies, may it not displease her, as I think I have said elsewhere.
This queen (made by the act of the great King François), who introduced this beautiful pageantry, never forgot or let slip anything of the kind she had once learned, but always wanted to imitate or surpass it; I have heard her speak three or four times in my life on this subject. Those who have seen things as I did still feel their souls enchanted like mine, for what I say is true; I know it having seen it.
So there is the Court of our queen. Unhappy was the day when she died! I have heard tell that our present king [Henri IV.], some eighteen months after he saw himself more in hope and prospect of becoming King of France, began one day to discourse with the late M. le Maréchal de Biron, on the plans and projects he would undertake to make his Court prosperous and fine and in all things like that of our said queen, for at that time it was in its greatest lustre and splendour. M. le Maréchal answered: “It is not in your power, nor in that of any king who will ever reign, unless you can manage with God that he shall resuscitate the queen-mother, and bring her round to you.” But that was not what the king wanted, for when she died there was no one whom he hated so much, but without grounds, as I could see, and as he should have known better than I.
How luckless was the day on which such a queen died, at the very point when we had such great necessity for her, and still have!
She died at Blois of sadness caused by the massacre which there took place, and the melancholy tragedy there played, seeing that, without reflection, she had brought the princes to Blois thinking to do well; whereas it was true, as M. le Cardinal de Bourbon said to her: “Alas! madame, you have led us all to butchery without intending it.” That so touched her heart, and also the death of those poor men, that she took to her bed, having previously felt ill, and never rose again.