Paris, accompanied by Raoul, the Palais-Royal was the
theatre wherein a scene of what Moliere would have called
excellent comedy was being performed. Four days had elapsed
since his marriage, and Monsieur, having breakfasted very
hurriedly, passed into his ante-chamber, frowning and out of
temper. The repast had not been over-agreeable. Madame had
had breakfast served in her own apartment, and Monsieur had
breakfasted almost alone; the Chevalier de Lorraine and
Manicamp were the only persons present at the meal which
lasted three-quarters of an hour without a single syllable
having been uttered. Manicamp, who was less intimate with
his royal highness than the Chevalier de Lorraine, vainly
endeavored to detect, from the expression of the prince’s
face, what had made him so ill-humored. The Chevalier de
Lorraine, who had no occasion to speculate about anything,
inasmuch as he knew all, ate his breakfast with that
extraordinary appetite which the troubles of one’s friends
but stimulates, and enjoyed at the same time both Monsieur’s
ill-humor and the vexation of Manicamp. He seemed delighted,
while he went on eating, to detain the prince, who was very
impatient to move, still at table. Monsieur at times
repented the ascendancy which he had permitted the Chevalier
de Lorraine to acquire over him, and which exempted the
latter from any observance of etiquette towards him.
Monsieur was now in one of those moods, but he dreaded as
much as he liked the chevalier, and contented himself with
nursing his anger without betraying it. Every now and then
Monsieur raised his eyes to the ceiling, then lowered them
towards the slices of pate which the chevalier was
attacking, and finally, not caring to betray his resentment,
he gesticulated in a manner which Harlequin might have
envied. At last, however, Monsieur could control himself no
longer, and at the dessert, rising from the table in
excessive wrath, as we have related, he left the Chevalier
de Lorraine to finish his breakfast as he pleased. Seeing
Monsieur rise from the table, Manicamp, napkin in hand, rose
also. Monsieur ran rather than walked, towards the
ante-chamber, where, noticing an usher in attendance, he
gave him some directions in a low tone of voice. Then
turning back again, but avoiding passing through the
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breakfast apartment, he crossed several rooms, with the
intention of seeking the queen-mother in her oratory, where
she usually remained.
It was about ten o’clock in the morning. Anne of Austria was
engaged in writing as Monsieur entered. The queen-mother was
extremely attached to her son, for he was handsome in person
and amiable in disposition. He was, in fact, more
affectionate, and, it might be, more effeminate than the
king. He pleased his mother by those trifling sympathizing
attentions all women are glad to receive. Anne of Austria,
who would have been rejoiced to have had a daughter, almost
found in this, her favorite son, the attentions, solicitude,
and playful manners of a child of twelve years of age. All
the time he passed with his mother he employed in admiring
her arms, in giving his opinion upon her cosmetics, and
receipts for compounding essences, in which she was very
particular; and then, too, he kissed her hands and cheeks in
the most childlike and endearing manner, and had always some
sweetmeats to offer her, or some new style of dress to
recommend. Anne of Austria loved the king, or rather the
regal power in her eldest son; Louis XIV. represented
legitimacy by right divine. With the king, her character was
that of the queen-mother, with Philip she was simply the
mother. The latter knew that, of all places of refuge, a
mother’s heart is the most compassionate and surest. When
quite a child he always fled there for refuge when he and
his brother quarrelled, often, after having struck him,
which constituted the crime of high treason on his part,
after certain engagements with hands and nails, in which the
king and his rebellious subject indulged in their
night-dresses respecting the right to a disputed bed, having
their servant Laporte as umpire, — Philip, conqueror, but
terrified at victory, used to flee to his mother to obtain