Medvedev Dmitriy: http://www.proza.ru/2013/02/05/1357
Garcon* Gaston, the second son of Marie de Medici, capitally annoyed her with his requests to move to Cappel to visit his friend, the marquis de Sad, or was it de Vard (the queen-mother didn’t bother herself with remembering the names of the servants). When the escape actually took place, at the gates of the fort she was met with a truly reVarding (or was it de-Sadistic) reception, which she failed to appreciate: she wasn’t allowed entrance by the order of a certain cardinal.
“Oh, well,” Said the escapee, “I’ll go, go somewhere where I’m appreciated and loved.”
And that was the beginning of her endless journey across Europe. The Netherlands, England, Germany and the rest of the nations preferred to support the fugitive from a safe distance. Even the Spanish support was just a political move meant to cause a civil unrest in France, the never sleeping nation. But all her attempts had failed due to various causes.
As a diligent mother, Marie didn’t forget to write to her son reminders of his own fault in her misery, and new details of old stories about the mean Richelieu. Turns up that no matter how badly people spoke about the cardinal, she always had something to add. Louis responded delicately, adding financial support to his letters and also noting that the first minister has yet again come to know about another attempt on her side to organize an uprising. That was immediately met with new accusations in dirty lying and a mud bath for the mad source.
“I was always loyal to MY crown. “ Marie reasoned. “More than that, I never cheated on my husband, or my lover, or any other men of mine. And many of the so called ideals are still far from the real ideal, which makes my ideal happy to no end.”
Due to being dependant, she didn’t feel ashamed about teaching her firstborn the facts of life, often falling to direct insults, calling his mother names, which essentially brought her back to monologues about her sweet self. From all her sons, she believed that only Gaston was raised right, and in her time of need he won’t bring her a cup of water, but a glass of something stout.
But the second spawn didn’t wish for such fate, his suffering increasing by the day in the presence of his parent. Besides, he grew in the lap of luxury, and the “witch” couldn’t just magic in a pile of money. A pile she could manage, but the money part was too tricky. So, secretly, he started sending SMS (save my soul) to the big brother, with requests to remove him from his mothers’ care.
“What makes the world go round?” He asked in his letters, if to try and make a meaning from all the kissing up and sum it in two sentences. And immediately he answered to himself “Money makes the world go round.” **
Richelieu decided that the heir to the throne, Mr. Duke of Orleans, was much safer at the court than near the explosive barrel that was Medici, and recommended that the monarch will grant his little one his forgiveness, but no money whatsoever. But Louis, apparently, heard “Money? Whatever!” So in his response to baby bro he promised as much as half a million of Livres for a living.
Without saying goodbye to anyone, Gaston took off from Brussels to Saint Germaine, only dismounting to push his mount for it didn’t run fast enough. He fell to the royal feet; he once again swore eternal allegiance to his sponsor. Looking to the future, I’d like to note that the Duke of Orleans more than once took part in political plots and during the times of Fronde*** could easily entitle to the name “political prostitute”.
Gaining another undeserving son hurt Marie very much. Suddenly she realized that no one likes her, and how far everyone are from her, despite her being a big, big girl in a small, small world. That’s why Medici decided to pray more, and with God’s help to start on a diet, while hoping it won’t turn on her as well.
But fat, being the closest thing around, turned up as a surprisingly loyal friend: it protected its owner from accidental falls, kept her warm at winter times and wouldn’t leave her under any circumstances. Marie marked him as the new enemy and battled it bravely with three diets at the same time (because two just didn’t sate her), but she was out of her weight category- the fat still surrounded her and by the time of another anniversary of a diet she again had to spend it in the narrow circle of Hula-Hoop.
The suddenly appeared complex in her big complexion took her mind of the political struggle, so the moving to England by the demand of Richelieu was, for the first time, taken not as a personal insult to her persona. But then fate brought her path across that of Rubens, when the harsh cold days came to an end, and the most money saving snow removing machine called “Spring” sprang to the streets and worked days and nights.
The romance of years long gone, when the cracking comes from the hearth, instead of the keyboard, and a dinner by candlelight feast was yet to be replaced by a screen-lit dinner, served as a fertile ground for personal meetings with a cup of laxative tea with the glorious brand of “porcelain throne”, guaranteed to dump the extra weight, even if it’s in the restroom. But Marie wasn’t a romantic by nature, and by force of habit she complained about the English, French, her small retinue of a hundred servants, sold off jewelry and the fact that despite her miraculous diet (when you eat all you can and then hope for a miracle), she still weighted 525 thousand carat.
Rubens comforted her, saying that she wasn’t fat, she just had big and juicy bones. And all the delicious curves in the right places and the love handles just emphasize the quality of the handles of the chair, capable of handling all that mass. But the dubious flattery of the painter still failed to bring Marie down to a painting in the stile of Nude.
“You, the skinny ones, are very funny, and when it’s windy- completely blown away by your wit,” teased the blue-blooded muffin, knowing that the Flemish artist still liked her and loving him for his good taste. “Will my portrait be truly beautiful?”
“You won’t be able to recognize yourself!” The inspired Peter Paul promised.
“And I can move to your personal estate, not too long ago granted to you by the English monarch?” Marie threw a very veiled hint, “where you can finally create your first masterpiece, embodied by me.”
Rubens choked on his thinning tea hearing such a statement, but decided to swallow both. Sure, anyone can hurt an artist, and while not anyone can escape him, in this case the intuition suggested that he should make a run for it by himself. In a most gallant way he let her understand that there’s no way they can stay in England, but his parents in Cologne will be more than happy to host her. At the very next day, the master of paint fled to Antwerp, where he died, creating another work of genius, which had nothing to do with the ungrateful Medici.
With the death of Rubens, the queen-mother went at it again, getting ready for another rebellion against her son. But the internal war at the year of 41, and the pressure from Richelieu made the English crown bearer deport her from his country, bringing down all her rainbow plans. Surprised by the far sightedness of the enemy and cursing her own political failures, she moved to Florence, not even suspecting that the cause behind all her failing scheming is her own personal physician, who double timed as an agent of Richelieu.
The Major Arcana of Tarot, made after the 22 paintings by Rubens starring Marie de Medici, in the hands of her personal small personal medium, showed largely that the rebel won’t live to see the French Revolution. But they also foretold that her sworn enemies aren’t long for this world as well. Honestly happy with the perspectives, the cast away decided to honor the memory of her almost only friend in life, stopping by at Cologne. But Germany wasn’t that good to the Italian made French woman. Feeling slightly off, Marie stopped by Rubens’ house, where no one told her off.
The money was long gone, and had turned into debts. The servants have mostly scattered. Yesterday became very far away in the company of refined gourmands and ever hungry beasts in her bed, who dreamed about a woman with soft, silky skin (meaning the bed bugs). Poverty struck the queen of a great nation as disgusting. Somewhere during the summer her mortal body sang its song of the swan, in the middle of another diet: three days of only juices, then five days of solely gruel, then seven days of apples alone… then nine days, then- forty days#. To make it short, in 1642 she passes at this very place- at Rue de Fleures, not far from Saint Marguerite church.
With the death of the main heroine, the secondary heroes of this story realized that the plot is coming to an end and hurried to finish their matters. Richelieu paid the hundred thousand debt of the fallen queen, moved her body to Paris and passed away during the nearest winter. Louis, without his mom and the cardinal, felt obsolete as well and half a year later also moved along to the afterlife, accomplishing nothing of significance. To make a long story short, everyone died! This, in fact, is a common occurrence in the European history.
The collection of “Medici the pooh and friends” by Rubens was moved as a full set from the Luxembourg palace to the Louvre. For the amusement of the crowds, Marie was hanged in one of the Richelieu gallery halls, where she hangs around to this very day.
* Garcon (fr.)- boy
** From the movie "Cabaret"
*** Fronde - an anti-government civil unrest in France during the middle of the XVII century.