As Richelieu was well aware, no proposal could be more unpalatable than this to the haughty Princess.  Eight-and-thirty years had elapsed since Marie de Medicis, then in the full pride of youth and beauty, had quitted her uncle’s court in regal splendour to ascend the throne of France; and now—­how did the heartless minister urge her to return?  Hopeless, friendless, and powerless; with a name which had become a mockery, to a family wherein she would be a stranger.  At Florence her existence was a mere tradition.  All who had once loved her were dispersed or dead; no personal interest bound her to their survivors; and where long years previously she might have claimed affection, she could now only anticipate pity or dread contempt.  The perpetual illnesses of the King, moreover, rendered her averse to such a measure; every succeeding attack had produced a more marked effect upon the naturally feeble constitution of Louis; the astrologers by whom she was surrounded continued to foretell his approaching death; and she yet indulged visions of a second regency, during which she might once more become all-powerful.

Nevertheless, she could not conceal from herself that by persistently remaining in a country at open war with France, she strengthened the hands of Richelieu without advancing her own interests; and although she felt that she could ill dispense with the generosity of her son-in-law Philip of Spain, who, even at a period when he frequently found himself unable to meet the demands of his army, still continued to treat her with a munificence truly royal, she resolved to withdraw from the Low Countries; and, accordingly, on the 10th of August, alleging that she was about to remove to Spa for the restoration of her health, she took her leave of the Court of Brussels; and, suddenly changing her route, proceeded to Bois-le-Duc, where she placed herself under the protection of the Prince of Orange.[220]

The arrival of the Queen-mother in Holland excited universal gratulation, as the Dutch did not for an instant doubt that it was a preliminary to a reconciliation with her son; and once more she found herself the object of universal homage.  Municipal processions and civic banquets were hastily arranged in her honour; every hotel-de-ville was given up for her accommodation; burgomasters harangued her, and citizens formed her bodyguard; while so enthusiastic were the self-deceived Hollanders that even Art was enlisted in her welcome, and engravings still exist wherein her reception is commemorated under the most extravagant allegories; one of which represents the aged and broken-hearted Queen as the goddess Ceres, drawn by two lions in a gilded car.  But her advent in Holland was, unhappily, not destined to ensure to her either the power or the abundance with which she was thus gratuitously invested by the pencil of the painter; for on her arrival at the Hague, when, in compliance with her entreaty, the Prince of Orange personally solicited her restoration