Chapter XXII. The Journey.
The next day being agreed upon for the departure, the king, at eleveno'clock precisely, descended the grand staircase with the two queens andMadame, in order to enter his carriage drawn by six horses, that werepawing the ground in impatience at the foot of the staircase. The wholecourt awaited the royal appearance in the _Fer-a-cheval_ crescent,in their travelling costumes; the large number of saddled horses andcarriages of ladies and gentlemen of the court, surrounded by theirattendants, servants, and pages, formed a spectacle whose brilliancycould scarcely be equalled. The king entered his carriage with the twoqueens; Madame was in the same one with Monsieur. The maids of honorfollowed their example, and took their seats, two by two, in thecarriages destined for them. The weather was exceedingly warm; a lightbreeze, which, early in the morning, all had thought would have provedsufficient to cool the air, soon became fiercely heated by the rays ofthe sun, although it was hidden behind the clouds, and filtered throughthe heated vapor which rose from the ground like a scorching wind,bearing particles of fine dust against the faces of the travelers.Madame was the first to complain of the heat. Monsieur's only reply wasto throw himself back in the carriage as though about to faint, and toinundate himself with scents and perfumes, uttering the deepest sighsall the while; whereupon Madame said to him, with her most amiableexpression:--"Really, Monsieur, I fancied that you would have beenpolite enough, on account of the terrible heat, to have left me mycarriage to myself, and to have performed the journey yourself onhorseback."
"Ride on horseback!" cried the prince, with an accent of dismay whichshowed how little idea he had of adopting this unnatural advice; "youcannot suppose such a thing, Madame! My skin would peel off if I were toexpose myself to such a burning breeze as this."
Madame began to laugh.
"You can take my parasol," she said.
"But the trouble of holding it!" replied Monsieur, with the greatestcoolness; "besides, I have no horse."
"What, no horse?" replied the princess, who, if she did not secure thesolitude she required, at least obtained the amusement of teasing."No horse! You are mistaken, Monsieur; for I see your favorite bay outyonder."
"My bay horse!" exclaimed the prince, attempting to lean forward to lookout of the door; but the movement he was obliged to make cost him somuch trouble that he soon hastened to resume his immobility.
"Yes," said Madame; "your horse, led by M. de Malicorne."
"Poor beast," replied the prince; "how warm it must be!"
And with these words he closed his eyes, like a man on the point ofdeath. Madame, on her side, reclined indolently in the other corner ofthe carriage, and closed her eyes also, not, however, to sleep, but tothink more at her ease. In the meantime the king, seated in the frontseat of his carriage, the back of which he had yielded up to the twoqueens, was a prey to that feverish contrariety experienced by anxiouslovers, who, without being able to quench their ardent thirst, areceaselessly desirous of seeing the loved object, and then go awaypartially satisfied, without perceiving they have acquired a moreinsatiable thirst than ever. The king, whose carriage headed theprocession, could not from the place he occupied perceive the carriagesof the ladies and maids of honor, which followed in a line behind it.Besides, he was obliged to answer the eternal questions of the youngqueen, who, happy to have with her "_her dear husband_," as she calledhim in utter forgetfulness of royal etiquette, invested him with all heraffection, stifled him with her attentions, afraid that some one mightcome to take him from her, or that he himself might suddenly take afancy to quit her society. Anne of Austria, whom nothing at that momentoccupied except the occasional cruel throbbings in her bosom, lookedpleased and delighted, and although she perfectly realized the king'simpatience, tantalizingly prolonged his sufferings by unexpectedlyresuming the conversation at the very moment the king, absorbed in hisown reflections, began to muse over his secret attachment. Everythingseemed to combine--not alone the little teasing attentions of the queen,but also the queen-mother's interruptions--to make the king's positionalmost insupportable; for he knew not how to control the restlesslongings of his heart. At first, he complained of the heat--a complaintmerely preliminary to others, but with sufficient tact to preventMaria Theresa guessing his real object. Understanding the king's remarkliterally, she began to fan him with her ostrich plumes. But the heatpassed away, and the king then complained of cramps and stiffness in hislegs, and as the carriages at that moment stopped to change horses, thequeen said:--"Shall I get out with you? I too feel tired of sitting. Wecan walk on a little distance; the carriage will overtake us, and we canresume our places presently."
The king frowned; it is a hard trial a jealous woman makes her husbandsubmit to whose fidelity she suspects, when, although herself a preyto jealousy, she watches herself so narrowly that she avoids giving anypretext for an angry feeling. The king, therefore, in the present case,could not refuse; he accepted the offer, alighted from the carriage,gave his arm to the queen, and walked up and down with her while thehorses were being changed. As he walked along, he cast an envious glanceupon the courtiers, who were fortunate enough to be on horseback. Thequeen soon found out that the promenade she had suggested affordedthe king as little pleasure as he had experienced from driving. Sheaccordingly expressed a wish to return to her carriage, and the kingconducted her to the door, but did not get in with her. He stepped backa few paces, and looked along the file of carriages for the purpose ofrecognizing the one in which he took so strong an interest. At the doorof the sixth carriage he saw La Valliere's fair countenance. As theking thus stood motionless, wrapt in thought, without perceiving thateverything was ready, and that he alone was causing the delay, he hearda voice close beside him, addressing him in the most respectful manner.It was M. Malicorne, in a complete costume of an equerry, holding overhis left arm the bridles of a couple of horses.
"Your majesty asked for a horse, I believe," he said.
"A horse? Have you one of my horses here?" inquired the king, tryingto remember the person who addressed him, and whose face was not as yetfamiliar to him.
"Sire," replied Malicorne, "at all events I have a horse here which isat your majesty's service."
And Malicorne pointed at Monsieur's bay horse, which Madame hadobserved. It was a beautiful creature royally caparisoned.
"This is not one of my horses, monsieur," said the king.
"Sire, it is a horse out of his royal highness's stables; but he doesnot ride when the weather is as hot as it is now."
Louis did not reply, but approached the horse, which stood pawing theground with its foot. Malicorne hastened to hold the stirrup for him,but the king was already in the saddle. Restored to good-humor by thislucky accident, the king hastened towards the queen's carriage, where hewas anxiously expected; and notwithstanding Maria Theresa's thoughtfuland preoccupied air, he said: "I have been fortunate enough to findthis horse, and I intend to avail myself of it. I felt stifled in thecarriage. Adieu, ladies."
Then bending gracefully over the arched neck of his beautiful steed,he disappeared in a second. Anne of Austria leaned forward, in orderto look after him as he rode away; he did not get very far, for when hereached the sixth carriage, he reined in his horse suddenly and took offhis hat. He saluted La Valliere, who uttered a cry of surprise asshe saw him, blushing at the same time with pleasure. Montalais, whooccupied the other seat in the carriage, made the king a most respectfulbow. And then, with all the tact of a woman, she pretended to beexceedingly interested in the landscape, and withdrew herself into theleft-hand corner. The conversation between the king and La Vallierebegan, as all lovers' conversations generally do, namely, by eloquentlooks and by a few words utterly devoid of common sense. The kingexplained how warm he had felt in his carriage, so much so indeed thathe could almost regard the horse he then rode as a blessing thrown inhis way. "And," he added, "my benefactor is an exceedingly intelligentman, for he seemed to guess my thoughts intuitively. I have now onlyone wish, that of learning the n
ame of the gentleman who so cleverlyassisted his king out of his dilemma, and extricated him from his cruelposition."
Montalais, during this colloquy, the first words of which had awakenedher attention, had slightly altered her position, and contrived so asto meet the king's look as he finished his remark. It followed verynaturally that the king looked inquiringly as much at her as at LaValliere; she had every reason to suppose that it was herself whowas appealed to, and consequently might be permitted to answer. Shetherefore said: "Sire, the horse which your majesty is riding belongs toMonsieur, and was being led by one of his royal highness's gentlemen."
"And what is that gentleman's name, may I ask, mademoiselle?"
"M. de Malicorne, sire."
The name produced its usual effect, for the king repeated it smilingly.
"Yes, sire," replied Aure. "Stay, it is the gentleman who is gallopingon my left hand;" and she pointed out Malicorne, who, with a verysanctified expression, was galloping by the side of the carriage,knowing perfectly well that they were talking of him at that verymoment, but sitting in his saddle as if he were deaf and dumb.
"Yes," said the king, "that is the gentleman; I remember his face, andwill not forget his name;" and the king looked tenderly at La Valliere.
Aure had now nothing further to do; she had let Malicorne's name fall;the soil was good; all that was now left to be done was to let thename take root, and the event would bear fruit in due season. Sheconsequently threw herself back in her corner, feeling perfectlyjustified in making as many agreeable signs of recognition as she likedto Malicorne, since the latter had had the happiness of pleasing theking. As will readily be believed, Montalais was not mistaken; andMalicorne, with his quick ear and his sly look, seemed to interprether remark as "All goes on well," the whole being accompanied by apantomimic action, which he fancied conveyed something resembling akiss.
"Alas! mademoiselle," said the king, after a moment's pause, "theliberty and freedom of the country is soon about to cease; yourattendance on Madame will be more strictly enforced, and we shall seeeach other no more."
"Your majesty is too much attached to Madame," replied Louise, "not tocome and see her very frequently; and whenever your majesty may chanceto pass across the apartments--"
"Ah!" said the king, in a tender voice, which was gradually lowered inits tone, "to perceive is not to see, and yet it seems that it would bequite sufficient for you."
Louise did not answer a syllable; a sigh filled her heart almost tobursting, but she stifled it.
"You exercise a great control over yourself," said the king to Louise,who smiled upon him with a melancholy expression. "Exert the strengthyou have in loving fondly," he continued, "and I will bless Heaven forhaving bestowed it on you."
La Valliere still remained silent, but raised her eyes, brimful ofaffection, toward the king. Louis, as if overcome by this burningglance, passed his hand across his forehead, and pressing the sidesof his horse with his knees, made him bound several paces forward. LaValliere, leaning back in her carriage, with her eyes half closed, gazedfixedly upon the king, whose plumes were floating in the air; she couldnot but admire his graceful carriage, his delicate and nervous limbswhich pressed his horse's sides, and the regular outline of hisfeatures, which his beautiful curling hair set off to great advantage,revealing occasionally his small and well-formed ear. In fact the poorgirl was in love, and she reveled in her innocent affection. In a fewmoments the king was again by her side.
"Do you not perceive," he said, "how terribly your silence affects me?Oh! mademoiselle, how pitilessly inexorable you would become if you wereever to resolve to break off all acquaintance with any one; and then,too, I think you changeable; in fact--in fact, I dread this deepaffection which fills my whole being."
"Oh! sire, you are mistaken," said La Valliere; "if ever I love, it willbe for all my life."
"If you love, you say," exclaimed the king; "you do _not_ love now,then?"
She hid her face in her hands.
"You see," said the king, "that I am right in accusing you; you mustadmit you are changeable, capricious, a coquette, perhaps."
"Oh, no! sire, be perfectly satisfied as to that. No, I say again; no,no!"
"Promise me, then, that to me you will always be the same."
"Oh! always, sire."
"That you will never show any of that severity which would break myheart, none of that fickleness of manner which would be worse than deathto me."
"Oh! no, no."
"Very well, then! but listen. I like promises, I like to place underthe guarantee of an oath, under the protection of Heaven, in fact,everything which interests my heart and my affections. Promise me, orrather swear to me, that if in the life we are about to commence, a lifewhich will be full of sacrifice, mystery, anxiety, disappointment, andmisunderstanding; swear to me that if we should in any way deceive, ormisunderstand each other, or should judge each other unjustly, for thatindeed would be criminal in love such as ours; swear to me, Louise--"
She trembled with agitation to the very depths of her heart; it was thefirst time she had heard her name pronounced in that manner by herroyal lover. As for the king, taking off his glove, and placing hishand within the carriage, he continued:--"Swear, that never in allour quarrels will we allow one night even to pass by, if anymisunderstanding should arise between us, without a visit, or at leasta message, from either, in order to convey consolation and repose to theother."
La Valliere took her lover's burning hand between her own cool palms,and pressed it softly, until a movement of the horse, frightened by theproximity of the wheels, obliged her to abandon her happiness. She hadvowed as he desired.
"Return, sire," she said, "return to the queen. I foresee a stormyonder, which threatens my peace of mind and yours."
Louis obeyed, saluted Mademoiselle de Montalais, and set off at a gallopto rejoin the queen. As he passed Monsieur's carriage, he observed thathe was fast asleep, although Madame, on her part, was wide awake. Asthe king passed her she said, "What a beautiful horse, sire! Is it notMonsieur's bay horse?"
The young queen kindly asked, "Are you better now, sire?" [3]