At Vulaines, beneath the impenetrable shade of flowering osiers
and willows, which, as they bent down their green heads, dipped
the extremities of their branches in the blue waters, a long and
flat-bottomed boat, with ladders covered with long blue curtains, served
as a refuge for the bathing Dianas, who, as they left the water, were
watched by twenty plumed Acteons, who, eagerly, and full of admiration,
galloped up and down the flowery banks of the river. But Diana
herself, even the chaste Diana, clothed in her long chlamys, was less
beautiful--less impenetrable, than Madame, as young and beautiful
as that goddess herself. For, notwithstanding the fine tunic of the
huntress, her round and delicate knee can be seen; and notwithstanding
the sonorous quiver, her brown shoulders can be detected; whereas, in
Madame’s case, a long white veil enveloped her, wrapping her round and
round a hundred times, as she resigned herself into the hands of her
female attendants, and thus was rendered inaccessible to the most
indiscreet, as well as to the most penetrating gaze. When she ascended
the ladder, the poets were present--and all were poets when Madame was
the subject of discussion--the twenty poets who were galloping about,
stopped, and with one voice, exclaimed that pearls, and not drops of
water, were falling from her person, to be lost again in the happy
river. The king, the center of these effusions, and of this respectful
homage, imposed silence upon those expatiators, for whom it seemed
impossible to exhaust their raptures, and he rode away, for fear of
offending, even through the silken curtains, the modesty of the woman
and the dignity of the princess. A great blank thereupon ensued in
the scene, and perfect silence in the boat. From the movements on
board--from the flutterings and agitations of the curtains--the goings
to and fro of the female attendants engaged in their duties, could be
guessed.
The king smilingly listened to the conversation of the courtiers around
him, but it could easily be perceived that he gave but little, if any,
attention to their remarks. In fact, hardly had the sound of the rings
drawn along the curtain-rods announced that Madame was dressed, and that
the goddess was about to make her reappearance, than the king,
returning to his former post immediately, and running quite close to
the river-bank, gave the signal for all those to approach whose duty
or pleasure summoned them to Madame’s side. The pages hurried forward,
conducting the led horses; the carriages, which had remained sheltered
under the trees, advanced towards the tent, followed by a crowd of
servants, bearers, and female attendants, who, while their masters had
been bathing, had mutually exchanged their own observations, critical
remarks, and the discussion of matters personal--the fugitive journal
of that period, of which no one now remembers anything, not even by the
waves, the witnesses of what went on that day--themselves now sublimed
into immensity, as the actors have vanished into eternity.
A crowd of people swarming upon the banks of the river, without
reckoning the groups of peasants drawn together by their anxiety to see
the king and the princess, was, for many minutes, the most disorderly,
but the most agreeable, mob imaginable. The king dismounted from his
horse, a movement which was imitated by all the courtiers, and offered
his hat to Madame, whose rich riding-habit displayed her fine figure,
which was set off to great advantage by that garment, made of fine
woolen cloth embroidered with silver. Her hair, still damp and blacker
than jet, hung in heavy masses upon her white and delicate neck. Joy and
health sparkled in her beautiful eyes; composed, yet full of energy, she
inhaled the air in deep draughts, under a lace parasol, which was borne
by one of her pages. Nothing could be more charming, more graceful, more
poetical, than these two figures buried under the rose-colored shade
of the parasol, the king, whose white teeth were displayed in continual
smiles, and Madame, whose black eyes sparkled like carbuncles in the
glittering reflection of the changing hues of the silk. When Madame
approached her horse, a magnificent animal of Andalusian breed, of
spotless white, somewhat heavy, perhaps, but with a spirited and
splendid head, in which the mixture, happily combined, of Arabian and
Spanish blood could be readily traced, and whose long tail swept the
ground; and as the princess affected difficulty in mounting, the king
took her in his arms in such a manner that Madame’s arm was clasped like
a circlet of alabaster around the king’s neck. Louis, as he withdrew,
involuntarily touched with his lips the arm, which was not withheld, and
the princess having thanked her royal equerry, every one sprang to his
saddle at the same moment. The king and Madame drew aside to allow the
carriages, the outriders, and runners, to pass by. A fair proportion of
the cavaliers, released from the restraint etiquette had imposed upon
them, gave the rein to their horses, and darted after the carriages
which bore the maids of honor, as blooming as so many virgin huntresses
around Diana, and the human whirlwind, laughing, chattering, and noisy,
passed onward.
The king and Madame, however, kept their horses in hand at a foot-pace.
Behind his majesty and his sister-in-law, certain of the courtiers
--those, at least, who were seriously disposed or were anxious to be
within reach, or under the eyes, of the king--followed at a respectful
distance, restraining their impatient horses, regulating their pace by
that of the king and Madame, and abandoned themselves to all the delight
and gratification which is to be found in the conversation of clever
people, who can, with perfect courtesy, make a thousand atrocious, but
laughable remarks about their neighbors. In their stifled laughter, and
in the little reticences of their sardonic humor, Monsieur, the poor
absentee, was not spared. But they pitied, and bewailed greatly, the
fate of De Guiche, and it must be confessed that their compassion, as
far as he was concerned, was not misplaced. The king and Madame having
breathed the horses, and repeated a hundred times over such remarks as
the courtiers, who supplied them with talk, suggested to them, set off
at a hand gallop, and the leafy coverts of the forest resounded to the
footfalls of the mounted party. To the conversations beneath the
shade of the trees,--to remarks made in the shape of confidential
communications, and observations, mysteriously exchanged, succeeded the
noisiest bursts of laughter;--from the very outriders to royalty itself,
merriment seemed to spread. Every one began to laugh and to cry out.
The magpies and the jays fluttered away uttering their guttural cries,
beneath the waving avenues of oaks; the cuckoo staid his monotonous cry
in the recesses of the forest; the chaffinch and tomtit flew away in
clouds; while the terrified deer bounded riverwards from the midst of
the thickets. This crowd, spreading joy, confusion, and light wherever
it passed, was heralded, it may be said, to the chateau by its own
clamor. As the king and Madame entered the village, they were received
by the acclamations of the crowd. Madame hastened to look for Monsieur,
for she instinctively understood that he had been far too long kept from
sharing in this joy. The king went to rejoin the queens; he knew he owed
them--one especially--a compensation for his long absence. But Madame
was not admitted to Monsieur’s apartments, and she was informed that
Monsieur was asleep. The king, instead of being met by Maria Theresa
smiling, as was usual with her, found Anne of Austria in the gallery
watching for his return, who advanced to meet him, and taking him by the
hand, led him to her own apartment. No one ever knew what was the nature
of the conversation which took place between them, or rather what it was
that the queen-mother said to Louis XIV.; but the general tenor of the
interview might certainly be guessed from the annoyed expression of the
king’s face as he left her.
But we, whose mission it is to interpret all things, as it is also to
communicate our interpretations to our readers,--we should fail in
our duty, if we were to leave them in ignorance of the result of this
interview. It will be found sufficiently detailed, at least we hope so,
in the following chapter.