By eight o’clock in the evening, every one had assembled in the
queen-mother’s apartments. Anne of Austria, in full dress, beautiful
still, from former loveliness, and from all the resources coquetry
can command at the hands of clever assistants, concealed, or rather
pretended to conceal, from the crowd of courtiers who surrounded her,
and who still admired her, thanks to the combination of circumstances
which we have indicated in the preceding chapter, the ravages, which
were already visible, of the acute suffering to which she finally
yielded a few years later. Madame, almost as great a coquette as Anne of
Austria, and the queen, simple and natural as usual, were seated beside
her, each contending for her good graces. The ladies of honor, united
in a body, in order to resist with greater effect, and consequently with
more success, the witty and lively conversations which the young men
held about them, were enabled, like a battalion formed in a square,
to offer each other the means of attack and defense which were thus
at their command. Montalais, learned in that species of warfare which
consists of sustained skirmishing, protected the whole line by a sort
of rolling fire she directed against the enemy. Saint-Aignan, in utter
despair at the rigor, which became almost insulting from the very fact
of her persisting in it, Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente displayed,
tried to turn his back upon her; but, overcome by the irresistible
brilliancy of her eyes, he, every moment, returned to consecrate his
defeat by new submissions, to which Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente did
not fail to reply by fresh acts of impertinence. Saint-Aignan did not
know which way to turn. La Vallière had about her, not exactly a court,
but sprinklings of courtiers. Saint-Aignan, hoping by this maneuver to
attract Athenais’s attention towards him, approached the young girl, and
saluted her with a respect that induced some to believe that he wished
to balance Athenais by Louise. But these were persons who had neither
been witnesses of the scene during the shower, nor had heard it spoken
of. As the majority was already informed, and well informed, too, on the
matter, the acknowledged favor with which she was regarded had attracted
to her side some of the most astute, as well as the least sensible,
members of the court. The former, because they said with Montaigne,
“How do I know?” and the latter, who said with Rabelais, “Perhaps.”
The greatest number had followed in the wake of the latter, just as in
hunting five or six of the best hounds alone follow the scent of the
animal hunted, whilst the remainder of the pack follow only the scent of
the hounds. The two queens and Madame examined with particular attention
the toilettes of their ladies and maids of honor; and they condescended
to forget they were queens in recollecting that they were women. In
other words, they pitilessly picked to pieces every person present who
wore a petticoat. The looks of both princesses simultaneously fell upon
La Vallière, who, as we have just said, was completely surrounded
at that moment. Madame knew not what pity was, and said to the
queen-mother, as she turned towards her, “If Fortune were just, she
would favor that poor La Vallière.”
“That is not possible,” said the queen-mother, smiling.
“Why not?”
“There are only two hundred tickets, so that it was not possible to
inscribe every one’s name on the list.”
“And hers is not there, then?”
“No!”
“What a pity! she might have won them, and then sold them.”
“Sold them!” exclaimed the queen.
“Yes; it would have been a dowry for her, and she would not have been
obliged to marry without her _trousseau_, as will probably be the case.”
“Really,” answered the queen-mother, “poor little thing: has she no
dresses, then?”
And she pronounced these words like a woman who has never been able to
understand the inconveniences of a slenderly filled purse.
“Stay, look at her. Heaven forgive me, if she is not wearing the very
same petticoat this evening that she had on this morning during the
promenade, and which she managed to keep clean, thanks to the care the
king took of her, in sheltering her from the rain.”
At the very moment Madame uttered these words the king entered the
room. The two queens would not perhaps have observed his arrival, so
completely were they occupied in their ill-natured remarks, had not
Madame noticed that, all at once, La Vallière, who was standing up
facing the gallery, exhibited certain signs of confusion, and then
said a few words to the courtiers who surrounded her, who immediately
dispersed. This movement induced Madame to look towards the door, and
at that moment, the captain of the guards announced the king. At this
moment La Vallière, who had hitherto kept her eyes fixed upon the
gallery, suddenly cast them down as the king entered. His majesty was
dressed magnificently and in the most perfect taste; he was conversing
with Monsieur and the Duc de Roquelaure, Monsieur on his right, and the
Duc de Roquelaure on his left. The king advanced, in the first place,
towards the queens, to whom he bowed with an air full of graceful
respect. He took his mother’s hand and kissed it, addressed a few
compliments to Madame upon the beauty of her toilette, and then began
to make the round of the assembly. La Vallière was saluted in the same
manner as the others, but with neither more nor less attention. His
majesty then returned to his mother and his wife. When the courtiers
noticed that the king had only addressed some ordinary remark to the
young girl who had been so particularly noticed in the morning, they
immediately drew their own conclusion to account for this coldness of
manner; this conclusion being, that although the king may have taken
a sudden fancy to her, that fancy had already disappeared. One thing,
however, must be remarked, that close beside La Vallière, among the
number of the courtiers, M. Fouquet was to be seen; and his respectfully
attentive manner served to sustain the young girl in the midst of the
varied emotions that visibly agitated her.
M. Fouquet was just on the point, moreover, of speaking in a more
friendly manner with Mademoiselle de la Vallière, when M. Colbert
approached, and after having bowed to Fouquet with all the formality of
respectful politeness, he seemed to take up a post beside La Vallière,
for the purpose of entering into conversation with her. Fouquet
immediately quitted his place. These proceedings were eagerly devoured
by the eyes of Montalais and Malicorne, who mutually exchanged their
observations on the subject. De Guiche, standing within the embrasure of
one of the windows, saw no one but Madame. But as Madame, on her side,
frequently glanced at La Vallière, De Guiche’s eyes, following
Madame’s, were from time to time cast upon the young girl. La Vallière
instinctively felt herself sinking beneath the weight of all these
different looks, inspired, some by interest, others by envy. She had
nothing to compensate her for her sufferings, not a kind word from her
companions, nor a look of affection from the king. No one could possibly
express the misery the poor girl was suffering. The queen-mother
next directed the small table to be brought forward, on which the
lottery-tickets were placed, two hundred in number, and begged Madame de
Motteville to read the list of the names. It was a matter of course
that this list had been drawn out in strict accordance with the laws of
etiquette. The king’s name was first on the list, next the queen-mother,
then the queen, Monsieur, Madame, and so on. All hearts throbbed
anxiously as the list was read out; more than three hundred persons had
been invited, and each of them was anxious to learn whether his or
her name was to be found in the number of privileged names. The king
listened with as much attention as the others, and when the last name
had been pronounced, he noticed that La Vallière had been omitted from
the list. Every one, of course, remarked this omission. The king flushed
as if much annoyed; but La Vallière, gentle and resigned, as usual,
exhibited nothing of the sort. While the list was being read, the king
had not taken his eyes off the young girl, who seemed to expand, as it
were, beneath the happy influence she felt was shed around her, and who
was delighted and too pure in spirit for any other thought than that of
love to find an entrance either to her mind or her heart. Acknowledging
this touching self-denial by the fixity of his attention, the king
showed La Vallière how much he appreciated its delicacy. When the list
was finished, the different faces of those who had been omitted or
forgotten fully expressed their disappointment. Malicorne was also
left out from amongst the men; and the grimace he made plainly said
to Montalais, who was also forgotten, “Cannot we contrive to arrange
matters with Fortune in such a manner that she shall not forget us?”
to which a smile full of intelligence from Mademoiselle Aure, replied:
“Certainly we can.”
The tickets were distributed to each according to the number listed. The
king received his first, next the queen-mother, then Monsieur, then the
queen and Madame, and so on. After this, Anne of Austria opened a small
Spanish leather bag, containing two hundred numbers engraved upon small
balls of mother-of-pearl, and presented the open sack to the youngest
of her maids of honor, for the purpose of taking one of the balls out of
it. The eager expectation of the throng, amidst all the tediously slow
preparations, was rather that of cupidity than curiosity. Saint-Aignan
bent towards Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente to whisper to her, “Since
we have each a number, let us unite our two chances. The bracelet shall
be yours if I win, and if you are successful, deign to give me but one
look of your beautiful eyes.”
“No,” said Athenais, “if you win the bracelet, keep it, every one for
himself.”
“You are without any pity,” said Saint-Aignan, “and I will punish you by
a quatrain:--
“Beautiful Iris, to my vows You are too opposed--”
“Silence,” said Athenais, “you will prevent me hearing the winning
number.”
“Number one,” said the young girl who had drawn the mother-of-pearl from
the Spanish leather bag.
“The king!” exclaimed the queen-mother.
“The king has won,” repeated the queen, delightedly.
“Oh! the king! your dream!” said Madame, joyously, in the ear of Anne of
Austria.
The king was the only one who did not exhibit any satisfaction. He
merely thanked Fortune for what she had done for him, in addressing a
slight salutation to the young girl who had been chosen as her proxy.
Then receiving from the hands of Anne of Austria, amid the eager desire
of the whole assembly, the casket inclosing the bracelets, he said, “Are
these bracelets really beautiful, then?”
“Look at them,” said Anne of Austria, “and judge for yourself.”
The king looked at them, and said, “Yes, indeed, an admirable medallion.
What perfect finish!”
Queen Maria Theresa easily saw, and that, too at the very first glance,
that the king would not offer the bracelets to her; but, as he did not
seem the least degree in the world disposed to offer them to Madame,
she felt almost satisfied, or nearly so. The king sat down. The most
intimate among the courtiers approached, one by one, for the purpose of
admiring more closely the beautiful piece of workmanship, which soon,
with the king’s permission, was handed about from person to person.
Immediately, every one, connoisseurs or not, uttered various
exclamations of surprise, and overwhelmed the king with congratulations.
There was, in fact, something for everybody to admire--the brilliance
for some, and the cutting for others. The ladies present visibly
displayed their impatience to see such a treasure monopolized by the
gentlemen.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said the king, whom nothing escaped, “one would
almost think that you wore bracelets as the Sabines used to do; hand
them round for a while for the inspection of the ladies, who seem to
have, and with far greater right, an excuse for understanding such
matters!”
These words appeared to Madame the commencement of a decision she
expected. She gathered, besides, this happy belief from the glances of
the queen-mother. The courtier who held them at the moment the king
made this remark, amidst the general agitation, hastened to place the
bracelets in the hands of the queen, Maria Theresa, who, knowing too
well, poor woman, that they were not designed for her, hardly looked at
them, and almost immediately passed them on to Madame. The latter, and
even more minutely, Monsieur, gave the bracelets a long look of anxious
and almost covetous desire. She then handed the jewels to those ladies
who were near her, pronouncing this single word, but with an accent
which was worth a long phrase, “Magnificent!”
The ladies who had received the bracelets from Madame’s hands looked at
them as long as they chose to examine them, and then made them circulate
by passing them on towards the right. During this time the king was
tranquilly conversing with De Guiche and Fouquet, rather passively
letting them talk than himself listening. Accustomed to the set form
of ordinary phrases, his ear, like that of all men who exercise
an incontestable superiority over others, merely selected from the
conversations held in various directions the indispensable word which
requires reply. His attention, however, was now elsewhere, for it
wandered as his eyes did.
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente was the last of the ladies inscribed for
tickets; and, as if she had ranked according to her name upon the list,
she had only Montalais and La Vallière near her. When the bracelets
reached these two latter, no one appeared to take any further notice of
them. The humble hands which for a moment touched these jewels, deprived
them, for the time, of their importance--a circumstance which did not,
however, prevent Montalais from starting with joy, envy, and covetous
desire, at the sight of the beautiful stones still more than at their
magnificent workmanship. It is evident that if she were compelled to
decide between the pecuniary value and the artistic beauty, Montalais
would unhesitatingly have preferred diamonds to cameos, and her
disinclination, therefore, to pass them on to her companion,
La Vallière, was very great. La Vallière fixed a look almost of
indifference upon the jewels.
“Oh, how beautiful, how magnificent these bracelets are!” exclaimed
Montalais; “and yet you do not go into ecstasies about them, Louise! You
are no true woman, I am sure.”
“Yes, I am, indeed,” replied the young girl, with an accent of the
most charming melancholy; “but why desire that which can never, by any
possibility, be ours?”
The king, his head bent forward, was listening to what Louise was
saying. Hardly had the vibration of her voice reached his ear than he
rose, radiant with delight, and passing across the whole assembly,
from the place where he stood, to La Vallière, “You are mistaken,
mademoiselle,” he said, “you are a woman, and every woman has a right to
wear jewels, which are a woman’s appurtenance.”
“Oh, sire!” said La Vallière, “your majesty will not absolutely believe
in my modesty?”
“I believe you possess every virtue, mademoiselle; frankness as well as
every other; I entreat you, therefore, to say frankly what you think of
these bracelets?”
“That they are beautiful, sire, and cannot be offered to any other than
a queen.”
“I am delighted that such is your opinion, mademoiselle; the bracelets
are yours, and the king begs your acceptance of them.”
And as, with a movement almost resembling terror, La Vallière eagerly
held out the casket to the king, the king gently pushed back her
trembling hand.
A silence of astonishment, more profound than that of death, reigned in
the assembly.
And yet, from the side where the queens were, no one had heard what he
had said, nor understood what he had done. A charitable friend, however,
took upon herself to spread the news; it was Tonnay-Charente, to whom
Madame had made a sign to approach.
“Good heavens!” explained Tonnay-Charente, “how happy that La Vallière
is! the king has just given her the bracelets.”
Madame bit her lips to such a degree that the blood appeared upon the
surface of the skin. The young queen looked first at La Vallière and
then at Madame, and began to laugh. Anne of Austria rested her chin upon
her beautiful white hand, and remained for a long time absorbed by a
presentiment that disturbed her mind, and by a terrible pang which stung
her heart. De Guiche, observing Madame turn pale, and guessing the cause
of her change of color, abruptly quitted the assembly and disappeared.
Malicorne was then able to approach Montalais very quietly, and under
cover of the general din of conversation, said to her:
“Aure, your fortune and our future are standing at your elbow.”
“Yes,” was her reply, as she tenderly embraced La Vallière, whom,
inwardly, she was tempted to strangle.
End of Ten Years Later. The next text in the series is Louise de la
Vallière.
Footnotes:
[Footnote 1: In the three-volume edition, Volume 1, entitled The Vicomte de
Bragelonne, ends here.]
[Footnote 2: In most other editions, the previous chapter and the next are
usually combined into one chapter, entitled “D’Artagnan calls
De Wardes to account.”]
[Footnote 3: Dumas is mistaken. The events in the following chapters
occurred in 1661.]
[Footnote 4: In the five-volume edition, Volume 2 ends here.]
[Footnote 5: The verses in this chapter have been re-written to give the
flavor of them rather than the meaning. A more literal translation
would look like this:
“Guiche is the furnisher
Of the maids of honor.”
and--
“He has stocked the birdcage;
Montalais and--”
It would be more accurate, though, to say “baited” rather than
“stocked” in the second couplet.]
[Footnote 6: The Latin translates to “The spirit is willing, but the flesh
is weak.”]
[Footnote 7: “Ad majorem Dei gloriam” was the motto of the Jesuits. It
translates to “For the greater glory of God.”]
[Footnote 8: “In the presence of these men?”]
[Footnote 9: “By this sign you shall conquer.”]
[Footnote 10: “It rained all night long; the games will be held tomorrow.”]
[Footnote 11: “Lord, I am not worthy.”]