THE LOTTERY.
At 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 which coquetry
can command at the hands of clever assistants, concealed, or rather
pretended to conceal, from the crowd of young 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
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 a skirmishing character, protected the whole line by
the sort of rolling-fire which she directed against the enemy.
Saint-Aignan, in utter despair at the rigor, which became insulting
almost, from the very fact of her persisting in it, which Mademoiselle
de Tonnay-Charente displayed, tried to turn his back upon her; but,
overcome by the irresistible brilliancy of her large 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 Valliere
had about her, not exactly a court, but sprinklings of courtiers.
Saint-Aignan, hoping by this maneuver to attract Athenaïs's attention
toward him, had approached the young girl, and saluted her with a
respect which induced some to believe that he wished to balance Athenaïs
by Louise. But these were persons who had neither been witnesses of the
scene during the shower, nor had heard it spoken of. But, 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 Montainge, "What can we
tell?" and the latter, who said with Rabelais, "It is likely." 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, while the remainder of the pack follow only the scent of
the hounds. The two queens and Madame examined with particular attention
the toilets 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 tore in pieces every person there who wore
a petticoat. The looks of both princesses simultaneously fell upon La
Valliere, 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 toward her, "If fortune were just, she would favor that poor
La Valliere."
"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 Valliere, 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 toward the door, and at
that moment the captain of the guards announced the king. At this
moment, La Valliere, 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,
toward 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 toilet, and then began to
make the round of the assembly. La Valliere 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 Valliere, 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 which visibly agitated her.
M. Fouquet was just on the point, moreover, of speaking in a more
friendly manner with Mademoiselle de la Valliere, when M. de Colbert
approached, and after having bowed to Fouquet with a formality which the
rules of the most respectful politeness could require, he seemed to take
up a post beside La Valliere, 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 several 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 Valliere, De Guiche's eyes following Madame's, were from
time to time cast upon the young girl. La Valliere instinctively felt
herself sinking beneath the weight of all the 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 likely to be found
among 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 Valliere had been omitted from the list. Every one, of
course, could remark this omission. The king flushed as if he had been
much annoyed; but La Valliere, 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 in her mind or her heart. Acknowledging this
touching self-denial by the fixedness of his attention, the king showed
La Valliere 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 also was forgotten
among the number of 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 person according to the number
held. 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, amid all these tediously slow
preparations, was rather that of avidity than of curiosity. Saint-Aignan
bent toward 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 Athenaïs, "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 vow
You are too opposed--'"
"Silence," said Athenaïs, "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!"
"What perfect finish!" repeated Madame.
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 either 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 brilliants
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 for a little while for the inspection of the ladies, who seem to me
to have, and with far greater right, some excuse for understanding such
matters better than you."
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, amid 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 than herself--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 toward the right. During this time the king was
tranquilly conversing with De Guiche and Fouquet, rather 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 only had Montalais and La Valliere after 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 of all 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 to her companion, La Valliere,
was very great. La Valliere 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 cannot be ours?"
The king, his head bent forward, listened to what the young girl 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 Valliere, "You are mistaken,
mademoiselle," he said; "you are a woman, and every woman has a right to
wear jewels, which are a woman's property."
"Oh, sire!" said La Valliere, "your majesty will not absolutely believe
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 Valliere eagerly
held out the casket to the king, the king gently pushed back La
Valliere's 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!" exclaimed Tonnay-Charente, "how happy that La Valliere
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 Valliere 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
suspicion which 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, you have our fortune and our future close beside you."
"Yes," was her reply, as she tenderly embraced La Valliere, whom,
inwardly, she was tempted to strangle.