THE JOURNEY.
The next day being agreed upon for the departure, the king, at eleven
o'clock precisely, descended the grand staircase with the two queens and
Madame, in order to enter his carriage drawn by six horses which were
pawing the ground in impatience at the foot of the staircase. The whole
court awaited the royal appearance in the _Fer-a-cheval_ crescent, in
their traveling costumes; the large number of saddled horses and
carriages of ladies and gentlemen of the court, surrounded by their
attendants, servants, and pages, formed a spectacle whose brilliancy
could scarcely be equaled. The king entered his carriage with the two
queens; Madame was in the same with Monsieur. The maids of honor
followed the example, and took their seats, two by two, in the carriages
destined for them. The weather was exceedingly warm, a light breeze,
which, early in the morning, all had thought would have been just
sufficient to cool the air, soon became fiercely heated by the rays of
the sun, although it was hidden behind the clouds, and filtered through
the heated vapor which rose from the ground like a scorching wind,
bearing particles of fine dust against the faces of the hasty travelers.
Madame was the first to complain of the heat. Monsieur's only reply was
to throw himself back in the carriage, as if he were about to faint, and
to inundate himself with scents and perfumes, uttering the deepest sighs
all the while; whereupon Madame said to him, with her most amiable
expression: "Really, monsieur, I fancied that you would have been polite
enough, on account of the terrible heat, to have left me my carriage to
myself, and to have performed the journey yourself on horseback."
"Ride on horseback!" cried the prince, with an accent of dismay which
showed how little idea he had of adopting this strange project: "you
cannot suppose such a thing, madame; my skin would peel off if I were to
expose myself to such a burning air as this."
Madame began to laugh.
"You can take my parasol," she said.
"But the trouble of holding it!" replied Monsieur, with the greatest
coolness; "besides, I have no horse."
"How, no horse?" replied the princess, who, if she did not obtain the
solitude she required, at least obtained the amusement of teasing. "No
horse! You are mistaken, monsieur; for I see your favorite bay out
yonder."
"My bay horse!" exclaimed the prince, attempting to lean forward to look
out of the door; but the movement he was obliged to make cost him so
much 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 will soon be!"
And with these words he closed his eyes, like a man on the point of
death. Madame, on her side, reclined indolently in the other corner of
the carriage, and closed her eyes also, not however to sleep, but to
think more at her ease. In the meantime, the king, seated in the front
seat of the carriage, the back of which he had yielded up to the two
queens, was a prey to that restless feverish contrariety experienced by
anxious lovers, who, without being able to quench their ardent thirst,
are ceaselessly desirous of seeing the loved object, and then go away
partially satisfied, without perceiving that they have acquired a more
burning thirst than ever. The king, whose carriage headed the
procession, could not from the place he occupied perceive the carriages
of the ladies and maids of honor, which followed in a line behind it.
Besides, he was obliged to answer the eternal questions of the young
queen, who, happy to have with her "_her dear husband_," as she called
him in utter forgetfulness of royal etiquette, invested him with all her
affection, stifled him with her attentions, afraid that some one might
come to take him from her, or that he himself might suddenly take a
fancy to leave her society. Anne of Austria, whom nothing at that
moment occupied except the occasional sharp throbbings in her bosom,
looked pleased and delighted, and although she perfectly conceived the
king's impatience, tantalizingly prolonged his sufferings by
unexpectedly resuming the conversation at the very moment the king,
absorbed in his own reflections, began to muse over his secret
attachment. Everything seemed to combine--not alone the little teasing
attentions of the queen, but also the queen-mother's tantalizing
interruptions--to make the king's position almost insupportable; for he
knew not how to control the restless longings of his heart. At first, he
complained of the heat, a complaint which was merely preliminary to
other complaints, but with sufficient tact to prevent Maria Theresa
guessing his real object. Understanding the king's remark literally, she
began to fan him with her ostrich plumes. But the heat passed away, and
the king then complained of cramps and stiffness in his legs, and as the
carriages at that moment stopped to change horses, the queen said:
"Shall I get out with you? I too feel tired of sitting. We can walk on a
little distance, the carriage will overtake us, and we can resume our
places again presently."
The king frowned: it is a hard trial a jealous woman makes her husband
submit to whose fidelity she suspects, when, although herself a prey to
jealousy, she watches herself so narrowly that she avoids giving any
pretext 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 the
horses were being changed. As he walked along, he cast an envious glance
upon the courtiers, who were fortunate enough to be performing the
journey on horseback. The queen soon found out that the promenade she
had suggested afforded the king as little pleasure as he had experienced
from riding in the carriage. She accordingly expressed a wish to return
to her carriage, and the king conducted her to the door, but did not get
in with her. He stepped back a few paces, and looked among the file of
carriages for the purpose of recognizing the one in which he took so
strong an interest. At the door of the sixth carriage he saw La
Valliere's fair countenance. As the king thus stood motionless, wrapped
in thought, without perceiving that everything was ready, and that he
alone was causing the delay, he heard a voice close beside him,
addressing him in the most respectful manner. It was M. Malicorne, in a
complete costume of an equerry, holding over his 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, who
endeavored to remember the person who addressed him, and whose face was
not as yet very familiar to him.
"Sire," replied Malicorne, "at all events I have a horse which is at
your majesty's service."
And Malicorne pointed at Monsieur's bay horse, which Madame had
observed. It was a beautiful creature and most royally caparisoned.
"This is not one of my horses, monsieur," said the king.
"Sire, it is a horse out of his royal highness's stable; but his royal
highness does not ride when the weather is as hot as it is now."
The king did not reply, but hastily approached the horse, which stood
pawing the ground with his foot. Malicorne hastened to hold the stirrup
for him but the king was already in the saddle. Restored to good humor
by this lucky accident, the king hastened toward the queen's carriage,
where he was anxiously expected: and notwithstanding Maria-Theresa's
thoughtful and preoccupied air, he said: "I have been fortunate enough
to find this horse, and I intend to avail myself of it. I felt stifled
in the carriage. Adieu, ladies."
Then, bending most gracefully over the arched neck of his beautiful
steed, he disappeared in a second. Anne of Austria leaned forward, in
order to look after him as he rode away: he did not go very far, for
when he reached the sixth carriage, he reined in his horse suddenly and
took off his hat. He saluted La Valliere, who uttered a cry of surprise
as she saw him, blushing at the same time with pleasure. Montalais, who
occupied the other seat in the carriage, made the king a most respectful
bow. And, then, with all the tact of a woman, she pretended to be
exceedingly interested in the landscape, and withdrew herself into the
left-hand corner. The conversation between the king and La Valliere
began, as all lovers' conversations generally do, namely, by eloquent
looks and by a few words utterly void of common sense. The king
explained how warm he had felt in his carriage, so much so indeed that
he could almost regard the horse he then rode as a blessing thrown in
his way. "And," he added, "my benefactor is an exceedingly intelligent
man, for he seemed to guess my thoughts intuitively. I have now only one
wish, that of learning the name of the gentleman who so cleverly
assisted his king out of his dilemma, and extricated him from his cruel
position."
Montalais, during this colloquy, the first words of which had awakened
her attention, had slightly altered her position, and had contrived so
as to meet the king's look as he finished his remark. It followed very
naturally that the king looked inquiringly as much at her as at La
Valliere; she had every reason to suppose that it was she who was
appealed to, and consequently might be permitted to answer. She
therefore said: "Sire, the horse which your majesty is riding belongs to
Monsieur, 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 that gentleman who is galloping
on my left hand;" and she pointed out Malicorne, who, with a very
sanctified expression, was galloping on the left side of the carriage,
knowing perfectly well that they were talking of him at that very
moment, but sitting in his saddle as if were deaf and dumb.
"Yes," said the king, "that is the gentleman; I remember his face, and
will 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 the name
take root, and the event would bear its fruit in due time. She
consequently threw herself back in her corner, feeling perfectly
justified in making as many agreeable signs of recognition as she liked
to Malicorne, since the latter had had the happiness of pleasing the
king. As it will very readily be believed, Montalais was not mistaken;
and Malicorne, with his quick ear and his sly look, seemed to interpret
her remark as "All goes on well," the whole being accompanied by a
pantomimic action which he fancied conveyed something resembling a kiss.
"Alas! mademoiselle," said the king, after a moment's pause, "the
liberty and freedom of the country is soon about to cease; your
attendance upon Madame will be more strictly enforced, and we shall see
each other no more."
"Your majesty is too much attached to Madame," replied Louise, "not to
come and see her very frequently; and whenever your majesty may pass
across the apartments--"
"Ah!" said the king, in a tender voice, which was gradually lowered in
its tone, "to perceive is not to see, and yet it seems that it would be
quite sufficient for you."
Louise did not answer a syllable; a sigh filled her heart almost to
bursting, 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 strength
you have in loving fondly," he continued, "and I will bless Heaven for
having bestowed it on you."
La Valliere still remained silent, but raised her eyes, brimful of
affection, toward the king. Louis, as if he had been overcome by this
burning glance, passed his hand across his forehead, and pressing the
sides of his horse with his knees, made him bound several paces forward.
La Valliere, leaning back in her carriage, with her eyes half closed,
gazed fixedly upon the king, whose plumes were floating in the air; she
could not but admire his graceful carriage, his delicate and nervous
limbs, which pressed his horse's side, and the regular outline of his
features, which his beautiful curling hair set off to great advantage,
revealing occasionally his small and well-formed ear. In fact the poor
girl was in love, and she reveled in her innocent affection. In a few
moments the king was again by her side.
"Do you not perceive," he said, "how terribly your silence affects me?
Oh! mademoiselle, how pitilessly immovable you would become if you were
ever to resolve to break off all acquaintance with any one; and then too
I think you changeable; in fact--in fact, I dread this deep affection
which fills my whole being."
"Oh! sire, you are mistaken," said La Valliere; "if ever I love, it will
be for my whole 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 must
admit that you are changeable, capricious, a coquette, perhaps."
"Oh, no! sire, be perfectly satisfied on that. No, I say again; no, no!"
"Promise me, then, that for me you will always be the same."
"Oh! always, sire."
"That you will never show any of that severity which would break my
heart, none of that fickleness of manner which would be worse than death
to me."
"Oh! no, no."
"Very well, then! but listen. I like promises, I like to place under the
guarantee of an oath, under the protection of Heaven in fact, everything
which interests my heart and my affections. Promise me, or rather swear
to me, that if in the life we are about to commence, a life which will
be full of sacrifice, mystery, anxiety, disappointment and
misunderstanding; swear to me that if we should be deceiving, or should
misunderstand each other, or should be judging each other unjustly, for
that indeed 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 the
first time she had heard her name pronounced in that manner by her royal
lover. As for the king, taking off his glove, and placing his ungloved
hand within the carriage, he continued: "Swear that never in all our
quarrels will we allow one night even to pass by, if any
misunderstanding should arise between us, without a visit, or at least a
message, from either, in order to convey consolation and repose to the
other."
La Valliere took her lover's burning hand between her own icy palms, and
pressed it softly, until a movement of the horse, frightened by the
proximity of the wheels, obliged her to abandon her happiness. She had
sworn as he wished her.
"Return, sire," she said, "return to the queen: I foresee a storm rising
yonder which threatens my peace of mind."
Louis obeyed, saluted Mademoiselle de Montalais, and set off at a gallop
to rejoin the queen's carriage. As he passed Monsieur's carriage, he
observed that he was fast asleep, although Madame, on her part, was wide
awake. As the king passed her, she said, "What a beautiful horse, sire!
is it not Monsieur's bay horse?" The young queen merely remarked, "Are
you better now, sire?"