WHICH TREATS OF GARDENERS, OF LADDERS, AND MAIDS OF HONOR.
Miracles, unfortunately, could not always last forever, while Madame's
ill-humor still continued to last. In a week's time, matters had reached
such a point that the king could no longer look at La Valliere without a
look full of suspicion crossing his own. Whenever a promenade was
proposed, Madame, in order to avoid the recurrence of similar scenes to
that of the thunderstorm, or the royal oak, had a variety of
indispositions ready prepared; and, thanks to them, she was unable to go
out, and her maids of honor were obliged to remain indoors also. There
was not the slightest chance or means of paying a nocturnal visit; for,
in this respect, the king had, on the very first occasion, experienced a
severe check, which happened in the following manner. As at
Fontainebleau, he had taken Saint-Aignan with him one evening, when he
wished to pay La Valliere a visit; but he had found no one but
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, who had begun to call out fire and
thieves in such a manner that a perfect legion of chambermaids,
attendants, and pages ran to her assistance; so that Saint-Aignan, who
had remained behind in order to save the honor of his royal master, who
had fled precipitately, was obliged to submit to a severe scolding from
the queen-mother, as well as from Madame herself. In addition, he had,
the next morning, received two challenges from the De Montemart family,
and the king had been obliged to interfere. This mistake had been owing
to the circumstance of Madame having suddenly ordered a change in the
apartments of her maids of honor, and directed La Valliere and Montalais
to sleep in her own cabinet. Nothing, therefore, was now possible, not
even any communication by letter; to write under the eyes of so
ferocious an Argus as Madame, whose kindness of disposition was so
uncertain, was to run the risk of exposure to the greatest dangers; and
it can well be conceived into what a state of continuous irritation, and
of ever increasing anger, all these petty annoyance threw the young
lion. The king almost tormented himself to death in endeavoring to
discover a means of communication; and, as he did not think proper to
call in the aid of Malicorne or D'Artagnan, the means were not
discovered at all. Malicorne had, indeed, some occasional brilliant
flashes of imagination, with which he tried to inspire the king with
confidence; but whether from shame or suspicion, the king, who had at
first begun to nibble at the bait, soon abandoned the hook. In this way,
for instance, one evening, while the king was crossing the garden and
looking up at Madame's window, Malicorne stumbled over a ladder lying
beside a border of box, and said to Manicamp, who was walking with him
behind the king, and who had not either stumbled over or seen anything,
"Did you not see that I just now stumbled against a ladder, and was
nearly thrown down?"
"No," said Manicamp, as usual very absent, "but it appears you did not
fall."
"That doesn't matter; but it is not, on that account, the less dangerous
to leave ladders lying about in that manner."
"True, one might hurt one's self, especially when troubled with fits of
absence of mind."
"I don't mean that; what I did mean was, that it is dangerous to allow
ladders to lie about so near the windows of the maids of honor." Louis
started imperceptibly.
"Why so?" inquired Manicamp.
"Speak louder," whispered Malicorne, as he touched him with his arm.
"Why so?" said Manicamp, louder. The king listened.
"Because, for instance," said Malicorne, "a ladder nineteen feet high is
just the height of the cornice of those windows." Manicamp, instead of
answering, was dreaming of something else.
"Ask me, can't you, what windows I mean," whispered Malicorne.
"But what windows are you referring to?" said Manicamp aloud.
"The windows of Madame's apartments."
"Eh!"
"Oh! I don't say that any one would ever venture to go up a ladder into
Madame's room; but in Madame's cabinet, merely separated by a partition,
sleep two exceedingly pretty girls, Mesdemoiselles de la Valliere and de
Montalais."
"By a partition," said Manicamp.
"Look; you see how brilliantly lighted Madame's apartments are--well, do
you see those two windows?"
"Yes."
"And that window close to the others, but more dimly lighted?"
"Yes."
"Well, that is the room of the maids of honor. Look, look, there is
Mademoiselle de la Valliere opening the window. Ah! how many soft things
could an enterprising lover say to her, if he only suspected that there
was lying here a ladder nineteen feet long, which would just reach the
cornice."
"But she is not alone; you said Mademoiselle de Montalais is with her."
"Mademoiselle de Montalais counts for nothing: she is her oldest friend,
and exceedingly devoted to her--a positive well, into which can be
thrown all sorts of secrets one might wish to get rid of."
The king did not lose a single syllable of this conversation. Malicorne
had even remarked that his majesty had slackened his pace, in order to
give him time to finish. So, when he arrived at the door, he dismissed
every one, with the exception of Malicorne--a circumstance which excited
no surprise, for it was known that the king was in love; and they
suspected he was going to compose some verses by moonlight; and,
although there was no moon that evening, the king might, nevertheless,
have some verses to compose. Every one, therefore, took his leave; and,
immediately afterward, the king turned toward Malicorne, who
respectfully waited until his majesty should address him.
"What were you saying, just now, about a ladder, Monsieur Malicorne?" he
asked.
"Did I say anything about ladders, sire?" said Malicorne, looking up, as
if in search of his words which had flown away.
"Yes, of a ladder nineteen feet long."
"Oh, yes, sire, I remember; but I spoke to M. Manicamp, and I should not
have said a word had I known your majesty could have heard us."
"And why would you not have said a word?"
"Because I should not have liked to have got the gardener scolded who
had left it there--poor fellow!"
"Don't make yourself uneasy on that account. What is this ladder like?"
"If your majesty wishes to see it, nothing is easier, for there it is."
"In that box-hedge?"
"Exactly."
"Show it to me."
Malicorne turned back and led the king up to the ladder, saying, "This
is it, sire."
"Pull it this way a little."
When Malicorne had brought the ladder on to the gravel walk, the king
began to step its whole length. "Hum!" he said; "you say it is nineteen
feet long?"
"Yes, sire."
"Nineteen feet--that is rather long; I hardly believe it can be so long
as that."
"You cannot judge very correctly with the ladder in that position, sire.
If it were upright, against a tree or a wall, for instance, you would be
better able to judge, because the comparison would assist you a good
deal."
"Oh! it does not matter, M. Malicorne; but I can hardly believe that the
ladder is nineteen feet high."
"I know how accurate your majesty's glance is, and yet I would wager."
The king shook his head. "There is one unanswerable means of verifying
it," said Malicorne.
"What is that?"
"Every one knows, sire, that the ground-floor of the palace is eighteen
feet high."
"True, that is very well known."
"Well, sire, if I place the ladder against the wall, we shall be able to
ascertain."
"True."
Malicorne took up the ladder, like a feather, and placed it upright
against the wall. And, in order to try the experiment, he chose, or
chance, perhaps, directed him to choose, the very window of the cabinet
where La Valliere was. The ladder just reached the edge of the cornice,
that is to say, the sill of the window; so that, by standing upon the
last round but one of the ladder, a man of about the middle height, as
the king was, for instance, could easily hold a communication with those
who might be in the room. Hardly had the ladder been properly placed,
than the king, dropping the assumed part he had been playing in the
comedy, began to ascend the rounds of the ladder, which Malicorne held
at the bottom. But hardly had he completed half the distance, when a
patrol of Swiss guards appeared in the garden, and advanced straight
toward them. The king descended with the utmost precipitation, and
concealed himself among the trees. Malicorne at once perceived that he
must offer himself as a sacrifice; for, if he, too, were to conceal
himself, the guard would search everywhere until they had found either
himself or the king, perhaps both. It would be far better, therefore,
that he alone should be discovered. And, consequently, Malicorne hid
himself so clumsily that he was the only one arrested. As soon as he
was arrested, Malicorne was taken to the guard-house; when there, he
declared who he was, and was immediately recognized. In the meantime, by
concealing himself first behind one clump of trees and then behind
another, the king reached the side-door of his apartments, very much
humiliated, and still more disappointed. More than that, the noise made
in arresting Malicorne had drawn La Valliere and Montalais to their
window; and even Madame herself had appeared at her own, with a pair of
wax candles, asking what was the matter.
In the meantime, Malicorne sent for D'Artagnan, who did not lose a
moment in hurrying to him. But it was in vain he attempted to make him
understand his reasons, and in vain also that D'Artagnan did understand
them; and, further, it was equally in vain that both their sharp and
inventive minds endeavored to give another turn to the adventure; there
was no other resource left for Malicorne, but to let it be supposed that
he had wished to enter Mademoiselle de Montalais's apartment, as
Saint-Aignan had passed for having wished to force Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente's door. Madame was inflexible; in the first place,
because if Malicorne had, in fact, wished to enter her apartment at
night through the window, and by the means of the ladder, in order to
see Montalais, it was a punishable offense on Malicorne's part, and he
must be punished accordingly; and, in the second place, if Malicorne,
instead of acting in his own name, had acted as an intermediary between
La Valliere and a person whose name need not be mentioned, his crime was
in that case even greater, since love, which is an excuse for
everything, did not exist in the present case as an excuse for him.
Madame therefore made the greatest possible disturbance about the
matter, and obtained his dismissal from Monsieur's household, without
reflecting, poor blind creature, that both Malicorne and Montalais held
her fast in their clutches in consequence of her visit to De Guiche, and
in a variety of other ways equally delicate. Montalais, who was
perfectly furious, wished to revenge herself immediately, but Malicorne
pointed out to her that the king's countenance would repay them for all
the disgraces in the world, and that it was a great thing to have to
suffer on his majesty's account.
Malicorne was perfectly right, and, therefore, although Montalais had
the spirit of ten women in her, he succeeded in bringing her round to
his own opinion. And we must not omit to state that the king helped them
to console themselves, for, in the first place, he presented Malicorne
with fifty thousand francs as a compensation for the post he had lost,
and, in the next place, he gave him an appointment in his own household,
delighted to have an opportunity of revenging himself in such a manner
upon Madame for all she had made him and La Valliere suffer. But as he
no longer had Malicorne to steal his pocket-handkerchiefs and to measure
ladders for him, the poor lover was in a terrible state. There seemed to
be no hope, therefore, of ever getting near La Valliere again, so long
as she should remain at the Palais Royal. All the dignities and all the
money in the world could not remedy that. Fortunately, however,
Malicorne was on the look-out, and this he did so successfully that he
met Montalais, who, to do her justice, it must be admitted, did her best
to meet Malicorne. "What do you do during the night in Madame's
apartment," he asked the young girl.
"Why, I go to sleep, of course," she replied.
"But it is very wrong to sleep; it can hardly be possible that with the
pain you are suffering you can manage to do so."
"And what am I suffering from, may I ask?"
"Are you not in despair at my absence?"
"Of course not, since you have received fifty thousand francs and an
appointment in the king's household."
"That is a matter of no moment; you are exceedingly afflicted at not
seeing me as you used to see me formerly, and more than all, you are in
despair at my having lost Madame's confidence; come now, is not that
true?"
"Perfectly true."
"Very good; your distress of mind prevents you sleeping at night, and so
you sob, and sigh, and blow your nose ten times every minute as loud as
possible."
"But, my dear Malicorne, Madame cannot endure the slightest noise near
her."
"I know that perfectly well; of course, she can't endure anything; and
so, I tell you, she will not lose a minute, when she sees your deep
distress, in turning you out of her room without a moment's delay."
"I understand."
"Very fortunate you do."
"Well, and what will happen next?"
"The next thing that will happen will be, that La Valliere, finding
herself alone without you, will groan and utter such loud lamentations,
that she will exhibit despair enough for two persons."
"In that case she will be put into another room."
"Precisely so."
"Yes, but which?"
"Which?"
"Yes, that will puzzle you to say, Mr. Inventor-General."
"Not at all; wherever and whatever the room may be, it will always be
preferable to Madame's own room."
"That is true."
"Very good, so begin your lamentations a little to-night."
"I certainly will not fail to do so."
"And give La Valliere a hint also."
"Oh! don't fear her, she cries quite enough already to herself."
"Very well! all she has to do is to cry out loud."
And they separated.