Chapter x.x.xV. Fontainebleau.
For four days, every kind of enchantment brought together in the magnificent gardens of Fontainebleau had converted this spot into a place of the most perfect enjoyment. M. Colbert seemed gifted with ubiquity. In the morning there were the accounts of the previous night"s expenses to settle; during the day, programmes, essays, enrolments, payments. M. Colbert had ama.s.sed four millions of francs, and dispersed them with sleepless economy. He was horrified at the expenses which mythology involved; not a wood nymph, nor a dryad, that cost less than a hundred francs a day! The dress alone amounted to three hundred francs. The expense of powder and sulphur for fireworks amounted, every night, to a hundred thousand francs. In addition to these, the illuminations on the borders of the sheet of water cost thirty thousand francs every evening. The fetes had been magnificent; and Colbert could not restrain his delight. From time to time, he noticed Madame and the king setting forth on hunting expeditions, or preparing for the reception of different fantastic personages, solemn ceremonials, which had been extemporized a fortnight before, and in which Madame"s sparkling wit and the king"s magnificence were equally well displayed.
For Madame, the heroine of the fete, replied to the addresses of the deputations from unknown races-Garamanths, Scythians, Hyperboreans, Caucasians, and Patagonians, who seemed to issue from the ground for the purpose of approaching her with their congratulations; and upon every representative of these races the king bestowed a diamond, or some other article of value. Then the deputies, in verses more or less amusing, compared the king to the sun, Madame to Phoebe, the sun"s sister, and the queen and Monsieur were no more spoken of than if the king had married Henrietta of England, and not Maria Theresa of Austria. The happy pair, hand in hand, imperceptibly pressing each other"s fingers, drank in deep draughts the sweet beverage of adulation, by which the attractions of youth, beauty, power and love are enhanced. Every one at Fontainebleau was amazed at the extent of the influence which Madame had so rapidly acquired over the king, and whispered among themselves that Madame was, in point of fact, the true queen; and in effect, the king himself proclaimed its truth by his every thought, word, and look. He formed his wishes, he drew his inspirations from Madame"s eyes, and his delight was unbounded when Madame deigned to smile upon him. And was Madame, on her side, intoxicated with the power she wielded, as she beheld every one at her feet? This was a question she herself could hardly answer; but what she did know was, that she could frame no wish, and that she felt herself to be perfectly happy. The result of all these changes, the source of which emanated from the royal will, was that Monsieur, instead of being the second person in the kingdom, had, in reality, become the third. And it was now far worse than in the time when De Guiche"s guitars were heard in Madame"s apartments; for, then, at least, Monsieur had the satisfaction of frightening those who annoyed him. Since the departure, however, of the enemy, who had been driven away by means of his alliance with the king, Monsieur had to submit to a burden, heavier, but in a very different sense, to his former one. Every evening Madame returned home quite exhausted. Horse-riding, bathing in the Seine, spectacles, dinners under the leafy covert of the trees, b.a.l.l.s on the banks of the grand ca.n.a.l, concerts, etc., etc.; all this would have been sufficient to have killed, not a slight and delicate woman, but the strongest porter in the chateau. It is perfectly true that, with regard to dancing, concerts, and promenades, and such matters, a woman is far stronger than the most robust of porters. But, however great a woman"s strength may be, there is a limit to it, and she cannot hold out long under such a system. As for Monsieur, he had not even the satisfaction of witnessing Madame"s abdication of her royalty in the evening, for she lived in the royal pavilion with the young queen and the queen-mother. As a matter of course, the Chevalier de Lorraine did not quit Monsieur, and did not fail to distil drops of gall into every wound the latter received. The result was, that Monsieur-who had at first been in the highest spirits, and completely restored since Guiche"s departure-subsided into his melancholy state three days after the court was installed at Fontainebleau.
It happened, however, that, one day, about two o"clock in the afternoon, Monsieur, who had risen late, and had bestowed upon his toilet more than his usual attention,-it happened, we repeat, that Monsieur, who had not heard of any plans having been arranged for the day, formed the project of collecting his own court, and of carrying Madame off with him to Moret, where he possessed a charming country house. He accordingly went to the queen"s pavilion, and was astonished, on entering, to find none of the royal servants in attendance. Quite alone, therefore, he entered the rooms, a door on the left opening to Madame"s apartment, the one on the right to the young queen"s. In his wife"s apartment, Monsieur was informed, by a sempstress who was working there, that every one had left at eleven o"clock, for the purpose of bathing in the Seine, that a grand fete was to be made of the expedition, that all the carriages had been placed at the park gates, and that they had all set out more than an hour ago.
"Very good," said Monsieur, "the idea is a good one; the heat is very oppressive, and I have no objection to bathe, too."
He summoned his servants, but no one came. He summoned those in attendance on Madame, but everybody had gone out. He went to the stables, where he was informed by a groom that there were no carriages of any description. He desired that a couple of horses should be saddled, one for himself and the other for his valet. The groom told him that all the horses had been sent away. Monsieur, pale with anger, again descended towards the queen"s apartments, and penetrated as far as Anne of Austria"s oratory, where he perceived, through the half-opened tapestry-hangings, his young and beautiful sister on her knees before the queen-mother, who appeared weeping bitterly. He had not been either seen or heard. He cautiously approached the opening, and listened, the sight of so much grief having aroused his curiosity. Not only was the young queen weeping, but she was complaining also. "Yes," she said, "the king neglects me, the king devotes himself to pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts only, in which I have no share."
"Patience, patience, my daughter," said Anne of Austria, in Spanish; and then, also in Spanish, added some words of advice, which Monsieur did not understand. The queen replied by accusations, mingled with sighs and sobs, among which Monsieur often distinguished the word banos, which Maria Theresa accentuated with spiteful anger.
"The baths," said Monsieur to himself; "it seems it is the baths that have put her out." And he endeavored to put together the disconnected phrases which he had been able to understand. It was easy to guess that the queen was complaining bitterly, and that, if Anne of Austria did not console her, she at least endeavored to do so. Monsieur was afraid to be detected listening at the door and he therefore made up his mind to cough; the two queens turned round at the sound and Monsieur entered. At sight of the prince, the young queen rose precipitately, and dried her tears. Monsieur, however, knew the people he had to deal with too well, and was naturally too polite to remain silent, and he accordingly saluted them. The queen-mother smiled pleasantly at him, saying, "What do you want, Philip?"
"I?-nothing," stammered Monsieur. "I was looking for-"
"Whom?"
"I was looking for Madame."
"Madame is at the baths."
"And the king?" said Monsieur, in a tone which made the queen tremble.
"The king also, the whole court as well," replied Anne of Austria.
"Except you, madame," said Monsieur.
"Oh! I," said the young queen, "I seem to terrify all those who amuse themselves."
"And so do I,-judging from appearances," rejoined Monsieur.
Anne of Austria made a sigh to her daughter-in-law, who withdrew, weeping.
Monsieur"s brows contracted, as he remarked aloud, "What a cheerless house. What do you think of it, mother?"
"Why, no; everybody here is pleasure-hunting."
"Yes, indeed, that is the very thing that makes those dull who do not care for pleasure."
"In what a tone you say that, Philip."
"Upon my word, madame, I speak as I think."
"Explain yourself; what is the matter?"
"Ask my sister-in-law, rather, who, just now, was detailing all her grievances to you."
"Her grievances, what-"
"Yes, I was listening; accidentally, I confess, but still I listened-so that I heard only too well my sister complain of those famous baths of Madame-"
"Ah! folly!"
"No, no, no; people are not always foolish when they weep. The queen said banos, which means baths."
"I repeat, Philip," said Anne of Austria, "that your sister is childishly jealous."
"In that case, madame," replied the prince, "I, too, must with great humility accuse myself of possessing the same defect."
"You also, Philip?"
"Certainly."
"Are you really jealous of these baths?"
"And why not, madame, when the king goes to the baths with my wife, and does not take the queen? Why not, when Madame goes to the baths with the king, and does not do me the honor to even invite me? And you enjoin my sister-in-law to be satisfied, and require me to be satisfied, too."
"You are raving, my dear Philip," said Anne of Austria; "you have driven the Duke of Buckingham away; you have been the cause of M. de Guiche"s exile; do you now wish to send the king away from Fontainebleau?"
"I do not pretend to anything of the kind, madame," said Monsieur, bitterly; "but, at least, I can withdraw, and I shall do so."
"Jealous of the king-jealous of your brother?"
"Yes, madame, I am jealous of the king-of my own brother, and remarkably jealous, too."
"Really, Monsieur," exclaimed Anne of Austria, affecting to be indignant, "I begin to believe you are mad, and a sworn enemy to my repose. I therefore abandon the place to you, for I have no means of defending myself against such monomanias."
She arose and left Monsieur a prey to the most extravagant transport of pa.s.sion. He remained for a moment completely bewildered; then, recovering himself, again went to the stables, found the groom, once more asked him for a carriage or a horse, and upon his reply that there was neither the one or the other, Monsieur s.n.a.t.c.hed a long whip from the hand of a stable-boy, and began to pursue the poor devil of a groom all round the servants" courtyard, whipping him the while, in spite of his cries and excuses; then, quite out of breath, covered with perspiration, and trembling in every limb, he returned to his own apartments, broke in pieces some beautiful specimens of porcelain, and then got into bed, booted and spurred as he was, crying out for some one to come to him. 4
Chapter x.x.xVI. The Bath.
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 G.o.ddess 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 G.o.ddess 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 ma.s.ses 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 pa.s.s 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, pa.s.sed 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 compa.s.sion, 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 tomt.i.t 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 pa.s.sed, 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.
Chapter x.x.xVII. The b.u.t.terfly-Chase.
The king, on retiring to his apartments to give some directions and to arrange his ideas, found on his toilette-gla.s.s a small note, the handwriting of which seemed disguised. He opened it and read-"Come quickly, I have a thousand things to say to you." The king and Madame had not been separated a sufficiently long time for these thousand things to be the result of the three thousand which they had been saying to each other during the route which separated Vulaines from Fontainebleau. The confused and hurried character of the note gave the king a great deal to reflect upon. He occupied himself but slightly with his toilette, and set off to pay his visit to Madame. The princess, who did not wish to have the appearance of expecting him, had gone into the gardens with the ladies of her suite. When the king was informed that Madame had left her apartments and had gone for a walk in the gardens, he collected all the gentlemen he could find, and invited them to follow him. He found Madame engaged in chasing b.u.t.terflies, on a large lawn bordered with heliotrope and flowering broom. She was looking on as the most adventurous and youngest of her ladies ran to and fro, and with her back turned to a high hedge, very impatiently awaited the arrival of the king, with whom she had appointed the rendezvous. The sound of many feet upon the gravel walk made her turn round. Louis XIV. was hatless, he had struck down with his cane a peac.o.c.k b.u.t.terfly, which Monsieur de Saint-Aignan had picked up from the ground quite stunned.
"You see, Madame," said the king, as he approached her, "that I, too, am hunting on your behalf!" and then, turning towards those who had accompanied him, said, "Gentlemen, see if each of you cannot obtain as much for these ladies," a remark which was a signal for all to retire. And thereupon a curious spectacle might have been observed; old and corpulent courtiers were seen running after b.u.t.terflies, losing their hats as they ran, and with their raised canes cutting down the myrtles and the furze, as they would have done the Spaniards.
The king offered Madame his arm, and they both selected, as the center of observation, a bench with a roof of boards and moss, a kind of hut roughly designed by the modest genius of one of the gardeners who had inaugurated the picturesque and fanciful amid the formal style of the gardening of that period. This sheltered retreat, covered with nasturtiums and climbing roses, screened the bench, so that the spectators, insulated in the middle of the lawn, saw and were seen on every side, but could not be heard, without perceiving those who might approach for the purpose of listening. Seated thus, the king made a sign of encouragement to those who were running about; and then, as if he were engaged with Madame in a dissertation upon the b.u.t.terfly, which he had thrust through with a gold pin and fastened on his hat, said to her, "How admirably we are placed here for conversations."
"Yes, sire, for I wished to be heard by you alone, and yet to be seen by every one."
"And I also," said Louis.
"My note surprised you?"
"Terrified me rather. But what I have to tell you is more important."
"It cannot be, sire. Do you know that Monsieur refuses to see me?"
"Why so?"
"Can you not guess why?"
"Ah, Madame! in that case we have both the same thing to say to each other."
"What has happened to you, then?"
"You wish me to begin?"
"Yes, for I have told you all."
"Well, then, as soon as I returned, I found my mother waiting for me, and she led me away to her own apartments."
"The queen-mother?" said Madame, with some anxiety, "the matter is serious then."
"Indeed it is, for she told me... but, in the first place, allow me to preface what I have to say with one remark. Has Monsieur ever spoken to you about me?"
"Often."
"Has he ever spoken to you about his jealousy?"
"More frequently still."
"Of his jealousy of me?"
"No, but of the Duke of Buckingham and De Guiche."
"Well, Madame, Monsieur"s present idea is a jealousy of myself."
"Really," replied the princess, smiling archly.
"And it really seems to me," continued the king, "that we have never given any ground-"
"Never! at least I have not. But who told you that Monsieur was jealous?"
"My mother represented to me that Monsieur entered her apartments like a madman, that he uttered a thousand complaints against you, and-forgive me for saying it-against your coquetry. It appears that Monsieur indulges in injustice, too."
"You are very kind, sire."
"My mother rea.s.sured him; but he pretended that people rea.s.sure him too often, and that he had had quite enough of it."
"Would it not be better for him not to make himself uneasy in any way?"
"The very thing I said."
"Confess, sire, that the world is very wicked. Is it possible that a brother and sister cannot converse together, or take pleasure in each other"s company, without giving rise to remarks and suspicions? For indeed, sire, we are doing no harm, and have no intention of doing any." And she looked at the king with that proud yet provoking glance that kindles desire in the coldest and wisest of men.
"No!" sighed the king, "that is true."
"You know very well, sire, that if it were to continue, I should be obliged to make a disturbance. Do you decide upon our conduct, and say whether it has, or has not, been perfectly correct."
"Oh, certainly-perfectly correct."
"Often alone together,-for we delight in the same things,-we might possibly be led away into error, but have we been? I regard you as a brother, and nothing more."
The king frowned. She continued: "Your hand, which often meets my own, does not excite in me that agitation and emotion which is the case with those who love each other, for instance-"
"Enough," said the king, "enough, I entreat you. You have no pity-you are killing me."
"What is the matter?"
"In fact, then, you distinctly say you experience nothing when near me."
"Oh, sire! I don"t say that-my affection-"