Александр Дюма
Louise de la Valliere
“It is I, Louise,” replied the well-known voice of the king.
“You! you!” cried the young girl, who for a moment fancied herself under the influence of a dream. “But where? You, sire?”
“Here,” replied the king, opening one of the folds of the screen, and appearing like a ghost at the end of the room.
La Valliere uttered a loud cry, and fell trembling into an armchair, as the king advanced respectfully towards her.
Chapter XXXV. The Apparition
La Valliere very soon recovered from her surprise, for, owing to his respectful bearing, the king inspired her with more confidence by his presence than his sudden appearance had deprived her of. But, as he noticed that which made La Valliere most uneasy was the means by which he had effected an entrance into her room, he explained to her the system of the staircase concealed by the screen, and strongly disavowed the notion of his being a supernatural appearance.
“Oh, sire!” said La Valliere, shaking her fair head with a most engaging smile, “present or absent, you do not appear to my mind more at one time than at another.”
“Which means, Louise – ”
“Oh, what you know so well, sire; that there is not one moment in which the poor girl whose secret you surprised at Fontainebleau, and whom you came to snatch from the foot of the cross itself, does not think of you.”
“Louise, you overwhelm me with joy and happiness.”
La Valliere smiled mournfully, and continued: “But, sire, have you reflected that your ingenious invention could not be of the slightest service to us?”
“Why so? Tell me, – I am waiting most anxiously.”
“Because this room may be subject to being searched at any moment of the day. Madame herself may, at any time, come here accidentally; my companions run in at any moment they please. To fasten the door on the inside, is to denounce myself as plainly as if I had written above, ‘No admittance, – the king is within!’ Even now, sire, at this very moment, there is nothing to prevent the door opening, and your majesty being seen here.”
“In that case,” said the king, laughingly, “I should indeed be taken for a phantom, for no one can tell in what way I came here. Besides, it is only spirits that can pass through brick walls, or floors and ceilings.”
“Oh, sire, reflect for a moment how terrible the scandal would be! Nothing equal to it could ever have been previously said about the maids of honor, poor creatures! whom evil report, however, hardly ever spares.”
“And your conclusion from all this, my dear Louise, – come, explain yourself.”
“Alas! it is a hard thing to say – but your majesty must suppress staircase plots, surprises and all; for the evil consequences which would result from your being found here would be far greater than our happiness in seeing each other.”
“Well, Louise,” replied the king, tenderly, “instead of removing this staircase by which I have ascended, there is a far more simple means, of which you have not thought.”
“A means – another means!”
“Yes, another. Oh, you do not love me as I love you, Louise, since my invention is quicker than yours.”
She looked at the king, who held out his hand to her, which she took and gently pressed between her own.
“You were saying,” continued the king, “that I shall be detected coming here, where any one who pleases can enter.”
“Stay, sire; at this very moment, even while you are speaking about it, I tremble with dread of your being discovered.”
“But you would not be found out, Louise, if you were to descend the staircase which leads to the room underneath.”
“Oh, sire! what do you say?” cried Louise, in alarm.
“You do not quite understand me, Louise, since you get offended at my very first word; first of all, do you know to whom the apartments underneath belong?”
“To M. de Guiche, sire, I believe.”
“Not at all; they are M. de Saint-Aignan’s.”
“Are you sure?” cried La Valliere; and this exclamation which escaped from the young girl’s joyous heart made the king’s heart throb with delight.
“Yes, to Saint-Aignan, our friend,” he said.
“But, sire,” returned La Valliere, “I cannot visit M. de Saint-Aignan’s rooms any more than I could M. de Guiche’s. It is impossible – impossible.”
“And yet, Louise, I should have thought that, under the safe-conduct of the king, you would venture anything.”
“Under the safe-conduct of the king,” she said, with a look full of tenderness.
“You have faith in my word, I hope, Louise?”
“Yes, sire, when you are not present; but when you are present, – when you speak to me, – when I look upon you, I have faith in nothing.”
“What can possibly be done to reassure you?”
“It is scarcely respectful, I know, to doubt the king, but – for me – you are not the king.”
“Thank Heaven! – I, at least, hope so most devoutly; you see how anxiously I am trying to find or invent a means of removing all difficulty. Stay; would the presence of a third person reassure you?”
“The presence of M. de Saint-Aignan would, certainly.”
“Really, Louise, you wound me by your suspicions.”
Louise did not answer, she merely looked steadfastly at him with that clear, piercing gaze which penetrates the very heart, and said softly to herself, “Alas! alas! it is not you of whom I am afraid, – it is not you upon whom my doubts would fall.”
“Well,” said the king, sighing, “I agree; and M. de Saint-Aignan, who enjoys the inestimable privilege of reassuring you, shall always be present at our interviews, I promise you.”
“You promise that, sire?”
“Upon my honor as a gentleman; and you, on your side – ”
“Oh, wait, sire, that is not all yet; for such conversations ought, at least, to have a reasonable motive of some kind for M. de Saint-Aignan.”
“Dear Louise, every shade of delicacy of feeling is yours, and my only study is to equal you on that point. It shall be just as you wish: therefore our conversations shall have a reasonable motive, and I have already hit upon one; so that from to-morrow, if you like – ”
“To-morrow?”
“Do you meant that that is not soon enough?” exclaimed the king, caressing La Valliere’s hand between his own.
At this moment the sound of steps was heard in the corridor.
“Sire! sire!” cried La Valliere, “some one is coming; do you hear? Oh, fly! fly! I implore you.”
The king made but one bound from the chair where he was sitting to his hiding-place behind the screen. He had barely time; for as he drew one of the folds before him, the handle of the door was turned, and Montalais appeared at the threshold. As a matter of course she entered quite naturally, and without any ceremony, for she knew perfectly well that to knock at the door beforehand would be showing a suspicion towards La Valliere which would be displeasing to her. She accordingly entered, and after a rapid glance round the room, in the brief course of which she observed two chairs very close to each other, she was so long in shutting the door, which seemed to be difficult to close, one can hardly tell how or why, that the king had ample time to raise the trap-door, and to descend again to Saint-Aignan’s room.
“Louise,” she said to her, “I want to talk to you, and seriously, too.”
“Good heavens! my dear Aure, what is the matter now?”
“The matter is, that Madame suspects everything.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Is there any occasion for us to enter into explanations, and do you not understand what I mean? Come, you must have noticed the fluctuations in Madame’s humor during several days past; you must have noticed how she first kept you close beside her, then dismissed you, and then sent for you again.”
“Yes, I have noticed it, of course.”
“Well, it seems Madame has now succeeded in obtaining sufficient information, for she has now gone straight to the point, as there is nothing further left in France to withstand the torrent which sweeps away all obstacles before it; you know what I mean by the torrent?”
La Valliere hid her face in her hands.
“I mean,” continued Montalais, pitilessly, “that torrent which burst through the gates of the Carmelites of Chaillot, and overthrew all the prejudices of the court, as well at Fontainebleau as at Paris.”
“Alas! alas!” murmured La Valliere, her face still covered by her hands, and her tears streaming through her fingers.
“Oh, don’t distress yourself in that manner, or you have only heard half of your troubles.”
“In Heaven’s name,” exclaimed the young girl, in great anxiety, “what is the matter?”
“Well, then, this is how the matter stands: Madame, who can no longer rely upon any further assistance in France; for she has, one after the other, made use of the two queens, of Monsieur, and the whole court, too, now bethinks herself of a certain person who has certain pretended rights over you.”
La Valliere became as white as a marble statue.
“This person,” continued Madame, “is not in Paris at this moment; but, if I am not mistaken, is, just now, in England.”
“Yes, yes,” breathed La Valliere, almost overwhelmed with terror.
“And is to be found, I think, at the court of Charles II.; am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this evening a letter has been dispatched by Madame to Saint James’s, with directions for the courier to go straight to Hampton Court, which I believe is one of the royal residences, situated about a dozen miles from London.”
“Yes, well?”
“Well; as Madame writes regularly to London once a fortnight, and as the ordinary courier left for London not more than three days ago, I have been thinking that some serious circumstance alone could have induced her to write again so soon, for you know she is a very indolent correspondent.”
“Yes.”
“This letter has been written, therefore, something tells me so, at least, on your account.”
“On my account?” repeated the unhappy girl, mechanically.
“And I, who saw the letter lying on Madame’s desk before she sealed it, fancied I could read – ”
“What did you fancy you could read?”
“I might possibly have been mistaken, though – ”
“Tell me, – what was it?”
“The name of Bragelonne.”
La Valliere rose hurriedly from her chair, a prey to the most painful agitation. “Montalais,” she said, her voice broken by sobs, “all my smiling dreams of youth and innocence have fled already. I have nothing now to conceal, either from you or any one else. My life is exposed to every one’s inspection, and can be opened like a book, in which all the world can read, from the king himself to the first passer-by. Aure, dearest Aure, what can I do – what will become of me?”
Montalais approached close to her, and said, “Consult your own heart, of course.”
“Well; I do not love M. de Bragelonne; when I say I do not love him, understand that I love him as the most affectionate sister could love the best of brothers, but that is not what he requires, nor what I promised him.”
“In fact, you love the king,” said Montalais, “and that is a sufficiently good excuse.”
“Yes, I do love the king,” hoarsely murmured the young girl, “and I have paid dearly enough for pronouncing those words. And now, Montalais, tell me – what can you do either for me, or against me, in my position?”
“You must speak more clearly still.”
“What am I to say, then?”
“And so you have nothing very particular to tell me?”
“No!” said Louise, in astonishment.
“Very good; and so all you have to ask me is my advice respecting M. Raoul?”
“Nothing else.”
“It is a very delicate subject,” replied Montalais.
“No, it is nothing of the kind. Ought I to marry him in order to keep the promise I made, or ought I continue to listen to the king?”
“You have really placed me in a very difficult position,” said Montalais, smiling; “you ask me if you ought to marry Raoul, whose friend I am, and whom I shall mortally offend in giving my opinion against him; and then, you ask me if you should cease to listen to the king, whose subject I am, and whom I should offend if I were to advise you in a particular way. Ah, Louise, you seem to hold a difficult position at a very cheap rate.”
“You have not understood me, Aure,” said La Valliere, wounded by the slightly mocking tone of her companion; “if I were to marry M. de Bragelonne, I should be far from bestowing on him the happiness he deserves; but, for the same reason, if I listen to the king he would become the possessor of one indifferent in very many aspects, I admit, but one whom his affection confers an appearance of value. What I ask you, then, is to tell me some means of disengaging myself honorably either from the one or from the other; or rather, I ask you, from which side you think I can free myself most honorably.”
“My dear Louise,” replied Montalais, after a pause, “I am not one of the seven wise men of Greece, and I have no perfectly invariable rules of conduct to govern me; but, on the other hand, I have a little experience, and I can assure you that no woman ever asks for advice of the nature which you have just asked me, without being in a terrible state of embarrassment. Besides, you have made a solemn promise, which every principle of honor requires you to fulfil; if, therefore, you are embarrassed, in consequence of having undertaken such an engagement, it is not a stranger’s advice (every one is a stranger to a heart full of love), it is not my advice, I repeat, that can extricate you from your embarrassment. I shall not give it you, therefore; and for a greater reason still – because, were I in your place, I should feel much more embarrassed after the advice than before it. All I can do is, to repeat what I have already told you; shall I assist you?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Very well; that is all. Tell me in what way you wish me to help you; tell me for and against whom, – in this way we shall not make any blunders.”
“But first of all,” said La Valliere, pressing her companion’s hand, “for whom or against whom do you decide?”
“For you, if you are really and truly my friend.”
“Are you not Madame’s confidant?”
“A greater reason for being of service to you; if I were not to know what is going on in that direction I should not be of any service at all, and consequently you would not obtain any advantage from my acquaintance. Friendships live and thrive upon a system of reciprocal benefits.”
“The result is, then, that you will remain at the same time Madame’s friend also?”
“Evidently. Do you complain of that?”
“I hardly know,” sighed La Valliere, thoughtfully, for this cynical frankness appeared to her an offense both to the woman and the friend.
“All well and good, then,” said Montalais, “for if you did, you would be very foolish.”
“You wish to serve me, then?”
“Devotedly – if you will serve me in return.”
“One would almost say that you do not know my heart,” said La Valliere, looking at Montalais with her eyes wide open.
“Why, the fact is, that since we have belonged to the court, my dear Louise, we are very much changed.”
“In what way?”
“It is very simple. Were you the second queen of France yonder, at Blois?”
La Valliere hung down her head, and began to weep. Montalais looked at her in an indefinable manner, and murmured “Poor girl!” and then, adding, “Poor king!” she kissed Louise on the forehead, and returned to her apartment, where Malicorne was waiting for her.
Chapter XXXVI. The Portrait
In that malady which is termed love the paroxysms succeed each other at intervals, ever accelerating from the moment the disease declares itself. By and by, the paroxysms are less frequent, in proportion as the cure approaches. This being laid down as a general axiom, and as the leading article of a particular chapter, we will now proceed with our recital. The next day, the day fixed by the king for the first conversation in Saint-Aignan’s room, La Valliere, on opening one of the folds of the screen, found upon the floor a letter in the king’s handwriting. The letter had been passed, through a slit in the floor, from the lower apartment to her own. No indiscreet hand or curious gaze could have brought or did bring this single paper. This, too, was one of Malicorne’s ideas. Having seen how very serviceable Saint-Aignan would become to the king on account of his apartment, he did not wish that the courtier should become still more indispensable as a messenger, and so he had, on his own private account, reserved this last post for himself. La Valliere most eagerly read the letter, which fixed two o’clock that same afternoon for the rendezvous, and which indicated the way of raising the trap-door which was constructed out of the flooring. “Make yourself look as beautiful as you can,” added the postscript of the letter, words which astonished the young girl, but at the same time reassured her.
The hours passed away very slowly, but the time fixed, however, arrived at last. As punctual as the priestess Hero, Louise lifted up the trap-door at the last stroke of the hour of two, and found the king on the steps, waiting for her with the greatest respect, in order to give her his hand to descend. The delicacy and deference shown in this attention affected her very powerfully. At the foot of the staircase the two lovers found the comte, who, with a smile and a low reverence distinguished by the best taste, expressed his thanks to La Valliere for the honor she conferred upon him. Then turning towards the king, he said:
“Sire, our man is here.” La Valliere looked at the king with some uneasiness.
“Mademoiselle,” said the king, “if I have begged you to do me the honor of coming down here, it was from an interested motive. I have procured a most admirable portrait painter, who is celebrated for the fidelity of his likenesses, and I wish you to be kind enough to authorize him to paint yours. Besides, if you positively wish it, the portrait shall remain in your own possession.” La Valliere blushed. “You see,” said the king to her, “we shall not be three as you wished, but four instead. And, so long as we are not alone, there can be as many present as you please.” La Valliere gently pressed her royal lover’s hand.
“Shall we pass into the next room, sire?” said Saint-Aignan, opening the door to let his guests precede him. The king walked behind La Valliere, and fixed his eyes lingeringly and passionately upon that neck as white as snow, upon which her long fair ringlets fell in heavy masses. La Valliere was dressed in a thick silk robe of pearl gray color, with a tinge of rose, with jet ornaments, which displayed to greater effect the dazzling purity of her skin, holding in her slender and transparent hands a bouquet of heartsease, Bengal roses, and clematis, surrounded with leaves of the tenderest green, above which uprose, like a tiny goblet spilling magic influence a Haarlem tulip of gray and violet tints of a pure and beautiful species, which had cost the gardener five years’ toil of combinations, and the king five thousand francs. Louis had placed this bouquet in La Valliere’s hand as he saluted her. In the room, the door of which Saint-Aignan had just opened, a young man was standing, dressed in a purple velvet jacket, with beautiful black eyes and long brown hair. It was the painter; his canvas was quite ready, and his palette prepared for use.
He bowed to La Valliere with the grave curiosity of an artist who is studying his model, saluted the king discreetly, as if he did not recognize him, and as he would, consequently, have saluted any other gentleman. Then, leading Mademoiselle de la Valliere to the seat he had arranged for her, he begged her to sit down.
The young girl assumed an attitude graceful and unrestrained, her hands occupied and her limbs reclining on cushions; and in order that her gaze might not assume a vague or affected expression, the painter begged her to choose some kind of occupation, so as to engage her attention; whereupon Louis XIV., smiling, sat down on the cushions at La Valliere’s feet; so that she, in the reclining posture she had assumed, leaning back in the armchair, holding her flowers in her hand, and he, with his eyes raised towards her and fixed devouringly on her face – they, both together, formed so charming a group, that the artist contemplated painting it with professional delight, while on his side, Saint-Aignan regarded them with feelings of envy. The painter sketched rapidly; and very soon, beneath the earliest touches of the brush, there started into life, out of the gray background, the gentle, poetry-breathing face, with its soft calm eyes and delicately tinted cheeks, enframed in the masses of hair which fell about her neck. The lovers, however, spoke but little, and looked at each other a great deal; sometimes their eyes became so languishing in their gaze, that the painter was obliged to interrupt his work in order to avoid representing an Erycina instead of La Valliere. It was on such occasions that Saint-Aignan came to the rescue, and recited verses, or repeated one of those little tales such as Patru related, and Tallemant des Reaux wrote so cleverly. Or, it might be that La Valliere was fatigued, and the sitting was, therefore, suspended for awhile; and, immediately, a tray of precious porcelain laden with the most beautiful fruits which could be obtained, and rich wines distilling their bright colors in silver goblets, beautifully chased, served as accessories to the picture of which the painter could but retrace the most ephemeral resemblance.
Louis was intoxicated with love, La Valliere with happiness, Saint-Aignan with ambition, and the painter was storing up recollections for his old age. Two hours passed away in this manner, and four o’clock having struck, La Valliere rose, and made a sign to the king. Louis also rose, approached the picture, and addressed a few flattering remarks to the painter. Saint-Aignan also praised the picture, which, as he pretended, was already beginning to assume an accurate resemblance. La Valliere in her turn, blushingly thanked the painter and passed into the next room, where the king followed her, after having previously summoned Saint-Aignan.
“Will you not come to-morrow?” he said to La Valliere.
“Oh! sire, pray think that some one will be sure to come to my room, and will not find me there.”
“Well?”
“What will become of me in that case?”
“You are very apprehensive, Louise.”
“But at all events, suppose Madame were to send for me?”
“Oh!” replied the king, “will the day never come when you yourself will tell me to brave everything so that I may not have to leave you again?”
“On that day, sire, I shall be quite out of my mind, and you must not believe me.”
“To-morrow, Louise.”
La Valliere sighed, but, without the courage to oppose her royal lover’s wish, she repeated, “To-morrow, then, since you desire it, sire,” and with these words she ran lightly up the stairs, and disappeared from her lover’s gaze.
“Well, sire?” inquired Saint-Aignan, when she had left.
“Well, Saint-Aignan, yesterday I thought myself the happiest of men.”
“And does your majesty, then, regard yourself to-day,” said the comte, smiling, “as the unhappiest of men?”
“No; but my love for her is an unquenchable thirst; in vain do I drink, in vain do I swallow the drops of water which your industry procures for me; the more I drink, the more unquenchable it becomes.”
“Sire, that is in some degree your own fault, and your majesty alone has made the position such as it is.”
“You are right.”
“In that case, therefore, the means to be happy, is to fancy yourself satisfied, and to wait.”
“Wait! you know that word, then?”
“There, there, sire – do not despair: I have already been at work on your behalf – I have still other resources in store.” The king shook his head in a despairing manner.
“What, sire! have you not been satisfied hitherto?”
“Oh! yes, indeed, yes, my dear Saint-Aignan; but invent, for Heaven’s sake, invent some further project yet.”
“Sire, I undertake to do my best, and that is all that any one can do.”
The king wished to see the portrait again, as he was unable to see the original. He pointed out several alterations to the painter and left the room, and then Saint-Aignan dismissed the artist. The easel, paints, and painter himself, had scarcely gone, when Malicorne showed his head in the doorway. He was received by Saint-Aignan with open arms, but still with a little sadness, for the cloud which had passed across the royal sun, veiled, in its turn, the faithful satellite, and Malicorne at a glance perceived the melancholy that brooded on Saint-Aignan’s face.
“Oh, monsieur le comte,” he said, “how sad you seem!”
“And good reason too, my dear Monsieur Malicorne. Will you believe that the king is still dissatisfied?”
“With his staircase, do you mean?”
“Oh, no; on the contrary, he is delighted with the staircase.”
“The decorations of the apartments, I suppose, don’t please him.”
“Oh! he has not even thought of that. No, indeed, it seems that what has dissatisfied the king – ”
“I will tell you, monsieur le comte, – he is dissatisfied at finding himself the fourth person at a rendezvous of this kind. How is it possible you could not have guessed that?”
“Why, how is it likely I could have done so, dear M. Malicorne, when I followed the king’s instructions to the very letter?”
“Did his majesty really insist on your being present?”
“Positively.”
“And also required that the painter, whom I met downstairs just now, should be here, too?”
“He insisted upon it.”
“In that case, I can easily understand why his majesty is dissatisfied.”
“What! dissatisfied that I have so punctually and so literally obeyed his orders? I don’t understand you.”
Malicorne began to scratch his ear, as he asked, “What time did the king fix for the rendezvous in your apartments?”
“Two o’clock.”
“And you were waiting for the king?”
“Ever since half-past one; it would have been a fine thing, indeed, to have been unpunctual with his majesty.”
Malicorne, notwithstanding his respect for Saint-Aignan, could not help smiling. “And the painter,” he said, “did the king wish him to be here at two o’clock, also?”
“No; but I had him waiting here from midday. Far better, you know, for a painter to be kept waiting a couple of hours than the king a single minute.”
Malicorne began to laugh aloud. “Come, dear Monsieur Malicorne,” said Saint-Aignan, “laugh less at me, and speak a little more freely, I beg.”
“Well, then, monsieur le comte, if you wish the king to be a little more satisfied the next time he comes – ”
“‘Ventre saint-gris!’ as his grandfather used to say; of course I wish it.”
“Well, all you have to do is, when the king comes to-morrow, to be obliged to go away on a most pressing matter of business, which cannot possibly be postponed, and stay away for twenty minutes.”
“What! leave the king alone for twenty minutes?” cried Saint-Aignan, in alarm.
“Very well, do as you like; don’t pay any attention to what I say,” said Malicorne, moving towards the door.
“Nay, nay, dear Monsieur Malicorne; on the contrary, go on – I begin to understand you. But the painter – ”
“Oh! the painter must be half an hour late.”
“Half an hour – do you really think so?”
“Yes, I do, decidedly.”
“Very well, then, I will do as you tell me.”
“And my opinion is, that you will be doing perfectly right. Will you allow me to call upon you for the latest news to-morrow?”
“Of course.”
“I have the honor to be your most respectful servant, M. de Saint-Aignan,” said Malicorne, bowing profoundly and retiring from the room backwards.
“There is no doubt that fellow has more invention than I have,” said Saint-Aignan, as if compelled by his conviction to admit it.
