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 baños, 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 passion. 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 snatched 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 someone to come to him.
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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 goddess 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
