“I will preserve for you intact a heart that has already become accustomed to beat only at your command.”
“Very well, do you not see that we have guaranteed the future by this means?”
“I hope so.”
“Will your mother cease to regard me as an enemy?”
“Yes.”
“Will Maria Theresa leave off speaking in Spanish before Monsieur, who has a horror of conversation held in foreign languages, because he always thinks he is being ill spoken of? and lastly,” continued the princess, “will people persist in attributing a wrongful affection to the king when the truth is, we can offer nothing to each other, except absolute sympathy, free from mental reservation?”
“Yes, yes,” said the king, hesitatingly. “But other things may still be said of us.”
“What can be said, sire? shall we never be left in tranquillity?”
“People will say I am deficient in taste; but what is my self-respect in comparison with your tranquillity?”
“In comparison with my honor, sire, and that of our family, you mean. Besides, I beg you to attend, do not be so hastily prejudiced against La Vallière. She is slightly lame, it is true, but she is not deficient in good sense. Moreover, all that the king touches is converted into gold.”
“Well, Madame, rest assured of one thing, namely, that I am still grateful to you: you might even yet make me pay dearer for your stay in France.”
“Sire, someone approaches.”
“Well!”
“One last word.”
“Say it.”
“You are prudent and judicious, sire; but in the present instance you will be obliged to summon to your aid all your prudence, and all your judgment.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Louis, laughing, “from this very day I shall begin to act my part, and you shall see whether I am not quite fit to represent the character of a tender swain. After luncheon, there will be a promenade in the forest, and then there is supper and the ballet at ten o’clock.”
“I know it.”
“The ardor of my passion shall blaze more brilliantly than the fireworks, shall shine more steadily than our friend Colbert’s lamps; it shall shine so dazzlingly that the queens and Monsieur will be almost blinded by it.”
“Take care, sire, take care.”
“In Heaven’s name, what have I done, then?”
“I shall begin to recall the compliments I paid you just now. You prudent! you wise! did I say? Why, you begin by the most reckless inconsistencies! Can a passion be kindled in this manner, like a torch, in a moment? Can a monarch, such as you are, without any preparation, fall at the feet of a girl like La Vallière?”
“Ah! Henrietta, now I understand you. We have not yet begun the campaign, and you are plundering me already.”
“No, I am only recalling you to commonsense ideas. Let your passion be kindled gradually, instead of allowing it to burst forth so suddenly. Jove’s thunders and lightnings are heard and seen before the palace is set on fire. Everything has its commencements. If you are so easily excited, no one will believe you are really captivated, and everyone will think you out of your senses—if even, indeed, the truth itself not be guessed. The public is not so fatuous as they seem.”
The king was obliged to admit that Madame was an angel for sense, and the very reverse for cleverness. He bowed, and said: “Agreed, Madame, I will think over my plan of attack: great military men—my cousin de Condé for instance—grow pale in meditation upon their strategical plans, before they move one of the pawns, which people call armies; I therefore wish to draw up a complete plan of campaign; for you know that the tender passion is subdivided in a variety of ways. Well, then, I shall stop at the village of Little Attentions, at the hamlet of Love-Letters, before I follow the road of Visible Affection; the way is clear enough, you know, and poor Madame de Scudéry would never forgive me for passing though a halting-place without stopping.”
“Oh! now we have returned to our proper senses, shall we say adieu, sire?”
“Alas! it must be so, for see, we are interrupted.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Henrietta, “they are bringing Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente and her sphinx butterfly in grand procession this way.”
“It is perfectly well understood, then, that this evening, during the promenade, I am to make my escape into the forest, and find La Vallière without you.”
“I will take care to send her away.”
“Very well! I will speak to her when she is with her companions, and I will then discharge my first arrow at her.”
“Be skillful,” said Madame, laughing, “and do not miss the heart.”
Then the princess took leave of the king, and went forward to meet the merry troop, which was advancing with much ceremony, and a great many pretended flourishes of trumpets, imitated with their mouths.
114
The Ballet of the Seasons
At the conclusion of the banquet, which was served at five o’clock, the king entered his cabinet, where his tailors were awaiting him for the purpose of trying on the celebrated costume representing Spring, which was the result of so much imagination, and had cost so many efforts of thought to the designers and ornament-workers of the court. As for the ballet itself, every person knew the part he had to take in it, and how to perform it. The king had resolved to make it a surprise. Hardly, therefore, had he finished his conference, and entered his own apartment, than he desired his two masters of the ceremonies, Villeroy and Saint-Aignan, to be sent for. Both replied that they only awaited his orders, and that everything was ready to begin, but that it was necessary to be sure of fine weather and a favorable night before these orders could be carried out. The king opened his window; the pale-gold hues of the evening were visible on the horizon through the vistas of the wood, and the moon, white as snow, was already mounting the heavens. Not
