The King Gets Tired.
THE KING, WHO had gone to Marly, as he had said he would, ordered his carriage at three o’clock in the afternoon, and drove from that to Luciennes. He supposed that Madame Dubarry, on receiving his note, would immediately leave Versailles, and hasten there to wait for him.
He was rather surprised, therefore, on entering the chateau, to find Zamore — looking very little like a governor — occupied in plucking out the feathers of a parrot, which, in return, was endeavoring to bite him.
The two favorites were rivals, like the Duke de Choiseul and the Countess Dubarry.
The king installed himself in the small salon, and dismissed his attendants. Although the most inquisitive gentleman in his kingdom, he was not in the habit of questioning servants or lackeys; but Zamore was neither a servant nor a lackey; he occupied a middle place between the monkey and the parrot. The king, therefore, questioned Zamore.
“Is the countess in the garden?”
“No, master.” This word the favorite, in one of her whims, had ordered to take the place of majesty at Luciennes.
“Is she at the lake, feeding the carp?” This lake had been dug at a vast expense out of the side of the hill. It was fed with water from the aqueduct, and filled with great numbers of the finest carp, brought from Versailles.
“No, master,” again answered Zamore.
“Where is she, then?”
“In Paris, master.”
“What! Did the countess not come to Luciennes?”
“No, master — but she sent Zamore.”
“What to do?”
“To wait for the king.”
“Ah ha! so you are delegated to receive me? Very agreeable indeed! Thank you, countess! Thank you! I am to have the society of Zamore!” And he rose from his chair rather piqued.
“Oh, no, the king is not to have the society of Zamore,” said the negro.
“Why not?”
“Because Zamore is going away.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Paris.”
“Then I am to be left alone? Better and better. But why go to Paris?”
“To find Mistress Barry and tell her the king is at Luciennes.”
“Oh, the countess desired you to tell me that, then?”
“Yes, master.”
“And did she tell you what I was to do till she came?”
“She said you were to sleep.”
“Ah!” said the king to himself, “she will not be long, and she has some surprise for me; “then he added aloud, “Go then and bring back the countess. But how will you travel?”
“On the great white horse with the scarlet housings.”
“And how long does it take for the great white horse to go to Paris?”
“I do not know,” said the negro boy; “but he goes fast, fast, fast! Zamore likes to go fast!”
“Indeed! I am extremely fortunate to find that Zamore likes to go fast.”
And he stationed himself at the window to see Zamore depart.
A tall footman lifted him on the horse, and with the happy ignorance of childhood, the little negro set off at a gallop on his gigantic steed.
The king, being left alone, asked a footman at last if there were anything new at Luciennes. The servant replied that there was only Monsieur Boucher, who was painting the countess’s boudoir.
“Oh, Boucher, poor Boucher, is he here?” said the king, with a slight appearance of satisfaction; “and where is he?”
“In the summer-house; shall I show your majesty the way to it?”
“No, no; I should rather go and see the carps. Give me a knife.”
“A knife, sire?”
“Yes, and a large loaf.” The valet returned carrying a large loaf, with a long knife stuck in it, on a china plate. The king made a sign to the valet to accompany him, and with a pleased air led the way to the pond.
The feeding of carps was a traditional occupation in the Bourbon family, the Grand Monarque never missing it for a single day. Louis XV, seated himself on a mossy bank, from which the view before him was charming.
There lay the little lake, with its velvet slopes of turf; beyond it a village nestled between two hills; further off, the towers of Saint Germain, with their wooded terraces, and further still the blue declivities of Saunois and Cormeilles; while, above all this, the gray and rose-tinged sky hung like a magnificent cupola. The weather had been stormy, and the foliage of the trees looked dark and heavy against the pale green of the meadows; the waters of the lake, glassy and immovable as a vast surface of oil, were disturbed from time to time by some silvery lashing fish springing up to seize the unwary fly, and checkering it with wide-spreading circles of alternate black and white. At the margin might be perceived the enormous snouts of a number of fish, which, fearless of hook or net, sucked the leaves of pendant plants, and with their huge fixed eyes, which seemed incapable of sight, stared at the gray lizards and green frogs sporting among the bulrushes.
When the king, like a man profoundly skilled in the art of killing time, had looked at the landscape on all sides, when he had counted the houses in the village, and the villages in the distance, he took the plate with the loaf, placed it beside him, and began to cut off large pieces of the bread.
The carps heard the sound of the knife in the crust, and accustomed to that noise, which announced their dinner hour, they immediately flocked as close as possible to the bank, to show themselves to his majesty and solicit their daily meal. They would have done the same for any footman in his service, but the king naturally thought that all this trouble was for him alone.
He threw in one after another the pieces of bread, which first disappearing for an instant, and then, returning to the surface, were contended for for some time, then, gradually crumbling away by the action of the water, were seized and seen no more. It was indeed a curious and amusing enough sight to see all these crusts pushed hither and thither by the invisible snouts, and tossed on the surface of the water, until the moment when they were swallowed.
At the end of about half an hour, his majesty, having in that time patiently cut one hundred bits of crust, had the satisfaction of seeing that not one remained floating. He began now, however, to feel rather tired of the sport, and he remembered that Monsieur Boucher might amuse him a little; he would not certainly be as good a resource as the carps, but in the country we must take what we can get.
Louis, therefore, turned toward the summer-house. Boucher had heard that he was at Luciennes, and though he went on painting, or seeming to paint, he followed the king with his eyes, saw him turn in the direction of the summer-house, and radiant with joy, he adjusted his ruffles and mounted on his ladder, for he had been warned not to appear to know that the king was there. He heard a step on the floor of the room, and began to daub a fat Cupid stealing a rose from a shepherdess in a blue satin gown and straw hat. His hand trembled, his heart beat. The king stopped on the threshold.
“All, Boucher,” cried he; “how you smell of turpentine!” and he walked on.
Poor Boucher, although he knew the king had no taste for the fine arts, did expect some other kind of compliment, and was nearly falling from his ladder. He came down and went away with the tears in his eyes, without scraping his palette or washing his brushes, which, in general, he was so careful to do.
His majesty pulled out his watch — it was seven o’clock.
Louis returned to the house, teased the monkey, made the parrot speak, pulled out all the drawers of the cabinets, one after the other, and ransacked their contents.
Evening drew on. The king was not fond of darkness, and the apartments were lighted up. But he did not like solitude either.
“My horses in a quarter of an hour!” said he. “Ma foi!” added he, “I shall just give her one quarter of an hour; not a minute longer.”
As he said this, he stretched himself on a sofa opposite the fireplace, to watch the course of the fifteen minutes, that is, of nine hundred seconds. At the four hundredth beat of the timepiece, which represented a blue elephant carrying a pink sultana, he was asleep.
As may be supposed, the footman who came to announce his majesty’s carriage took care not to awake him. The result of this attention to his august slumber was, that when he awoke of his own accord, he found himself face to face with the Countess Dubarry, who was looking at him with her eyes wide open. Zamore stood in a corner waiting for orders.
“Ah! you are here at last, countess,” said the king, sitting up on the sofa.
“Yes, sire, here I am,” said the countess, “and here I have been a pretty longtime.”
“Oh! a pretty longtime?”
“An hour and a half at least. But how your majesty does sleep!”
“Faith, countess, you were not here, and I was getting shockingly tired; and then I sleep so badly at night. Do you know, I was on the point of going away!”
“Yes, I saw your majesty’s carriage at the door.”
The king looked at his watch.
“Half-past ten — then I have slept nearly three hours!”
“After that, sire, say that you cannot sleep well at Luciennes!”
“Oh, faith, very well; but what the devil do I see there?” said he, looking at Zamore.
“You see the governor of Luciennes, sire.”
“Not yet, not yet,” said the king, laughing. “The little wretch has put on his uniform before having been appointed; he reckons on my word, then?”
“Sire, your word is sacred, and he is right in reckoning on it. But Zamore has something more than your word, or rather something less — he has his commission; the vice-chancellor sent it to me. The oath is now the only formality which is wanting; make him swear quickly, and then betake himself to his post.”
“Approach, governor,” said the king.
Zamore came forward. He was dressed in a uniform, with an embroidered collar and a captain’s epaulettes, with short breeches, silk stockings, and a sword like a spit. He walked with a stiff, measured step, an enormous three-cornered hat under his arm.
“Can he swear?” asked the king.
“Oh, yes, sire; try him.”
“Advance,” cried he, looking curiously at the black puppet.
“On your knees!” said the countess.
“Swear!” said the king.
The child placed one hand on his heart, the other in the king’s hand, and said, “I swear fealty and homage to my master and mistress; I swear to defend to the death the castle in my keeping, and to eat the last pot of sweetmeats rather than surrender, should I be attacked.”
The king laughed as much at the form of the oath as at the gravity with which Zamore pronounced it.
“In return for this oath,” he replied with suitable gravity, “I confer on you the sovereign rights of justice on high and low, on all inhabiting air, earth, fire, and water, in this castle.”
“Thank you, master,” said Zamore, rising.
“And now,” said the king, “go and show off your fine clothes in the kitchens, and leave us alone; go!”
As Zamore went but at one door, Chon entered by another.
“Ah, and you there, too, my little Chon! Come, I shall hear the truth from you.”
“Take care, sire, that you are not disappointed in your expectations!” said Chon; “the truth is, it would be for the first time in my life. If you wish to learn the truth, apply to my sister — she is incapable of speaking falsely.”
“Is that true, countess?”
“Sire, Chon has too flattering an opinion of me — bad example has ruined me — and from this evening forth I am determined to lie like a real countess, if the truth will not serve me.”
“Oh, ho!” said the king; “I suspect Chon has something to conceal from me. I must get from the police a report of what has occurred to-day.”
“From which police, sire — Sartines’ or mine?”
“Oh, from Sartines!”
“What will you pay him for it?”
“If he tell me anything worth hearing, I shall not be niggardly.”
“Well, then, give my police the preference, and take my report. I shall serve you — royally.”
“You will even sell your own secrets?”
“Why not, if I am well paid?”
“Come, then, let me hear the report — but no fibs, remember!”
“Sire, you insult me.”
“I mean, no equivocations.”
“Well, sire, get your funds ready — I am about to begin my report.”
“They are ready,” said the king, jingling some money in his pocket.
“In the first place, the Countess Dubarry was seen in Paris, in the Rue de Valois, about two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Well, I know that — go on!”
“About six o’clock Zamore proceeded to join her there.”
“Very possibly; but what did Madame Dubarry go to Paris for?”
“Sire, to meet the lady who is to present her.”
“Pooh!” said the king, with a grimace which he could not altogether conceal, “she is very well as she is, without being presented.”
“You know the proverb, sire, nothing is so dear to us as that which we have not.”
“So she is absolutely determined to find this lady to present her?”
“We have found her, sire.”
The king started, and shrugged his shoulders.
“I like that movement, sire; it shows that your majesty would be annoyed at the defeat of the Grammonts, the Guemenees, and all the hypocrites of the court,” said the countess.
“I beg your pardon; did you speak?”
“Yes — I am sure you are in league with those persons.”
“In league? — countess, learn one thing, that the king only leagues with kings.”
“True — but all your kings are friends of the Duke de Choiseul.”
“Let us return to your chaperone, countess.”
“With all my heart, sire.”
“You have succeeded in manufacturing a lady, then?”
“I found one ready made, and very well made — a Countess de Bearn — a family who have numbered princes among their ranks. She will not dishonor the relative of the relatives of the Stuarts, I hope!”
“The Countess de Bearn!” exclaimed the king, with surprise. “I know only of one, who lives somewhere near Verdun.
“It is the very same — she has come to Paris on purpose to present me.”
“Ha! and when is the affair to take place?”
“To-morrow, at eleven o’clock in the morning, I am to give her a private audience, and, at the same time, if it be not too presumptuous, she will request the king to name a day — and you will name the earliest — will you not, dear France?”
The king burst into a forced laugh.
“Certainly, certainly,” said he, kissing the countess’s hand. Then all at once. “To-morrow, at eleven?” added he.
“Yes — at breakfast.”
“Impossible! my dear countess.”
“Impossible! — why?”
“I shall not breakfast here — I must return this evening.”
“What!” said the countess, who felt an icy pang shoot through her heart at these words; “you are going to leave us, sire?”
“I am forced to do so, dear countess — I have to meet Sartines on very important business.”
“As you please, sire; but you will at least sup here, I hope?”
“Oh, yes, I shall sup, I think — yes, I am rather hungry — I shall sup.”
“Order supper, Chon,” said the countess, making at the same time a private signal to her, which no doubt referred to some previous arrangements. Chon left the room. The king had seen the signal in a mirror, and although he could not comprehend its meaning, he suspected some snare.
“Ah!” said he, “on second thoughts I think it will be impossible to stay even for supper — I must not lose a moment — I have some papers to sign — to-day is Saturday.”
“As you please, sire — shall I order the horses?”
“Yes, fairest.”
“Chon!”
Chon reappeared.
“His majesty’s horses!” said the countess.
“Very well,” said Chon, with a smile, and she left the room again.
A moment afterward her voice was heard in the anteroom, ordering the king’s carriage.