notice; for her, this fugitive, this exile, was now simply a
remembrance, no longer a man. Light hearts are thus
constituted; while they themselves continue untouched, they
roughly break off with every one who may possibly interfere
with their little calculations of selfish comfort. Madame
had received Buckingham’s smiles and attentions and sighs
while he was present; but what was the good of sighing,
smiling and kneeling at a distance? Can one tell in what
direction the winds in the Channel, which toss mighty
vessels to and fro, carry such sighs as these. The duke
could not fail to mark this change, and his heart was
cruelly hurt. Of a sensitive character, proud and
susceptible of deep attachment, he cursed the day on which
such a passion had entered his heart. The looks he cast,
from time to time at Madame, became colder by degrees at the
chilling complexion of his thoughts. He could hardly yet
despair, but he was strong enough to impose silence upon the
tumultuous outcries of his heart. In exact proportion,
however, as Madame suspected this change of feeling, she
redoubled her activity to regain the ray of light she was
about to lose; her timid and indecisive mind was displayed
in brilliant flashes of wit and humor. At any cost she felt
that she must be remarked above everything and every one,
even above the king himself. And she was so, for the queens,
notwithstanding their dignity, and the king, despite the
respect which etiquette required, were all eclipsed by her.
The queens, stately and ceremonious, were softened and could
not restrain their laughter. Madame Henrietta, the
queen-mother, was dazzled by the brilliancy which cast
distinction upon her family, thanks to the wit of the
grand-daughter of Henry IV. The king, jealous, as a young
man and as a monarch, of the superiority of those who
surrounded him, could not resist admitting himself
vanquished by a petulance so thoroughly French in its
nature, whose energy was more than ever increased by English
humor. Like a child, he was captivated by her radiant
beauty, which her wit made still more dazzling. Madame’s
eyes flashed like lightning. Wit and humor escaped from her
scarlet lips, like persuasion from the lips of Nestor of
old. The whole court, subdued by her enchanting grace,
noticed for the first time that laughter could be indulged
in before the greatest monarch in the world, like people who
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Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
merited their appellation of the wittiest and most polished
people in Europe.
Madame, from that evening, achieved and enjoyed a success
capable of bewildering all not born to those altitudes
termed thrones; which, in spite of their elevation, are
sheltered from such giddiness. From that very moment Louis
XIV. acknowledged Madame as a person to be recognized.
Buckingham regarded her as a coquette deserving the cruelest
tortures, and De Guiche looked upon her as a divinity; the
courtiers as a star whose light might some day become the
focus of all favor and power. And yet Louis XIV., a few
years previously, had not even condescended to offer his
hand to that “ugly girl” for a ballet; and Buckingham had
worshipped this coquette “on both knees.” De Guiche had once
looked upon this divinity as a mere woman; and the courtiers
had not dared to extol this star in her upward progress,
fearful to disgust the monarch whom such a dull star had
formerly displeased.
Let us see what was taking place during this memorable
evening at the king’s card-table. The young queen, although
Spanish by birth, and the niece of Anne of Austria, loved
the king, and could not conceal her affection. Anne of
Austria, a keen observer, like all women, and imperious,
like every queen, was sensible of Madame’s power, and
acquiesced in it immediately, a circumstance which induced
the young queen to raise the siege and retire to her
apartments. The king hardly paid any attention to her
departure, notwithstanding the pretended symptoms of
indisposition by which it was accompanied. Encouraged by the
rules of etiquette, which he had begun to introduce at the
court as an element of every relation of life, Louis XIV.
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