Devil’s Dance
~ or ~
Louise de La Vallière
By Alexandre Dumas
Edited and Translated by Lawrence Ellsworth
In Last Week’s Episode
King Louis XIV and his sister-in-law Princess Henrietta, known as “Madame,” continued their flirtation and deepened it, affirming their mutual commitment in the poetic language of love. But they acknowledged that such a romantic relationship needed to be concealed from the Court and the rest of the royal family, so Madame suggested that Louis should deflect suspicion by openly paying his attentions to another lady. After some arch discussion, the pair settled on one of Madame’s maids of honor, Louise de La Vallière, to be the object of the king’s feigned affection.
Chapter XIX
The Ballet of the Seasons
After a light dinner, which took place around five o’clock, the king went to his dressing room, where his tailors awaited him. He was finally to try on the famous costume of Spring that the artists and designers of the Court had spent so much imagination and effort on.
As for the ballet itself, everyone knew their part and was well rehearsed. The king had decided to make its exact time and date of performance a surprise. As soon as he’d finished his fitting, he sent for his two masters of ceremonies, Villeroy46 and Saint-Aignan.* They told him that everything was prepared, and they awaited only his order to begin—all that was needed was good weather and a favorable prospect for the evening.
The king opened his window: the golden light of day’s end bathed the horizon and filtered through the tops of the trees; white as snow, the moon was already rising into the sky. There wasn’t a ripple on the green surfaces of the lakes and ponds; the swans, with their heads already tucked under their wings, were as still as the warm air, the cool water, and the silence of the advancing evening. The king, contemplating this magnificent scene, gave the order that Messieurs de Villeroy and de Saint-Aignan awaited.
But before the royal order could be executed, Louis XIV had a final question for his gentlemen, a question of only five words: “Do we have the money?”
“Sire,” Saint-Aignan replied, “we’ve come to an understanding with Monsieur Colbert.”
“Ah! Very good.”
“Yes, Sire, and Monsieur Colbert said he would attend Your Majesty as soon as Your Majesty indicated he wished to proceed with the planned program.”
“Let him attend me, then.”
As if he’d been listening at the door to keep tabs on the conversation, Colbert entered as soon as the king had pronounced his name. “Ah, very good, Monsieur Colbert,” said His Majesty. “To your posts, Messieurs!”
Saint-Aignan and Villeroy took their leave.
The king sat in an armchair near the window. “I shall dance my ballet this evening, Monsieur Colbert,” he said.
“So, Sire, I’ll pay the bills for it tomorrow?”
“What do you mean?”
“I promised the suppliers to settle their accounts the day after the ballet finally took place.”
“Very well, Monsieur Colbert, since you’ve promised, you must pay.”
“Excellent, Sire—but to pay a bill, as Monsieur de Lesdiguières said,47 one must have money.”
“What? Hasn’t Monsieur Fouquet paid us the four million he promised? I forgot to ask you about that.”
“Sire, it arrived at Your Majesty’s office at the appointed time.”
“Well?”
“Well, Sire! The fireworks, the colored lights, the musicians and the cooks ate up all four million in a week.”
“All of it?”
“To the last sou. Whenever Your Majesty ordered the lamps lit along the Grand Canal, it burned as much oil as there is water in the ponds.”
“Fine, Monsieur Colbert, fine. So, you’re out of money?”
“I don’t have any more—but Monsieur Fouquet does.” And Colbert’s face was lit with a sinister joy.
“What do you mean?” asked Louis.
“Sire, Monsieur Fouquet has already given us six million. He gave it up so graciously, he must have more in reserve. Our needs are immediate, and he must meet them.”
The king frowned. “Monsieur Colbert,” he said in a commanding tone, “that is not how I understood matters. I’ve no mind to employ against one of my own servants means that will prevent him from serving. Monsieur Fouquet has given us six million in just over a week, and it’s a considerable sum.”
Colbert paled. “This is not the language Your Majesty used when the news of Belle-Île was received,” he said.
“That’s true, Monsieur Colbert.”
“Nothing has changed since then.”
“Not so, Monsieur—my mind has changed.”
“Does Your Majesty no longer believe in the threat?”
“My affairs are my business, Monsieur Intendant, and I’ve already informed you that I mean to manage them myself.”
“So, I see that I’ve had the misfortune to fall into disgrace with Your Majesty,” said Colbert, trembling with rage and fear.
“Not at all; on the contrary, I’m quite pleased with you.”
“But, Sire,” said the minister, suddenly pivoting to flattery, “how can I be pleasing to Your Majesty if I’m no longer any use to him?”
“Your services are intended for a different opportunity—and believe me, a better one.”
“So, Your Majesty’s plan in this current affair…?”
“How much money do you need, Monsieur Colbert?”
“Seven hundred thousand livres, Sire.”
“You will withdraw it from my private account.”
Colbert bowed.
“And,” added Louis, “since it seems unlikely to me that, despite your thrift, you’ll be able to cover what I have in mind with that small sum, I’ll advance you a payment of three million.”
The king picked up a plume and quickly wrote out a note and signed it. He then handed the paper to Colbert and said, “Never fear, the plan I propose is a king’s plan, Monsieur Colbert.”
And with these words, pronounced with all the majesty the young prince already knew how to summon, he dismissed Colbert and went back to his tailors.
The king’s order that the ballet was on for that night was instantly known throughout Fontainebleau, once word circulated that the king was trying on his costume. The news spread with the speed of lightning, and as it passed it sparked every degree of romance, desire, and ambition. Within moments, as if by magic, everyone who knew how to hold a needle—everyone who could tell a doublet from breeches, as Molière says—was pressed into service to help dress the cavaliers and ladies.
The king was costumed and made up by nine o’clock, when he appeared in an open carriage bedecked with leaves and flowers. The queens took their place on a magnificent platform built on the banks of a lake facing a theater of marvelous elegance. In just five hours, as if someone had waved a magic wand, the carpenters had assembled the entire theater from pre-measured parts, the upholsterers had draped the tapestries and covered the seats, while a thousand arms, helping each other instead of hindering, worked together to the sound of musicians tuning up to finish the structure and construct the sets, as the theater and lakeshore were illuminated by countless candles.
Since the sky was cloudless and starry, and not a breath of wind could be heard sighing through the woods, as if Nature herself were accommodating the king, the back of the theater was left open so that, beyond the foreground set dressing, the ballet would have as background the beautiful sky studded with stars, the still sheet of water reflecting the lights above and below, and the indigo silhouette of the forest looming in the distance.
By the time the king made his entrance, every seat was filled, the audience presenting a sparkling array of gold and gemstones so glittering that at first it was hard to distinguish individuals. But as the viewer grew accustomed to the scene, one by one the brightest stood out, like stars emerging from the darkening sky to those who look up, close their eyes, and then open them again.
The theater was painted to resemble a forest; suddenly fauns appeared to cavort here and there on cloven hoofs, a dryad appeared to invite the fauns to pursuit, other dryads arrived to defend her, and the chase was enacted as a dance. Then, Spring and all his court appeared to restore peace and order, the elements and minor mythological spirits following in the footsteps of their gracious sovereign.
The other seasons, the allies of Spring, were summoned to his side to form a quadrille, which, after a few flattering declamations, began the first formal dance. The music, with oboes, flutes, and viols, portrayed a scene of pastoral pleasures.
The king’s solo measures were greeted with thunderous applause. He was dressed in a flowered tunic of material so light it showed off his slender and elegant form. His legs, among the comeliest at the Court, were displayed to advantage in silk stockings that matched the color of his skin, silk so fine and so transparent that it resembled flesh itself. Charming shoes of light lilac satin, accented with leaves and flowers, enclosed his slim feet.
His head was in harmony with his costume below, his beautiful wavy hair dancing above shining eyes of a blue soft enough to melt hearts. When his shapely lips opened in a dreamy smile he was truly the Prince of the Seasons, and at least for that evening the undisputed King of Love.
The king’s costume and makeup combined brilliantly, and there was such divine magic in his step that he scarcely seemed to touch the ground. But the effect was marred by the sudden appearance of the Comte de Saint-Aignan in the wings, who seemed to be trying to attract the attention of the king or Madame.
The princess, radiant in a long dress, as light and diaphanous as anything ever woven in Mechlin, her knee occasionally peeking out beneath the folds of her tunic, her little feet shod in silk, advanced to center stage leading a procession of Bacchantes, and had just reached the spot designated for the start of her dance. The welcoming applause lasted so long that the count had plenty of time to reach the king, who stood poised en pointe. “What is it, Saint-Aignan?” asked the God of Spring.
“Good God, Sire,” whispered the pale courtier, “Your Majesty has forgotten the Dance of the Fruits.”
“Not at all—it’s been cut, deleted.”
“Not entirely, Sire. Nobody told the orchestra, and they still plan to play the piece.”
“This is annoying!” whispered the king. “The dance can’t be performed with Monsieur de Guiche absent. There’s no way around it.”
“Oh, Sire! A quarter of an hour of music without any dancing will kill the ballet outright.”
“But, Count, what….”
“We can avoid disaster, Sire, if we have to, by having the orchestra do a quick bridge to the next piece, though it won’t be pretty. But….”
“But what?”
“But Monsieur de Guiche isn’t absent. He’s here.”
“Here?” replied the king with a frown. “Here? Are you sure?”
“Yes—and costumed for the ballet, Sire.”
The king felt the blood mounting to his face. “You must be mistaken,” he said.
“If Your Majesty looks to his right, he will see where the count is waiting.”
Louis glanced quickly to the side, and there, gorgeous in the costume of Autumn, de Guiche stood waiting for the king to notice him before speaking. To describe the astonishment of the king, along with that of Monsieur as he squirmed in his box seat, not to mention the whispers and turnings of heads in the audience, as well as the paralysis of Madame when she sighted her dance partner, is a task we must leave to a writer more skilled than this one.
The king just stood, slack-jawed, staring at the count. De Guiche approached respectfully, bowed, and said, “Sire, Your Majesty’s most humble servant comes to do him service on the day of ballet as he did on the day of battle.48 The king, in deleting the Dance of the Fruits, would lose the most beautiful scene in his ballet. I couldn’t allow him to suffer such a loss to his splendor and ambitions, so I abandoned my farmers to come to the aid of my king.”
These words sounded measured, harmonious, and eloquent to the ear of Louis XIV. Was he more pleased by the flattery or astonished by the effrontery?
After a moment’s pause, he replied, “I didn’t call for your return, Count.”
“True, Sire—but Your Majesty didn’t order me to stay away.”
The king felt the time passing. Delaying the scene any further could cause the entire ballet to stutter to a stop. An interruption could spoil everything.
But the king knew what to do, having drawn inspiration from Madame’s eloquent eyes, which had said in a glance, Since they’re jealous of you, divide their suspicions, for one who is jealous of two rivals acts against neither.
And Madame, with this timely advice, won the day.
The king smiled upon de Guiche. The count hadn’t understood Madame’s silent look, he saw only that she hadn’t looked at him—but the royal grace he received, he attributed to the princess.
The king suddenly seemed pleased with everybody and everything. Only Monsieur seemed confounded. The ballet resumed, and it was splendid. The swirling violins inspired the illustrious dancers, who leapt about in the naïve pantomime of that day, though it was less naïve than historians now depict it, and when the first act reached its triumphant climax, the theater almost collapsed under the applause.
De Guiche shone like a sun, though a deferential sun that kept itself to a secondary role. But because Madame showed him no recognition he was dissatisfied with this success and thought only of gaining the approval of the princess.
Not a single look did she turn his way. Little by little his brilliance and joy were replaced with anxiety and anguish, his legs going limp, his arms growing heavy, his head increasingly dazed. Though in the quadrille de Guiche had replaced his stand-in, from that moment the king was supreme, and was the only one of the four seasons anyone watched.
Louis glanced sideways at his defeated rival. De Guiche could no longer even act the part of a courtier; he danced badly, to scant applause, and soon he barely danced at all.
And thus, the king and Madame were victorious.
Historical Characters
SAINT-AIGNAN: François de Beauvillier, Comte de Saint-Aignan (1607-1687) was a military leader who retired from the army after the Fronde to turn courtier and poet; he was admitted into the Académie Française in 1663. He was a considerably older man at the time of Devil’s Dance than represented by Dumas, but it’s true that he encouraged Louis XIV to pursue a romance with Louise de La Vallière.
Notes on the Text of Devil’s Dance
46. VILLEROY: François de Neufville, Duc de Villeroy (1644-1730), raised at Court, was a childhood friend of Princes Louis and Philippe and a member of the king’s inner circle.
47. MONSIEUR DE LESDIGUIÈRES: François de Bonne, Duc de Lesdiguières (1543-1626) was a prominent general during the French Wars of Religion, fighting mainly for Henri IV, and was eventually made Constable of France. He was known for his pithy remarks.
48. AS HE DID ON THE DAY OF BATTLE: Later in his career de Guiche distinguished himself by bravery on the battlefield, but at this point he had not yet gone to war. (In Twenty Years After Dumas placed de Guiche at the Battle of Lens, but historically he missed that affray, being only eleven years old at the time.)
ALEXANDRE DUMAS’ MUSKETEERS CYCLE
Devil’s Dance is part of a series. Everyone has heard of The Three Musketeers and its heroes d’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, but what’s less well known nowadays is that Dumas followed up his greatest novel with a series of sequels that are just as great. Your Cheerful Editor Lawrence Ellsworth has been compiling all-new contemporary translations of these novels, and the entire series, when complete, will fill nine volumes:
- The Three Musketeers, Book One
- The Red Sphinx, Book Two
- Twenty Years After, Book Three
- Blood Royal, Book Four
- Between Two Kings, Book Five
- Court of Daggers, Book Six
- Devil’s Dance, Book Seven
- Shadow of the Bastille, Book Eight
- The Man in the Iron Mask, Book Nine
The first six volumes are already in print, one to five from Pegasus Books, while Book Six, Court of Daggers, is available as an independent publication. Each week now brings a new episode in the serialization of Book Seven, Devil’s Dance. If you’re interested in more of my work, you can find out about it at swashbucklingadventure.net. So welcome, fellow cavaliers, and enjoy the ride!
—Lawrence Ellsworth
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