The Princesse De Cleves Page 11

  ‘One evening when the King and the ladies had gone riding in the forest, and she had declined because she felt slightly unwell, I stayed with her. She went down to the lakeside and dismissed her equerries in order to walk more freely, unsupported. After taking a short stroll, she came over to me and told me to follow her. “I wish to talk to you,” she said. “And what I want to say will show you that I am a friend.” At this, she paused; then, looking at me attentively, continued: “You are in love and, perhaps because you trust no one, you think that your love is a secret; but it is not; it is even known to some interested parties. You are observed: they know where you meet your mistress and plan to surprise you. I do not know who she is; I am not asking you; I only want to protect you against possible future misfortune.” Observe, pray, the trap that the Queen had set for me and how hard it would have been not to fall into it. She wanted to know whether I was in love; but, by not asking who was the object of my feelings, and merely indicating that she meant to do me a favour, she gave me no cause to think that she had spoken out of personal interest or design.

  ‘Despite that, and well-concealed as it was, I guessed the truth. I was in love with Mme de Thémines; but, even though she loved me, I was not fortunate enough to have any particular meeting-place where I saw her and might fear discovery; so I realized the Queen could not be speaking of her. I also knew that I had a liaison with another woman, who was less beautiful and less strait-laced than Mme de Thémines, and that it was possible someone might have discovered the place where we met; but, as I was not greatly concerned about her, it would be easy to protect myself against any sort of danger by no longer seeing her. So I preferred to admit nothing to the Queen, but to assure her, on the contrary, that I had long since given up any desire of being loved by those women whose love I might hope to win, since I considered them almost all undeserving of the affections of a self-respecting man, and that only someone far above them could engage my love. “You are not telling me the truth,” the Queen answered. “I know that the opposite is the case. My manner of speaking obliges you to have no secrets from me. I should like to consider you one of my friends,” she continued, “but, if I am to grant you that, I must not remain ignorant of your attachments. Consider if you wish to accede to that rank, at the cost of telling me about them. I am giving you two days to think about it; but, after that time, weigh your words and remember that, if I should subsequently find you have deceived me, I should never forgive you.”

  ‘At this, the Queen left me, without waiting for my reply. As you can imagine, my mind was greatly preoccupied with what she had said. The two days she had given me to think about it did not seem excessive to reach a decision. I could see that she wanted to know if I was in love and that she hoped I was not. I could see the consequences of the choice I was about to make. My vanity was not a little flattered by an intimate liaison with a queen, and one who is still extremely attractive. On the other hand, I loved Mme de Thémines and, though I was in a sense unfaithful to her with the other woman I mentioned, I could not make up my mind to break with her. I could also see the danger I ran in deceiving the Queen, and how difficult she was to deceive; yet I could not resolve to reject the opportunity that fate had offered me and decided to risk every consequence of my ill-conduct. I broke off the liaison which might be found out and hoped to conceal the one I had with Mme de Thémines.

  ‘After the two days the Queen had given me, when I came into the room where all the ladies were assembled, she said aloud, in a voice that surprised me with its solemnity: “Have you thought of the matter I left with you, and do you know the truth of it?” “Yes, madame,” I replied. “It is as I told Your Majesty.” “Attend me this evening, when I am to do my writing,” she went on, “and I shall give you my further instructions.” I bowed deeply, without replying, and made certain to be there at the appointed time. I found her in the gallery with her secretary and one of her ladies.

  ‘As soon as she saw me, she came up and led me to the far end. “Well,” she said, “have you considered the matter well before telling me you have nothing to say, and does not my treatment of you merit a sincere reply?” “It is because I am speaking honestly to you, madame,” I answered, “that I have nothing to tell you; and I swear to Your Majesty, with all the respect that I owe you, that I have no attachment for any lady of the court.” “I should like to think so,” the Queen answered, “because I hope so; and I hope so, because I wish you to be entirely devoted to me and because it would be impossible for me to feel happy with your friendship if you were in love. Those who are cannot be trusted; one cannot be sure of their confidentiality. They are too much distracted and divided, and their mistresses preoccupy their minds in a way that is incompatible with the kind of attachment I require of you. So remember it is on your word that you have no such liaison, that I have chosen to give you my trust. Remember that I want all of yours; that I do not wish you to have any friend, whether man or woman, of whom I do not approve; and that you are putting aside any consideration except that of pleasing me. I shall ensure that you do not suffer any disadvantage from this: I shall manage your affairs more conscientiously than you would yourself; and whatever I do for you, I shall feel only too well-rewarded if your conduct towards me proves to be as I hope. I have chosen you as the confidant of all my sorrows, and to help me to relieve them. As you may imagine, they are not inconsiderable. I may seem to endure the King’s attachment to the Duchesse de Valentinois with little distress; but in reality I find it intolerable. She rules the King, she deceives him, she despises me, all my people are loyal to her. The Queen, my mother-in-law, proud of her beauty and of the pre-eminence of her uncles, pays me no respect. The Connétable de Montmorency is master of the King and of the kingdom; he hates me, and has given me proofs of his hatred that I cannot forget. The Maréchal de Saint-André is a bold young favourite, who treats me no better than the rest. If I were to describe my misfortunes in detail, you would weep; up to now I have not dared corífide in anyone, but I am confiding in you; make sure that I never regret it and be my one consolation.”

  ‘As she said this, the Queen’s eyes reddened; I was so truly moved by her favour that I almost fell at her feet. From that time, she trusted me absolutely; she did nothing without consulting me, and I enjoy an intimacy that has continued to this day.’

  BOOK THREE

  ‘Much though my mind was absorbed by this new relationship with the Queen, an irresistible natural inclination drew me to Mme de Thémines. I felt that she was falling out of love with me. Good sense should have persuaded me to use this as the means to cure me of the liaison, but instead the change in her caused my love to increase and I acted so foolishly that the Queen came to hear word of the relationship. She belongs to a people naturally inclined to jealousy, and it could be that her feeling for me is more profound than she realizes. In any event, the rumour that I was in love was so unwelcome to her and caused her such distress that a hundred times I thought my case was lost. Eventually, by dint of much effort, submission and false promises, I reassured her; but I should not have been able to deceive her for long were it not that Mme de Thémines’s own change of heart had released me in spite of myself. She showed that she no longer loved me, and I was so convinced of it that I was obliged not to pursue her further, but to leave her in peace. Some time later, she wrote me a letter, the same that I lost. From it, I learned that she knew about my liaison with the other woman I mentioned, which had caused the change in her.

  ‘Since my feelings were no longer divided, the Queen was quite pleased with me; but since the feelings I have for her are not of a sort to preclude any other attachment, and since it is not by choice that one falls in love, I did so again, with Mme de Martigues, for whom I already felt a considerable liking when she was a Villemontais, a lady-in-waiting of the Reine Dauphine. I have cause to believe that she does not find me unattractive, and she appreciates my discretion, though she does not precisely know the reason behind it. As far as she is concerned,
the Queen suspects nothing: what she does suspect, however, is scarcely less troublesome. Since Mme de Martigues is always at the Dauphine’s, I visit there much more frequently than before: the Queen has the notion that I am in love with the princess. The Dauphine’s station is equal to her own, but she is superior in beauty and youth, so the Queen is beside herself with jealousy and can no longer disguise her hatred for her daughter-in-law. The Cardinal de Lorraine, who has in my view long aspired to the Queen’s favour and sees me enjoying a place that he would wish to occupy, has intervened in the quarrel between them, on the pretext of healing the breach between her and the Dauphine. I am convinced he has discovered the real motive for the Queen’s ill-feeling and I believe he is doing me every kind of disservice, without letting her see that he intends it.

  ‘This is how things stand at present. Picture the effect of the letter I have lost, which ill-luck induced me to put in my pocket, intending to return it to Mme de Thémines. If the Queen sees that letter, she will know that I have deceived her and that, almost at the same time as I was deceiving her with Mme de Thémines, I was deceiving Mme de Thémines with another: imagine the idea that this will give her of me and whether she can ever trust me on my word. If she does not see that letter, what shall I tell her? She knows that it was handed to the Dauphine; she will think that Chastelart recognized the Dauphine’s writing and that the letter is from her; she will conclude that the person whose jealousy is mentioned might be herself; in short, there is nothing that she will not have cause to suspect, and nothing that I shall not have cause to fear from her suspicions. Added to which, I have a fervent passion for Mme de Martigues. The Dauphine will certainly show her the letter and she will think that it was written recently, so I shall be equally at odds with the person whom I love most in the world, and the person in the world from whom I have most to fear. You can well see, in view of this, that I have good cause to beg you to say that the letter belongs to you, and to implore you to retrieve it from the Dauphine.’

  ‘I can see,’ said M. de Nemours, ‘that one could hardly be in a greater predicament than yours, and you must admit you deserve it. I have been accused of infidelity in love and of involvement in several affairs at once; but you are so far ahead of me in this that I should not even contemplate embarking on anything to match what you have done. Did you think you could keep Mme de Thémines when you made a commitment to the Queen, and did you hope to commit yourself to the Queen, while managing to deceive her? She is a monarch, and an Italian one, who is consequently full of suspicion, jealousy and pride; yet when your good fortune (rather than your own good conduct) relieved you of your existing engagements, you entered into new ones and deluded yourself that, in the midst of the court, you could love Mme de Martigues without the Queen finding out. You should have made every effort to relieve her of shame at having taken the first step. She has an overwhelming passion for you, though you are too discreet to tell me so, or I to ask you; but she does love you, and is suspicious, and the facts are against you.’

  ‘It is hardly your place to heap me with reproaches,’ the Vidame interrupted. ‘Your own experience should make you more indulgent towards my mistakes. Still, I admit that I am in the wrong; now just consider, please, how to extricate me from this pass. What I think you must do is to see the Reine Dauphine as soon as she is up, and ask her to return the letter, as being the person who lost it.’

  ‘I have already told you,’ M. de Nemours answered, ‘that your suggestion is a trifle odd and that it might not be in my own best interests. But, apart from that, if the letter was seen to fall from your pocket, it might be hard to make anyone believe it came from mine.’

  ‘I thought I told you,’ the Vidame replied, ‘that the Reine Dauphine was informed it had fallen out of yours.’

  ‘What!’ M. de Nemours exclaimed sharply, realizing in an instant the disservice such a misunderstanding might do him in the eyes of Mme de Clèves. ‘Somebody told the Dauphine it was I who lost the letter?’

  ‘They certainly did,’ said the Vidame. ‘And the cause of the error was that there were several of the Queens’ courtiers in one of the rooms at the tennis court where our coats were left, when your servants and mine went to fetch them. That was when the letter fell out: the courtiers picked it up and read it aloud. Some thought it was yours, others mine. Chastelart, who took it and to whom I have just sent to ask for it, said that he had given it to the Dauphine, telling her it belonged to you, while those who spoke about it to the Queen unfortunately said it was mine; so you can easily do as I wish and help me out of this predicament.’

  M. de Nemours had always been deeply attached to the Vidame de Chartres, and was still more fond of him because of his relationship to Mme de Clèves, but he could not take the risk of her hearing about the letter as something that concerned him. He began to think deeply and the Vidame, more or less guessing what was in his mind, said:

  ‘I appreciate that you are afraid of falling out with the person you love, and I should even be inclined to think that this is the Reine Dauphine, except that you show so little jealousy of M. d’Anville, which suggests otherwise. In any event, it is right that you should not have to sacrifice your peace of mind for the sake of my own, so I am quite willing to give you the means of convincing this person that the letter was addressed to me, not to you: here is a note from Mme d’Amboise, a friend of Mme de Thémines, to whom she confided all her feelings for me. In it, Mme d’Amboise asks me to return her friend’s letter, which is the one I have lost. My name is on the note, and its contents prove beyond doubt that the letter she requests is the same as the one that was found. I am entrusting this note to you and I give you leave to show it to your mistress to justify yourself. I beg you, do not lose any time, but go this morning to the Dauphine’s.’

  M. de Nemours promised the Vidame de Chartres that he would do so and took Mme d’ Amboise’s note; nonetheless, he did not plan to see the Dauphine, considering that he had a more pressing errand. He was certain that she would already have mentioned the letter to Mme de Clèves, and could not bear to think that a woman whom he loved so desperately should have reason to think he had any attachment to somebody else.

  He went to her house at the time when he thought that she would be awake and sent to tell her that he would not request the honour of seeing her at such an extraordinary hour, unless impelled to do so by a matter of great importance. Mme de Clèves was still in bed, her spirit resentful and troubled by the sombre thoughts she had had during the night. She was very surprised when she learned that M. de Nemours was asking for her. She felt so ill-disposed towards him that she did not hesitate to say that she was unwell and could not speak to him.

  The prince was unperturbed by her refusal: a certain coldness, at a time when she could be jealous, was not a bad sign. He went to M. de Clèves’s room, and told him that he had just come from his wife’s apartment and was very sorry not to have been able to see her, since he had to talk to her about an important matter on behalf of the Vidame de Chartres. He briefly indicated the gravity of the affair to M. de Clèves, who at once led him to his wife’s room. If it had not been in darkness, she would have found it hard to conceal her alarm and astonishment at seeing M. de Nemours come in together with her husband. M. de Clèves told her that it was to do with a letter; that they needed her help on the Vidame’s behalf; that M. de Nemours would tell her what had to be done; and that, for his part, he was going to see the King, who had just sent for him. M. de Nemours remained alone with Mme de Clèves, as he wished.

  ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘I have come to ask if Mme la Dauphine happened to speak of a letter which Chastelart entrusted to her yesterday.’

  ‘She did mention something to me,’ Mme de Clèves replied, ‘but I cannot think what this letter may have to do with my uncle and I can assure you his name does not appear in it.’

  ‘That is true, madame,’ answered M. de Nemours, ‘he is not named in it; yet it is addressed to him and it is essential for him tha
t you should retrieve it from the Dauphine.’

  ‘I fail to understand,’ Mme de Clèves said, ‘why it should matter to him if this letter is seen, and why it has to be asked for under his name.’

  ‘If you would be good enough to listen, madame,’ replied M. de Nemours, ‘I can soon enlighten you and tell you things which so deeply affect the Vidame’s interests that I should not even have confided them to M. de Clèves, except that I needed his help in obtaining the honour of seeing you.’

  ‘I think that everything you trouble to tell me will be in vain,’ Mme de Clèves answered, somewhat tartly, ‘and it would be better if you were to go to the Dauphine and, with no further ado, say what is your interest in the letter, since it happens she has already been told it is yours.’

  The bitterness that M. de Nemours perceived in Mme de Clèves’s heart gave him the most acute pleasure he had ever felt and outweighed his impatience to justify himself.