The Princesse De Cleves Page 16

  ‘And M. de Nemours?’ he asked. ‘Did you not see him, or have you forgotten?’

  ‘No, I did not see him,’ she answered. ‘I felt unwell and I sent one of my ladies to make my excuses.’

  ‘So you were indisposed only for him,’ M. de Clèves continued. ‘Since you saw everybody, why make such a distinction for M. de Nemours? Why is he different from all the rest? Why must you be afraid even to see him? Why must you let him see that you are afraid? Why do you let him know that you use the power his love gives you over him? Would you dare refuse to see him if you did not know full well that he can distinguish between your obduracy, and mere incivility? But why must you show such obduracy towards him? From a person of your sort, madame, anything is a favour, apart from indifference.’

  ‘I did not think,’ Mme de Clèves replied, ‘whatever might be your suspicions regarding M. de Nemours, that you could reprimand me for not having seen him.’

  ‘Yet I am doing so, Madame,’ he answered, ‘and my suspicions are well-founded. Why not see him, if he has said nothing to you? But he has spoken, madame: if his silence alone had told you of his passion, it would not have made so great an impression on you. You were unable to tell me the whole truth, you have concealed the greater part of it from me; you even regretted the little that you had confessed, and did not have the strength to continue. I am more unfortunate than I thought and I am the most unfortunate of men. You are my wife, I love you like a mistress, yet I witness your love for another man, a man who is the most charming at court: he sees you every day and knows that you love him. Ah!’ he exclaimed, ‘I even imagined you were overcoming your feeling for him. I must have been mad to believe it possible.’

  ‘I do not know,’ Mme de Clèves said, sadly, ‘whether you were wrong to approve of my adopting such an extraordinary course as I did; but neither do I know whether I was mistaken to think that you would treat me justly.’

  ‘Resolve your doubts, madame,’ M. de Clèves replied. ‘You were mistaken. What you expected of me was as impossible as what I expected of you. How could you hope that I should be reasonable? Had you forgotten that I loved you to distraction and that I was your husband? One of these things alone can drive a man to extremes, so what must both do together? Alas, what else do they do!’ he continued. ‘All my feelings are nothing but violence and doubts, beyond my control. I no longer consider myself worthy of you, and you no longer seem worthy of me. I adore you, I hate you, I offend you, I beg your forgiveness; I am filled with wonder and admiration for you, and with shame at these feelings. In brief, there is no longer tranquillity or reason in me. I cannot think how I have continued to live since you spoke to me at Coulommiers and since the day when you learned from Mme la Dauphine that your story was public knowledge. I cannot puzzle out by what means it emerged, nor what passed between you and M. de Nemours on this subject: you will never explain it to me and I am not asking you to do so. I ask only that you should remember that you have made me the unhappiest man in the world.’

  With these words, M. de Clèves left his wife’s room and set off the next day without seeing her; but he wrote her a letter imbued with sorrow, tenderness and sincerity. Her reply was so touching and so full of reassurance as to her past and future conduct that, since these assurances were founded on truth and such were her real feelings, the letter made an impression on M. de Clèves and calmed him a little; in addition to which, as M. de Nemours was going with him to join the King, his mind was put at rest by knowing that he would not be in the same place as Mme de Clèves. Whenever she spoke to her husband, the love that he showed her, his honourable conduct, the affection that she had for him and her obligations towards him, left an impression on her that weakened the idea of M. de Nemours. But it was only for a time, and soon the idea returned with still greater force and immediacy than before.

  During the first days after the prince’s departure, she was scarcely aware of his absence; but soon the separation seemed cruel. Since she had first loved him, not a day had passed without her fearing, or hoping, that they would meet; and she was dismayed at the thought that it was beyond the power of chance to bring them together.

  She went to Coulommiers and, since she was going there, she arranged for them to bring some large paintings that she had had copied from originals commissioned by Mme de Valentinois for her fine residence at Anet. Every outstanding event that had occurred during the King’s reign was represented in these pictures. Among these was the Siege of Metz; all those who had distinguished themselves in this action were shown in a very lifelike manner. M. de Nemours was among them and this, perhaps, was what made Mme de Clèves wish to have the painting.

  Mme de Martigues, who had been unable to leave with the court, promised her that she would spend a few days at Coulommiers. Sharing the Queen’s favour had not made them envious or distanced them from each other; they were friends, though they did not share their feelings. Mme de Clèves knew that Mme de Martigues loved the Vidame; but Mme de Martigues did not know that Mme de Clèves loved M. de Nemours, or that she was loved by him. Her being the Vidame’s niece endeared Mme de Clèves still more to Mme de Martigues; and Mme de Clèves also felt an attachment to her, as someone who was, like herself, passionately in love and in love, moreover, with the closest friend of the man who was the object of her own affections.

  Mme de Martigues came to Coulommiers as she had promised, and found Mme de Clèves living a very solitary life. She had even sought how she could be entirely alone and spend the evenings in the grounds without her servants. She would go to the pavilion where M. de Nemours had overheard her and enter the chamber that opened on the garden, Her ladies and servants would stay in the other room, or in the pavilion, and come only when called. Mme de Martigues had never seen Coulommiers; she was surprised by the beauty of the place and particularly the sweetness of this pavilion; she and Mme de Clèves would spend every evening there. Free to remain alone, at night, in the loveliest spot in the world, these two young people, whose hearts were consumed by love, would talk endlessly together; and, though they did not confide in each other, took great pleasure in conversation.

  Mme de Martigues would have found it hard to leave Coulommiers, except that on doing so she was going to be with the Vidame. She left for Chambord, where the court then was.

  The coronation had been solemnized at Reims by the Cardinal de Lorraine, and the rest of the summer was to be spent at the Château de Chambord, then newly built. The Queen showed great pleasure at seeing Mme de Martigues and, after expressing this several times, asked news of Mme de Clèves, and what she was doing in the country. M. de Nemours and M. de Clèves were both then at the Queen’s. Mme de Martigues, who had greatly admired Coulommiers, spoke of all its attractions and described the pavilion in the forest at considerable length, mentioning Mme de Clèves’s pleasure in walking there alone during a part of the night. M. de Nemours, who knew the place well enough to follow what Mme de Martigues was saying, thought it not impossible that he might be able to see Mme de Clèves, without being seen by anyone except her. He asked Mme de Martigues to enlighten him on one or two details; and M. de Clèves, who had been watching him all the time that Mme de Martigues was speaking, thought he understood at that moment what was going through his mind. The prince’s questions confirmed this idea, so that he no longer doubted M. de Nemours was planning to visit his wife. His suspicions were well-founded. M. de Nemours was so absorbed by the plan that, after spending all night considering how he could carry it out, the very next morning he begged leave to depart from the King to go to Paris, on some pretext or other.

  M. de Clèves was sure he knew the purpose of this journey; but he resolved to learn the truth of his wife’s conduct once and for all, and not to remain any longer in a state of agonizing doubt. He wanted to leave at the same time as M. de Nemours and go himself, secretly, to learn the outcome; but he was afraid his departure would seem odd and that M. de Nemours, when he heard of it, would take other measures; so he decided to c
onfide in one of his attendants, a gentleman whose intelligence and loyalty he could trust. He described the situation to him. He told him of Mme de Clèves’s virtuous conduct up to that time and ordered him to leave on the heels of M. de Nemours, to observe him closely, to see whether he went to Coulommiers and whether he entered the garden by night.

  The gentleman, well able to perform such a task, did so as conscientiously as could be. He followed M. de Nemours to a village, half a league from Coulommiers, where the prince stopped: the gentleman easily guessed that it was to await nightfall. He thought it better not to remain there himself, but continued through the village and entered the forest, at a place where he thought M. de Nemours must pass; he was not mistaken in any of his predictions. As soon as night came, he heard footsteps and, dark though it was, soon recognized M. de Nemours. He saw him walk round the garden, as if listening out for any sound and choosing the place where he might most easily enter. The fence was very high, and there was another beyond it to prevent anyone getting in, so it was quite difficult to find a way through. However, M. de Nemours succeeded and, as soon as he was inside the garden, had no trouble in discovering where Mme de Clèves was. He saw several lights in the room; all the windows were open and, creeping along beside the fence, he drew near, feeling an agitation and an emotion that can easily be imagined. He hid behind one of the windows, which served as doors, to observe what Mme de Clèves was doing. He saw that she was alone, but saw such astonishing beauty in her that he was scarcely able to contain himself at the sight. It was warm and she had nothing on her head or across her breast except her hair, unarranged and loosely tied. She was on a divan, with a table in front of her, on which there were several baskets full of ribbons; she was picking some out and M. de Nemours noticed that they were the same colours as those he had worn at the tournament. He observed that she was knotting them about a most unusual malacca cane which he had carried at one time, then given to his sister, from whom Mme de Clèves had had it, without appearing to recognize it as one that had belonged to M. de Nemours. After completing her work with the charm and sweetness that the feelings of her heart conveyed to her face, she took a torch and went over to a large table facing the painting of the Siege of Metz that contained M. de Nemours’s portrait; she sat down and began to look at the picture with the intensity of meditation that only passionate love can induce.

  M. de Nemours’s feelings at this moment cannot be described. To see – in the depth of night, in the loveliest spot in the world – to see the person whom he adored, to see her without her knowing that she was seen, and to see her entirely occupied with matters relating to himself and to a love that she was concealing from him, is something no other lover has ever enjoyed or imagined.

  The prince was so much beside himself that he remained motionless, looking at Mme de Clèves, not considering how precious time was. When he had recovered a little, he decided that he should wait to speak to her until she came into the garden; he thought that he could do this more safely, because she would be further away from her ladies; but, seeing that she was staying in the room, he made a resolve to go in. Yet when he tried to carry it out, how agitated he felt! What terror that he might annoy her! What fear of bringing about a change in that face, in which there was such tenderness, and seeing it fill with sternness and wrath!

  He told himself that it had been madness, not to come and watch Mme de Clèves without being observed, but to consider revealing himself to her; he envisaged all manner of things that he had not previously foreseen. It seemed sheer folly, in his boldness, in the middle of the night, to surprise a young woman to whom he had never yet spoken his feelings. It occurred to him that he ought not to imagine she would wish to listen and that she would be justifiably angered by the danger to which he would expose her, should anything go amiss. All his courage left him, and he was many times on the point of deciding to go back without being seen. Yet, driven on by the desire of speaking to her and reassured by the encouragement given him by everything that he had seen, he took a few paces forward, but in such an agitated state that a scarf he was wearing caught in the window and made a noise. Mme de Clèves turned round and, whether because her mind was full of the prince, or because he was at a spot where the light fell sufficiently for her to distinguish him, she thought she recognized him and, without hesitating or turning towards where he was, she went out into the place where her ladies were waiting. She was so disturbed as she entered that, to hide her emotion, she was obliged to say she felt ill; she said it also to distract everyone and allow M. de Nemours time to withdraw. When she had had time to reflect, she thought that she had been mistaken and that her imagination had deceived her into thinking she had seen M. de Nemours. She knew that he was in Chambord and considered it quite improbable that he could have risked doing something so foolhardy; several times, she wanted to go back into the room and look in the garden to see if anybody was there. Perhaps she hoped as much as she feared finding M. de Nemours; but at length reason and caution prevailed over these other feelings and she considered it better to contain her doubts than to take the risk of resolving them. For a long time, she could not decide to leave a place where she thought that the prince might be close by, and it was almost daylight when she returned to the château.

  M. de Nemours had stayed in the garden as long as he could see a light; he had not lost hope of seeing Mme de Clèves once more, though he was convinced she had recognized him and only gone out of the room to avoid him; but when he saw that the doors were being closed, he concluded there was nothing further to hope. He went back and took his horse, close to the place where M. de Clèves’s attendant was waiting. This gentleman followed him as far as the village from which he had left on the previous evening. M. de Nemours decided to spend the whole day there, so that he might return at night to Coulommiers, to see whether Mme de Clèves would once more be cruel enough to avoid him, or not to expose herself to being observed; though he knew real joy at having found her so filled with thoughts of him, he was nonetheless mortified that she had shown so instinctive an impulse to flee from his sight.

  No passionate love was ever so tender or strong as was then felt by this prince. He set off beneath the willow trees, beside a little stream that flowed behind the house where he had been hiding. He went as far away as he could, so as not to be seen or heard by anyone. He gave free rein to the transports of love and his heart was so full that he could not refrain from shedding a few tears; but these tears were not the sort that sorrow induces alone; they were mingled with the sweetness and delight that are only to be found in love.

  He began to recall everything that Mme de Clèves had done since he had fallen in love with her; what sincere and modest propriety she had always shown towards him, even though she loved him. ‘For she does indeed love me,’ he thought, ‘she loves me, that I cannot doubt; the most solemn commitment and the greatest of favours are not more certain proof than I have had. Yet I am treated with the same severity as if I were an object of hatred; I put my hope in time, but I have nothing further to expect from it; I can see that she still maintains her defences, both against me and against herself. If I were not loved, I should think how I might make myself more appealing; but she finds me so, loves me and hides it from me. So what more is there to hope for, what change in my fate? What! Am I to be loved by the most adorable woman in the world and to enjoy that overflowing of love that comes with the first certainty of being loved, only so that I may the more cruelly suffer the pain of her unkindness? Beautiful princess, let me see that you love me,’ he cried, ‘let me see your feelings; if I could only know them once in my life, I should accept from then on, and for ever, that you oppress me with your severity. Look at me at least with those same eyes that I saw you cast on my portrait this evening; can you have gazed at it with such tenderness, yet so cruelly flee from my person? What frightens you? Why is my love so fearsome? You love me; it is vain to disguise it; you have yourself involuntarily given me proof of the fact. I know my good
fortune, let me enjoy it, cease to make me unhappy. Is it possible,’ he went on, ‘that I can be loved by Mme de Clèves and yet be unhappy? How lovely she was this night! How could I resist the desire to throw myself at her feet? Had I done so, I should perhaps have persuaded her not to flee, my respect would have reassured her. But perhaps she did not recognize me; I may be tormenting myself more than I need; and the sight of a man, at such an unwonted hour, terrified her.’

  Throughout the day, M. de Nemours was occupied with these thoughts. He waited impatiently for nightfall and when it came he set out again for Coulommiers. M. de Clèves’s attendant, who had disguised himself to escape notice, followed him to the same place as on the previous evening and saw him go into the same garden. The prince soon learned that Mme de Clèves did not want to risk his attempting to see her again: all the doors were shut. He walked around in every direction, looking for a light, but in vain.

  Mme de Clèves, guessing that M. de Nemours might return, had remained in her room. She suspected that she might not always have the strength to turn away from him and did not want to put herself in danger of speaking to him in a manner so inconsistent with her conduct up to that time.

  Although M. de Nemours had no hope of seeing her, he did not immediately want to leave a place where she so often went. He spent the whole night in the garden and found some consolation at least in seeing the same objects that she saw every day. The sun had risen before he thought of returning, but finally the fear of discovery obliged him to leave.