The Princesse De Cleves Read online

  A Note on the Translation

  The Princesse de Clèves was published anonymously by Claude Barbin in 1678 in four volumes. There were several re-editions, some pirated, but the text presents relatively few problems for a work of the period. This translation was made from the edition first published by Garnier-Flammarion in 1966, and I have referred to others, including the one in Éditions de la Pléiade, to which I am indebted for some of the information in the notes.

  The first translation of the novel for Penguin Classics was done in 1950 by Nancy Mitford, and she agreed that it should be republished with revisions by Leonard Tancock in 1978. Tancock, in his ‘Note on the Revision of This Text’, was dismissive of Nancy Mitford’s work, saying that she ‘made no pretence of strict academic accuracy’, and pointing to specific cases of omissions, telescoping, ignorance of seventeenth-century usage, additions, slips, errors and misprints in her translation.

  At base, Tancock and Mitford had quite opposite views of their task. For Tancock, the translator’s duty is solely towards the work, and ‘he’ (Tancock’s pronoun) has no right to take liberties by paraphrasing, omissions, explanatory additions or changes of order. Mitford, on the other hand, considered that her primary duty was towards the reader: if she felt that one adjective sounded better than Mme de Lafayette’s two, she had no scruples about the omission, and she would add a phrase here and there for the sake of clarity. For the reader’s convenience, she also divided the book into chapters and, overall, produced a very fluent version with a distinctive tone of voice, which lasted well over the forty years after it first appeared.

  For myself, I have no definite opinion in this argument between the letter and the spirit. While I sympathize with Mitford’s search for readability and believe that a translator must produce a clear text that is comprehensible to the reader, this obviously does not excuse errors or gratuitous omissions; and I should feel uncomfortable in making any significant adjustments to the text just for the sake of convenience. In this sense, it is Mitford who appears condescending, in her assumption that the reader expects a seventeenth-century novel to be no more demanding than a twentieth-century one. And her translation, while it catches some qualities of the original (lightness of touch, at times a certain archness of tone), does so at a price. She succeeded in producing a version of The Princesse de Clèves which an English reader of the twentieth century can enjoy, but which sacrifices something in order to naturalize Mme de Lafayette’s book.

  This is an entirely new version, which attempts to reconcile fidelity to both the letter and the spirit of Mme de Lafayette’s novel. Her language was seventeenth-century French and mine is twentieth-century English: I have tried to suggest that the passage from one to the other is not altogether straightforward. I hope that I have retained a sense of the novel’s distance in language and time, and that the reader will succumb to the enduring appeal of the work, while appreciating at the same time the extent to which it belongs in the particular context of French classical literature.

  I have added as few notes as possible. Information on the historical background and personalities has been grouped in the first six notes, where it will be easy to find. I preferred this solution to the alphabetical list of personalities attached, in place of end-notes, to the previous Penguin translation.

  BOOK ONE

  At no time in France were splendour and refinement so brilliantly displayed as in the last years of the reign of Henri II.1 The monarch was courteous, handsome and fervent in love: though his passion for Diane de Poitiers, Duchesse de Valentinois,1 had lasted for above twenty years, it was no less ardent, and the tokens he gave of it were no less exquisite.

  Since he excelled at every sort of physical exercise, he made that his main occupation. Every day there was hunting and tennis, dancing, tilting at rings or similar pastimes. The colours and ciphers of Mme de Valentinois were everywhere to be seen, as she was herself, attired in a manner that might have befitted her grand-daughter, Mlle de la Marck, who was then of marriageable age.

  Her presence was warranted by that of the Queen. The King’s consort was beautiful, though no longer in the first flush of youth. She loved splendour, magnificence and pleasure. The King had married her when still Duc d’Orléans and younger brother of the Dauphin who died at Tournon – a crown prince whose birth and noble qualities had marked him as worthy to succeed his father, King François I.

  The Queen’s ambitious temperament made her delight to rule. She seemed easily to endure the King’s attachment to the Duchesse de Valentinois and gave no sign of jealousy; but it was hard to fathom her true feelings, since she was most proficient at disguising them and policy required her to support the proximity of the duchess, if she was to enjoy that of the King. He delighted in the conversation of women, even those with whom he was not in love: every day, he visited the Queen at the hour when she received and when all that was most handsome and most elegant, of either sex, would not fail to attend.

  Never has any court possessed so many lovely women and admirably handsome men: it seemed as though Nature had delighted in endowing the greatest of the nobility with her finest gifts. Mme Elisabeth de France,2 later Queen of Spain, had started to exhibit astounding wit and the incomparable beauty that was to prove so fatal to her. Mary Stuart,2 Queen of Scotland, who had just married the Dauphin and was called the Reine Dauphine, was perfection, both in mind and in body. She had been educated at the French court, and entirely adopted its manners; and she had such an innate natural disposition for the finest things that, despite her extreme youth, she enjoyed and appreciated them better than anyone. The Queen, her mother-in-law, and Madame,2 the King’s sister, also loved poetry, drama and music. The late King François I’s liking for poetry and letters still exercised a powerful influence in France; and since the King, his son, delighted in bodily sports, every pleasure was to be found at his court. But it owed its splendour and majesty to the vast number of princes and peers of exceptional quality: those I shall name were, in their different ways, the ornament and wonder of their age.

  The King of Navarre3 enjoyed universal respect for the nobility of his rank and bearing. He excelled in war; and the Duc de Guise3 inspired him with such a spirit of rivalry that several times he had been impelled to give up his place among the generals and fight beside Guise as a common soldier, in the most dangerous parts of the field. It is true that the duke had shown proof of such astounding valour and gained such triumphs that there can have been none among the foremost officers who did not wish to rival him. His valour was complemented by every other quality: he had a great depth of understanding, a noble and elevated soul, and equal ability both in war and in the affairs of state. His brother, the Cardinal de Lorraine,3 had been born with immoderate ambition, a lively mind and wonderful eloquence. He had acquired a depth of learning that he employed to enhance his prestige by defending the Catholic faith, which was at that time starting to come under attack. His other brother, the Chevalier de Guise,3 later known as the Grand Prieur, was universally loved, comely, witty, adroit and celebrated throughout Europe for his valour. The Prince de Condé3 had a small and ill-favoured body, but within it a mighty and proud soul, and a wit that endeared him to even the most beautiful of women.

  The Duc de Nevers,4 whose life had been made glorious by war and by the offices of state that he had held, though somewhat advanced in age, delighted the court. He had three perfectly well-favoured sons. The second, known as the Prince de Clèves,4 was worthy of his glorious name: he was brave and generous, and prudent beyond his years. The Vidame de Chartres,4 heir to that ancient House of Vendôme whose name even the princes of the royal blood have not been ashamed to bear, was equally distinguished in the arts of war and those of peace. A handsome man, he exhibited the most powerful and brilliant qualities: pleasant features, valour, boldness and liberality.

  In short, if there was anyone who might be compared to the Duc de Nemours,4 he alone could bear the comparison. But Nemours was nature’s master
piece: his least striking attribute was to be the most handsome and comely of men. Where he excelled above all others was in his incomparable valour and a distinction of mind, features and manners that belonged only to him. His spirited temperament was equally fascinating to both men and women, he showed extraordinary skill in all that he did and set a fashion of dress that was followed by everyone, but could not be imitated; in brief, his whole being had a presence which ensured that wherever he appeared, all eyes were drawn to him. There was no lady in the court whose pride would not have been flattered, were he to feel some attachment for her; few of those to whom he had become attached could boast that they had resisted him; and there were even several for whom he had shown no tender feelings who had not relented in their passion for him. He had such gentleness and such a gallant nature that he was unable to deny some consideration to those who sought his regard. Consequently he had many mistresses, but it was hard to discern which of them he truly loved. He often visited the Reine Dauphine: her beauty, her sweet nature, her readiness to please and the particular esteem that she manifested towards the duke, often gave reason to think that he even aspired to her favours. Her uncles, the Guise brothers, had risen considerably in rank and estimation by her marriage; they were ambitious, seeking to equal the princes of the blood and to share the power of the Connétable de Montmorency,5 to whom the King entrusted most of the conduct of affairs. He treated the Duc de Guise and the Maréchal de Saint-André5 as his favourites, but those whom royal favour or the affairs of state brought close to the King might only remain there by deferring to the Duchesse de Valentinois. Though she was no longer possessed of either youth or beauty, she ruled him with an authority so absolute that she might be said to be mistress at once of his person and of the State.

  The King had always loved the Connétable and, as soon as he ascended the throne, recalled him from the exile into which he had been sent by King François I. The court was divided between the Guise brothers and the Connétable, who had the support of the royal princes. Each faction continually sought to win over the Duchesse de Valentinois. The Duc de Guise’s brother, the Duc d’Aumale, had married one of her daughters and the Connétable had ambitions to conclude a similar match. He was not satisfied with having married his eldest son to Diane, daughter of the King and of a Piedmontese lady (who entered a convent immediately after the birth). There had been many obstacles to this match, because of the promises young Montmorency had made to Mlle de Piennes, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting; and, though the King had shown extraordinary patience and goodwill in surmounting them, the Connétable did not feel secure unless he had the support of the Duchesse de Valentinois and had estranged her from the Guises, whose eminence was starting to give the duchess cause for anxiety. She had delayed the Dauphin’s marriage with the Queen of Scots for as long as she could: she found it equally hard to endure the young Queen’s beauty, her wit and intelligence, and the advancement the marriage had conferred on Mary’s uncles, the Guise brothers. She particularly disliked the Cardinal de Lorraine: he had spoken to her with sarcasm, even with contempt. She could see that he was attaching himself to the Queen, with the result that the Connétable found her disposed to take his side and ally herself to him by a marriage between Mlle de la Marck, her grand-daughter, and his younger son, M. d’Anville (who subsequently succeeded him in the office of Connétable, under Charles IX). As far as the Connétable could see, there were no objections on d’Anville’s part to the match, such as he had encountered with Montmorency. But, though the reason was unknown to him, the difficulties were no less great. M. d’Anville was hopelessly in love with the Dauphine and, slight though his hopes must be from this attachment, he could not be resolved to enter into a commitment that would divide his attentions.

  The Maréchal de Saint-André was the only member of the court who belonged to no faction. He was among the favourites of the King, who was attracted solely by his personal qualities: he had been loved by the King before his accession and, after that, made Maréchal de France at an age when much lesser honours are seldom bestowed. The royal favour elevated him to a position that he maintained through his own merits and his personal charm, the superb refinement of his table and his furnishings, and the greatest liberality ever seen in a private individual. The King’s generosity supplied this expenditure: he was generous to a fault with those whom he loved and, though he did not possess every great quality, he had many, above all a love and understanding of war. Consequently, he had many successes and, if we exclude the Battle of Saint-Quentin, his reign had been a succession of victories.6 He had personally won the Battle of Renti, Piedmont had been conquered, the English had been driven from France and the Emperor Charles V had seen the collapse of his fortunes before the city of Metz, which he had fruitlessly besieged with all the forces of the Empire and of Spain. Nonetheless, as the mishap at Saint-Quentin had diminished our hopes of conquest and as, since that time, fortune had seemed to favour the two Kings equally, they found themselves imperceptibly drawn towards peace.

  The dowager Duchesse de Lorraine had started to propose it at the time of the Dauphin’s marriage, since when there had been constant secret negotiations. Finally, Cercamp, in the Artois region, was chosen for the meeting-place. The Cardinal de Lorraine, the Connétable de Montmorency and the Maréchal de Saint-André represented the King; the Duc d’Albe and the Prince d’Orange, Philip II; and the Duc and Duchesse de Lorraine acted as intermediaries. The main clauses concerned the marriage of Elisabeth de France to Don Carlos, Infante of Spain, and that of Madame, the King’s sister, with the Duc de Savoie.

  However, the King remained at the frontier, where he received news of the death of Mary, Queen of England. He dispatched the Comte de Randan to Elizabeth, to congratulate her on her accession, and he was joyfully received. Elizabeth’s right to the succession was questionable, so it was beneficial to her to have it acknowledged by the King. The count found her well-informed about the politics of the French court and the merits of its courtiers; but, most of all, he found her so full of the reputation of the Duc de Nemours, she spoke to him so often about this nobleman and with such zeal that, on his return, when he came to give a report of his journey to the King, he told him that there was nothing to which Nemours might not aspire in respect of the English Queen, and that he had no doubt she might be prepared to marry him. The King spoke to Nemours that same evening, asking Randan to give an account of all his conversations with Elizabeth and advising Nemours to try for this great fortune. At first, the duke thought that the King could not be in earnest, but observing the contrary:

  ‘At least, sire,’ he said, ‘if I am to undertake such an uncertain enterprise on the advice and in the service of Your Majesty, I beg him to keep it secret until success has justified it in public opinion, and not to let me be seen as vain enough to imagine that a Queen who has never seen me, should wish to marry me for love.’

  The King promised to speak to no one except the Connétable, actually considering that secrecy was vital to the success of the plan. M. de Randan advised M. de Nemours to go to England on the pretext of mere travel, but the duke could not make up his mind to it. Instead, he sent his favourite, Lignerolles, a capable young man, to determine the Queen’s feelings and attempt to begin the courtship. While awaiting the outcome of this mission, he went to see the Duc de Savoie, who was then in Brussels with the Spanish King. The death of Queen Mary had brought considerable obstacles to peace. The assembly dissolved at the end of November and the King returned to Paris.

  There then appeared at court a beauty who attracted every eye; and it must be supposed that she exhibited true perfection, since she inspired awe in a place where people were so much accustomed to the sight of beauty. One of the greatest heiresses in France, she was from the same house as the Vidame de Chartres. Her father had died young, leaving her in the care of his wife, Mme de Chartres, a woman of outstanding property, virtue and merit. After she lost her husband, it was many years before she returned to c
ourt. During this time, she devoted herself to the upbringing of her daughter, concerned with the cultivation of her mind and her appearance, while taking care also to make her worthy and love virtue. Most mothers believe that, to protect young people, it is enough to refrain from speaking about matters of the heart in front of them. Mme de Chartres held the opposite view. She often described love to her daughter, showing her all its attractions, the more easily to persuade her of its dangers; she told her of men’s lack of sincerity, their deceit and their unfaithfulness; and of the domestic misfortunes occasioned by liaisons. And she showed her, on the other hand, how much tranquillity attached to the life of a respectable woman, and how much brilliance and grandeur might accrue to one who already possessed both beauty and birth, by the addition of virtue; but she also showed her how difficult it was to preserve that virtue, other than through extreme self-discipline and scrupulous dedication to that which, alone, can make for the happiness of a woman: namely, to love her husband and to be loved by him.