The Princesse De Cleves Page 5

Since Mlle de Chartres had the finest and noblest of hearts, she was touched with genuine gratitude at the prince’s manner of proceeding. This gratitude imparted a certain tenderness of tone to the words of her reply that was enough to raise the hopes of a man so utterly in love as M. de Clèves, and he was led to believe he had obtained part of what he desired.

  She recounted this conversation to her mother. Mme de Chartres told her that there were such fine and good qualities in M. de Clèves and that he gave evidence of such good sense for his age that if her daughter’s feelings inclined her to marry him, she would happily consent. Mlle de Chartres replied that she, too, had observed the same qualities in him, and even felt less disinclination to marry him than any other man, but that she was not particularly attracted to him.

  The next day, his proposal was communicated to Mme de Chartres and she accepted it, not fearing that, in giving her daughter to the Prince de Clèves, she was giving her to a man whom she could not love. The contract was drawn up, the King informed and the engagement publicly made known.

  M. de Clèves was happy, though not fully satisfied. He was much distressed to see that Mlle de Chartres’s feelings did not go beyond respect and gratitude: he could not delude himself that she was hiding any that were more tender, since their situation was now of a kind that would have allowed her to reveal them without offending her extreme modesty. Hardly a day passed when he did not reproach her with this.

  ‘Is it possible,’ he inquired, ‘that I can be anything but happy in our engagement? Yet the truth is that I am not. You show me only a kind of courtesy, and I cannot be contented with that. You betray none of the impatience, anxiety or turmoil of love and are no more moved by my passion than you would be by an attachment founded, not on the allurements of your person, but merely on those of your wealth.’

  ‘It is unjust in you to complain,’ she replied. ‘I do not know what more you could wish of me and I think propriety does not permit me to go any further than I do.’

  ‘It is true,’ he agreed, ‘that you accord me certain outward signs, and I should be happy with these if there were anything beneath. But it is not that convention restrains you: it alone dictates your behaviour. I have no effect on your inclinations or your heart, and you experience neither pleasure nor agitation when I am near you.’

  ‘You can surely not doubt,’ she returned, ‘that I feel joy when I see you; and I blush so often when I do so, that you cannot doubt, either, that the sight of you disturbs me.’

  ‘I am not deceived by your blushes,’ he said. ‘They derive from feelings of modesty, not from those of the heart, and afford me no greater satisfaction than they ought.’

  Mlle de Chartres was at a loss to reply, such distinctions being outside her experience. M. de Clèves saw only too well how far she was from feeling the emotions towards him that he wished, and concluded that she actually did not understand them.

  The Chevalier de Guise returned from a journey a few days before the wedding. He had seen so many insurmountable obstacles to his hopes of marrying Mlle de Chartres that he could not delude himself into thinking that they would succeed; yet, despite that, he was deeply pained at seeing her become the wife of another. This anguish did not quell his passion and he remained no less in love. Mlle de Chartres had been aware of his feelings for her. On his return, he let her know that she was responsible for the extreme sadness on his face; and so great were his qualities and his charm that it was difficult to make him unhappy without experiencing some pity for him, so she could not avoid feeling it. But this pity did not produce any further emotion in her; she told her mother about the distress that his affection caused her.

  Mme de Chartres marvelled at her daughter’s frankness and had good reason to do so, for there was never anyone who possessed so much natural candour. But she was equally impressed by the fact that her heart was not moved, all the more so since she saw very well that the Prince de Clèves had not moved it any more than the rest. For this reason, she took great pains to attach her to her intended husband, and to convince her of the obligation she owed to the partiality he had felt even before knowing her and to the passion he had shown, preferring her to every other match, at a time when no one else dared consider her.

  The marriage was solemnized, the ceremony taking place at the Louvre; and in the evening, the King and the Queens came to supper with Mme de Chartres, accompanied by the whole court, and were splendidly entertained. The Chevalier de Guise did not dare make himself conspicuous by not attending, but had so little control over his unhappiness that it was plain to see.

  M. de Clèves found Mlle de Chartres unchanged in feeling after her change of name. Being her husband gave him greater rights over her, but not a greater place in his wife’s heart. Consequently, even as a husband, he did not cease to be a lover, because he had always something to desire beyond the possession of her; and, though she was entirely correct towards him, he was not entirely satisfied. His violent and uneasy passion for her disturbed his happiness; there was no jealousy to contribute to his anxiety: never has a husband been further from feeling it or a wife from giving him cause. Even so, she was exposed to the society of the court and daily visited the Queens and Madame. All the gallant young men saw her at home or at the house of the Duc de Nevers, her brother-in-law, which was open to everybody. But her manner inspired such respect and was so far from encouraging any advances that the Maréchal de Saint-André, though bold and a protégé of the King, who was moved by her beauty, did not dare show his feelings except by being properly considerate towards her. Several others were in the same case, and Mme de Chartres behaved with such scrupulous regard for every propriety that this, together with her daughter’s prudent good sense, made the latter seem unattainable.

  The Duchesse de Lorraine was actively arranging peace and also the marriage of her son, the duke. He was betrothed to the King’s second daughter, Mme Claude de France, and the wedding was to take place in February.

  Meanwhile, the Duc de Nemours had remained in Brussels, his whole time and attention taken up with his plans for England. He constantly received or sent couriers there, his hopes rose daily, and finally Lignerolles informed him that he should go to conclude in person what had started so favourably. He welcomed this news with all the delight of an ambitious young man who sees himself raised to a throne by his mere reputation. His mind had gradually become accustomed to his enormous good fortune and, where he had at first refused to admit it, as something beyond reach, he now expunged the difficulties from his imagination and saw no further obstacle in his path.

  He sent post-haste to Paris to order the preparation of a magnificent retinue, so that he might arrive in England with a show appropriate to the great enterprise that brought him there, and hurried back to the court in person to attend the marriage of the Duc de Lorraine.

  He arrived the day before the betrothal ceremony and, the same evening, went to inform the King of the state of his affairs, and to learn his commands and advice on what remained to be done. He then went to visit the Queens. Mme de Clèves was not there, so she did not see him or even know of his arrival. But she had heard everyone speak of him as the most handsome and charming nobleman at court: the Dauphine, in particular, had depicted him in such a way and spoken of him so often as to make her curious, even impatient to see him.

  She spent the whole day of the betrothal at home preparing herself for the evening’s ball and court feast at the Louvre. On her arrival, her beauty and costume were much admired. The ball opened and, while she was dancing with M. de Guise, there was some commotion near the door of the room, as when people make way for someone to enter. Mme de Clèves stopped dancing and, while she was looking around for her next partner, the King called to her to take the person who had just come in. She turned and saw a man whom she thought from the first could only be M. de Nemours, climbing over some seats to get to the dance floor. He was so handsome that it was hard not to be impressed by the first sight of him, especially on that evening
, when the care he had taken with his dress added to the natural brilliance of his appearance. But it would have been hard too, to see Mme de Clèves for the first time without being taken aback by her beauty.

  M. de Nemours was so captivated by it that, when he was close to her and she was curtsying to him, he could not refrain from exhibiting his admiration. When they started to dance, a murmur of approval rose from the company. The King and the Queens remembered that the pair had never previously met and found it curious to see them dancing, even though they were strangers. When they had finished, they called them over without giving them the opportunity to speak to anyone, and asked if each of them did not want to know who the other was, and whether they had guessed.

  ‘For my part, madame,’ said M. de Nemours, ‘I have no doubt; but since Mme de Clèves has less cause to guess my name than I to recognize her, I would beg Your Majesty to be kind enough to inform her of it.’

  ‘I think,’ said Mme la Dauphine, ‘that she knows it as well as you know hers.’

  ‘I assure you, madame,’ Mme de Clèves replied, with a slightly embarrassed air, ‘that I am not so good as you imagine at divination.’

  ‘You have guessed perfectly well,’ the Dauphine retorted, ‘and it is even somewhat flattering for M. de Nemours, this refusal to admit that you know him without ever having seen him.’

  The Queen interrupted so that the ball could proceed and M. de Nemours danced with the Dauphine. She was a perfect beauty, and had seemed such in M. de Nemours’s eyes before he left for Flanders, but throughout that evening he could admire only Mme de Clèves.

  The Chevalier de Guise, who still worshipped her, was at her feet, and what had happened gave him acute pain. He considered it an omen that fate destined M. de Nemours to fall in love with Mme de Clèves and, whether he did indeed see some evidence of feeling on her face or whether jealousy showed him more than the truth, he thought that she had been disturbed by the sight of the prince and could not restrain himself from telling her that M. de Nemours was fortunate to have first made her acquaintance in circumstances that were somehow unusual and romantic.

  Mme de Clèves returned home, her mind so full of what had happened at the ball that, though it was very late, she went into her mother’s room to tell her about it; and she praised M. de Nemours with a particular tone that gave Mme de Chartres the same idea that had occurred to the Chevalier de Guise.

  The wedding ceremony took place the next day. Mme de Clèves saw the Duc de Nemours there, with such a charming expression and bearing that she was still more amazed at him.

  In the days that followed, she saw him at the Dauphine’s, playing tennis with the King and tilting at rings, and she heard him speak. But wherever she saw him, he was so superior to everyone else and so much the focus of every conversation, both because of his manner and his wit, that he rapidly made a profound impression on her.

  It is also true that, since M. de Nemours felt a powerful attraction to her which gave him that sweet and lively demeanour that derives from the first impulse to please, he was even more attractive than usual; so that, meeting often and seeing in each other what was most delightful at court, it was inevitable that each should find the other infinitely appealing.

  The Duchesse de Valentinois took part in every entertainment and the King showed her the same merry and affectionate attention as in the first days of his passion. Mme de Clèves, who was at a time of life when one refuses to believe a woman can inspire love after the age of twenty-five, was astonished by the King’s attachment to the duchess, a grandmother whose grand-daughter had just been married. She often mentioned it to Mme de Chartres:

  ‘Is it possible,’ she asked, ‘that the King has been in love with her for so long? How can he have formed an attachment with a woman who was much older than himself, who had been his father’s mistress and who, so I am told, still has several lovers apart from him?’

  ‘It is true,’ her mother answered, ‘that the King’s passion was not inspired, and did not endure, either because of Mme de Valentinois’s merits or because of her fidelity, and it is this that makes it inexcusable. For if that woman had had youth and beauty as well as birth, if she had been virtuous enough to love no one else, if she had loved the King with scrupulous fidelity, and if she had loved him for himself, without consideration of rank or fortune, using her power solely for ends that are worthy or pleasing to the King, one must admit that it would have been hard to begrudge him praise for his great attachment to her. Were I not afraid,’ Mme de Chartres went on, ‘that you would say of me what everybody says about women of my age, namely that they like to recount stories about their younger days, I should tell you how the King first fell in love with the duchess, and many things to do with the court of the late King which have in fact a considerable bearing on what still happens today.’

  ‘Far from accusing you of telling old stories,’ Mme de Clèves replied, ‘I might complain that you have not told me the current gossip or informed me of the various interests and liaisons in the court. I am so completely ignorant of them that until a few days ago I imagined M. le Connétable to be on good terms with the Queen.’

  ‘There you were quite mistaken,’ said Mme de Chartres. ‘The Queen hates the Connétable and if she were ever to acquire any power, he would become only too well aware of that fact. She knows he has often said to the King that, among all his children, only his bastards resembled him.’

  ‘I should never have suspected her hatred for him,’ Mme de Clèves interjected, ‘seeing how careful the Queen was to write to the Connétable during his imprisonment and the pleasure she expressed on his return, as well as the way that she always addresses him as “mon compère” in the same terms as the King does.’

  ‘If you judge by appearances in this place,’ said Mme de Chartres, ‘you will often be deceived, because what appears to be the case hardly ever is.

  ‘But, to return to Mme de Valentinois: you know that her name is Diane de Poitiers. Her family is very distinguished, deriving from the former dukes of Aquitaine; one of her ancestors was the illegitimate daughter of Louis XI; and, in short, there is only blue blood in her veins. Her father, Saint-Vallier, was implicated in the affair of the Connétable de Bourbon, about which you have heard. He was condemned to be beheaded and led to the scaffold. His daughter, who was extremely beautiful and had already found favour with the late King, succeeded in obtaining her father’s life (though I do not know by what means).11 He was pardoned at a moment when he expected nothing but the axe, but had been so overcome by terror that he collapsed, and a few days later he died. His daughter appeared in court as the King’s mistress. His journey to Italy and imprisonment interrupted their affair. When he returned from Spain and Mme la Régente went to meet him at Bayonne, she took all her ladies, including Mlle de Pisseleu, later Duchesse d’Étampes, with whom the King fell in love. She was inferior to Mme de Valentinois in birth, intelligence and beauty: her only advantage was her extreme youth. It has often been said that she was born on the day that Diane de Poitiers was married, but this rumour was inspired by envy, not by the truth, because I am much mistaken if the Duchesse de Valentinois did not marry M. de Brézé, the Grand Sénéchal de Normandie at about the same time as the King fell in love with Mme d’Étampes. There has never been greater antagonism than existed between these two women. The Duchesse de Valentinois could not forgive Mme d’Étampes for having deprived her of the title of King’s mistress, and Mme d’Étampes felt violent jealousy towards Mme de Valentinois because the King maintained a relationship with her. He was scrupulously faithful to his mistresses. One always had the title and the honours, but the ladies who were known as belonging to the “little set” took turns with him. He was greatly distressed by the loss of his son, the Dauphin, who died at Tournon and was thought to have been poisoned. He never felt the same affection or fondness for his second son, the present King, not considering him sufficiently bold or vivacious. He complained about it one day to Mme de Valentinois
and she told him that she would persuade the prince to fall in love with her, to make him livelier and better company. As you know, she succeeded, and their love has endured for twenty years unaltered by time or other obstacles.

  ‘At first, the late King disapproved, either because he was still enough in love with Mme de Valentinois himself to feel jealous or because he was influenced by the Duchesse d’Étampes, who was in despair at the prospect of the Dauphin forming an alliance with her enemy. Whatever the reason, he certainly viewed this affair with anger and displeasure, and showed it daily. But his son was intimidated neither by his hostility nor by his anger, and nothing could force him to relinquish the attachment or to disguise what he felt: the King had to resign himself to it. Yet this opposition to his wishes estranged him still further from the Dauphin and attached him more strongly to his third son, the Duc d’Orléans, who was a fiery youth, handsome in face and figure, energetic and ambitious, needing restraint, but one who would have made a very great ruler, if age had matured him.

  ‘The Dauphin enjoyed precedence as the elder, and the Duc d’Orléans enjoying the King’s favour meant that there was a kind of competition between them that amounted to hostility. This rivalry began when they were children and never diminished. When the Emperor came to France, he gave undisguised preference to the Duc d’Orléans over the Dauphin, and the latter felt this so acutely that when the Emperor was at Chantilly, he wanted the Connétable to arrest him without waiting for the King’s command. The Connétable refused and the King subsequently criticized him for not complying with his son’s wishes; this had much to do with the Connétable’s dismissal from the court.

  ‘The estrangement between the two brothers gave the Duchesse d’Etampes the idea of gaining the Duc d’Orléans’s support with the King against Mme de Valentinois. She succeeded: though the prince was not in love with her, he took her side almost as warmly as the Dauphin did that of Mme de Valentinois, with the result, as you might imagine, that there were two factions at court; but these intrigues went deeper than a mere quarrel between two women.