The Princesse De Cleves Page 9

  At last, she carried out her resolve to leave her husband’s room when he came, though it meant the most painful struggle with herself. The prince quite understood that she was fleeing from him, and was deeply affected.

  At first, M. de Clèves took no notice of his wife’s behaviour; but at length he observed that she did not want to stay in his room when other people were there. He mentioned it to her, and she replied that she did not think it proper that she should spend every evening with all the youngest members of the court; that she begged him to see fit that she should have a more retiring life than before; that morality and the presence of her mother had made a lot of things acceptable that could not be justified in a woman of her age.

  M. de Clèves, who was naturally disposed to kindness and indulgence as far as his wife was concerned, showed none on this occasion and told her that he absolutely opposed any change in her conduct. She was on the point of telling him that it was publicly rumoured M. de Nemours was in love with her, but she did not have the courage to utter his name. She also felt ashamed at wishing to suggest what was not the true reason, and to conceal the truth from a man who held her in such high regard.

  A few days later, the King was with the Queen at the time when she received her friends: they were speaking about horoscopes and predictions. Opinion was divided as to how far these could be relied on. The Queen had great faith in them: she argued that, after so many things had been predicted then seen to take place, it was impossible not to believe that this was something of a precise science. Others argued that, in the vast number of predictions made, the few that proved to be true merely demonstrated that it was only an effect of chance.

  ‘I used at one time to be very curious about the future,’ the King said. ‘But I have been told so many things that are false or implausible that I have become convinced nothing certain can be known. A few years ago, a man came here who had a great reputation for astrology.15 Everyone went to see him, I with the rest, but not revealing who I was. I took M. de Guise and M. d’Escars, and let them go in before me. Nonetheless, the astrologer addressed himself firstly to me, as if he judged me to have precedence; perhaps he had recognized me; yet, if he did, he told me something quite inappropriate. He predicted I should be killed in a duel. Then he told M. de Guise that he would be killed from behind and M. d’Escars that he would have his skull broken by a kick from a horse. M. de Guise was almost offended by his prediction, as if being accused of running away at some time. D’Escars was scarcely more pleased at learning he would die from such an unfortunate accident. In the end we all came away very discontented with the astrologer. I do not know what will happen to M. de Guise or M. d’Escars, but there seems little likelihood that I shall be killed in a duel. The King of Spain and I have just made peace; and, even if that were not so, I doubt very much if we should have fought in a duel, or that I should challenge him as the king, my father, challenged Charles V.’

  After the misfortune that the King said had been predicted for him, those who supported astrology gave in and agreed that one should put no trust in it.

  ‘As for me,’ said M. de Nemours, ‘I am the person in the world who should trust it the least’; and, turning to Mme de Clèves, who was sitting next to him, whispered: ‘It has been foretold that I shall be made happy through the favours of the person in the world for whom I shall have the most overwhelming and respectful passion. It is for you to judge, madame, whether I should believe in predictions.’

  The Dauphine, assuming from what M. de Nemours had said aloud, that he was whispering some false prediction he had been given, asked the prince what he was saying to Mme de Clèves. If he had had less presence of mind, he would have been embarrassed by the question. But, with no hesitation, he replied:

  ‘I was remarking, madame, that it was foretold me I should attain a much greater fortune than I could ever have dared aspire to.’

  ‘If that is the only prediction you have been given,’ answered the Dauphine, thinking of the English business, ‘I should not advise you to disparage astrology: you might well find reason to support it.’

  Mme de Clèves knew just what the Dauphine meant, but she also realized that the good fortune M. de Nemours was speaking about was not that of becoming King of England.

  Since it was now quite some time since her mother’s death, she had to start appearing in public and resume her accustomed duties at court. She saw M. de Nemours at the Dauphine’s; she saw him at the house of M. de Clèves, where he often came with other noblemen of his own age, so as not to attract notice; but she no longer saw him without feeling an emotion that he was easily able to detect.

  However hard she tried to avoid catching his eye or to speak to him less than to others, her first impulse betrayed her, allowing the prince to conclude that she was not indifferent to him. A less perceptive man might not have realized this, but he had already been loved so many times that he could hardly remain unaware when a woman was in love with him. He observed, too, that he had a rival in the Chevalier de Guise, who equally well knew that M. de Nemours was his rival. The Chevalier was the only man at court who could have uncovered the truth: having himself a stake in the matter, he saw more clearly than anyone else, and this knowledge of their feelings created a bitterness between them that emerged at every point, though without breaking into an open quarrel; but they were at odds over everything. In tilting at rings, in tournaments or affrays, and in every diversion that entertained the King, they were always on opposite sides, and their rivalry was so great that it could not be disguised.

  Mme de Clèves often considered the business with England: she thought that M. de Nemours would not hold out against the King’s advice and the urging of Lignerolles. She was sorry to note that the latter had still not returned and she waited impatiently for him to do so. If she had given in to impulse, she would have discovered as much as she could about the matter; but the same feeling that made her curious obliged her to hide her curiosity and she only enquired about Queen Elizabeth’s appearance, mind and character. A portrait of the Queen was brought to the King; she considered it more beautiful than she would have wished, and could not restrain herself from describing it as flattering.

  ‘I think not,’ replied the Dauphine, who was there. ‘The Queen has a reputation for beauty and a quite exceptional mind: I might say that all my life she has been held up to me as an example. She must be a most attractive person if she resembles her mother, Anne Boleyn: there was never any woman who possessed such charm and allure, both in her person and in her character. I have heard that there was something vivacious and uncommon about her face, and that she had a beauty quite different from that of other English women.’

  ‘I think it has also been said,’ Mme de Clèves continued, ‘that she was born in France.’

  ‘Those who believed that were wrong,’ the Dauphine answered, ‘and I shall briefly tell you her story.

  ‘She came from a good English family. Henry VIII had been in love with both her sister and her mother, and it was even suspected that she might be his daughter. She came here with the sister of Henry VII, who married King Louis XII. This princess was young and loved gallantry, so she found it very hard to leave the French court after her husband’s death; but Anne Boleyn, whose temperament was similar to her mistress’s, could not tear herself away. The late King was in love with her, and she remained as lady-in-waiting to Queen Claude. When the Queen died, the King’s sister took her into her household: this was Mme Marguerite,16 Duchesse d’Alençon and later Queen of Navarre, whose stories you have read; and, under her influence, Anne was tainted with the new religion. She subsequently returned to England, where she won every heart: she had those French manners that delight all nations; she sang well and danced superbly; she was appointed lady-in-waiting to Queen Katharine, and King Henry VIII fell hopelessly in love with her.

  ‘Cardinal Wolsey, his favourite and first minister, had aspired to become Pope, but his ambitions were not supported by the Holy Roman Emp
eror; so Wolsey, displeased with the Emperor, decided to have his revenge by arranging for his master, the King, to be united with the French royal family. He insinuated to Henry VIII that his marriage to the Emperor’s aunt was null and void, and suggested he marry the Duchesse d’Alençon, whose husband had just died. Anne Boleyn was ambitious, and considered this divorce as a path that might lead her to the throne. She started to put ideas into the English King’s mind about the Lutheran faith and pledged our own late King to support Henry’s divorce in Rome, on the expectation of his marriage to Mme d’Alençon. Cardinal Wolsey had himself sent to France on another pretext, in order to deal with this; but his master could not even bear to hear the matter proposed and sent him an order, to Calais, not to mention the marriage.

  ‘On his return from France, Cardinal Wolsey was received with the same ceremony as that accorded to the King himself: never has any favourite’s pride and vanity soared to such heights. He negotiated a meeting between the two Kings, which took place in Boulogne. François I offered his hand to Henry VIII, who would not take it. Turn by turn, they entertained each other with extraordinary splendour, each giving the other clothes like the ones he had had made for himself. I remember hearing that those the late King sent to the King of England were of crimson satin, brocaded in a triangular pattern, with pearls and diamonds, and the robe in white velvet embroidered in gold. After spending some days in Boulogne, they returned to Calais. Anne Boleyn was accommodated by King Henry with the suite of a Queen, and Franςois I accorded her the same presents and honours as if she had been one. Finally, having loved her for nine years, Henry married her without waiting for the dissolution of his first marriage, which he had long before requested from Rome. The Pope was over-hasty in excommunicating him, and Henry was so incensed that he declared himself head of the Church and took all England after him into the unfortunate changes that you now see.

  ‘Anne Boleyn did not long enjoy her glory: when the death of Katharine of Aragon had made her feel more secure in it, one day as she was with the whole court, watching her brother Lord Rochford tilting at rings, the King was stricken with such jealousy that he abruptly left the scene, returned to London and gave orders to arrest the Queen, with Lord Rochford and several others whom he suspected of being her lovers or confidants. Though this jealousy seemed to have arisen in a moment, the seeds of it had been planted some time earlier by Lady Rochford, who could not abide her husband’s close association with the Queen and so suggested to the King that their intimacy was an illicit one. Hence the King, who was in any case in love with Jane Seymour, thought only how he might rid himself of Anne. In less than three weeks, he brought her to trial beside her brother, then had them both beheaded, and married Jane Seymour. He subsequently took several wives, whom he either divorced or had put to death, among them Katharine Howard, who was Lady Rochford’s confidante and was executed beside her. Lady Rochford was thus punished for the crime of which she had accused Anne Boleyn, and Henry VIII died, having become enormously fat.’

  All the ladies present during the Dauphine’s account, thanked her for having so well instructed them on the English court, including Mme de Clèves, who could not refrain from asking several further questions about Queen Elizabeth.

  The Dauphine had miniatures painted of all the finest ladies in court, to send them to her mother, the Queen. On the day when that of Mme de Clèves was to be completed, the Dauphine went to spend the afternoon with her. M. de Nemours made sure to be there: he did not let slip any opportunity to see Mme de Clèves, though without appearing to make a point of it. That day, she was so beautiful that, if he had not already fallen in love with her, he would have done so then. Yet he did not dare keep his eyes on her while she was being painted and was afraid that the pleasure he had in watching her might be too plain.

  The Dauphine asked M. de Clèves to let her see a little portrait he had of his wife, so that she could compare it with the one that was then being finished. Everyone gave an opinion on each of them, and Mme de Clèves asked the painter to make an adjustment to the hair on the one that had just been brought. The painter, to oblige her, took the miniature out of its box and, after working on it, replaced it on the table.

  For a long time, M. de Nemours had wanted a portrait of Mme de Clèves. When he saw the one that belonged to M. de Clèves, he could not resist the temptation to purloin it from a husband whom he believed to be tenderly loved; and he thought that, among so many people present in one place, he would be under no more suspicion than anyone else.

  The Dauphine was sitting on the bed, quietly speaking to Mme de Clèves who was standing in front of her. Through one of the curtains, which was only partly closed, Mme de Clèves noticed M. de Nemours with his back to the table at the foot of the bed, and observed that, without turning round, he adroitly removed something from it. She guessed at once that this was her portrait, and was so agitated that the Dauphine noticed she was not listening and asked her aloud what she was looking at. M. de Nemours, hearing this, turned and caught Mme de Clèves still staring at him, considering it quite probable she had seen what he had just done.

  Mme de Clèves was not a little embarrassed. Normally, she should have asked him to return her portrait; but if she were to do so publicly, this would inform everybody of the prince’s feelings for her; and to do it in private would mean virtually demanding that he should declare his love. At last, she decided that it was better to leave him the portrait; and she was happy to accord him a favour that it was possible for her to grant without his even knowing that she had done so. M. de Nemours, who noticed her confusion and guessed that he was its cause, came over to her and whispered:

  ‘If you saw what I was so bold as to do, madame, be good enough to let me think that you know nothing of it: I dare not ask more of you in the matter.’

  With these words, he left and did not wait for her answer.

  The Dauphine went out to walk, accompanied by all the ladies, while M. de Nemours returned home and remained indoors, not trusting himself in company to contain his joy at having a portrait of Mme de Clèves. He experienced the most pleasurable feelings that love can bestow: he loved the most admirable person at court; and he was winning her love in spite of herself, and observed, in her every action, that kind of confusion and perplexity that love causes in the innocence of early youth.

  That evening, they looked everywhere for the portrait and, as they found the box where it ought to be, no one suspected that it could have been stolen: they thought it must have fallen off the table by accident. M. de Clèves was upset by the loss and, after another fruitless search had been made, said to his wife (though in tones that showed he did not believe it) that she must have a secret lover to whom she had given the portrait, or who had taken it, and that only a lover would have been satisfied at having the painting without the box.

  Although these words were spoken in jest, they made a strong impression on Mme de Clèves. She had a feeling of guilt: she considered the force of her desire for M. de Nemours; she found that she was no longer in command of her voice or her expression; she remembered that Lignerolles had returned; that she was not worried any longer about the English business; that she had no further suspicions about the Dauphine; and finally that no defence was left to her, but that her only means of security was to go away. Yet, since she did not have the strength to do that, she found herself in dire straits, ready to fall into what seemed the greatest of misfortunes, which was to make M. de Nemours aware that she liked him. She remembered everything that Mme de Chartres had told her on her deathbed and her advice to adopt any course, however difficult, rather than to become enmeshed in an affair. She recalled what M. de Clèves had said about sincerity when speaking of Mme de Tournon; and she thought that she should admit her feeling for M. de Nemours to him. For a long time, she turned this idea over in her mind; and afterwards was amazed at even having considered it, decided it was madness, and returned to a state of indecision about the right course to take.

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nbsp; The peace treaty had been signed and, with great reluctance, Mme Elisabeth decided to obey her father, the King. The Duc d’Albe had been appointed to come and marry her as proxy for the Catholic King, and would soon arrive. The Duc de Savoie was also expected as husband for Madame, the King’s sister, and the marriages would take place at the same time. The King’s only consideration was to ensure that the weddings should be celebrated in such a way as to win renown for the brilliance and accomplishment of his court. He heard proposals for the finest plays and ballets that could be produced, but considered such entertainments too modest and asked for something that would make more of a show. He decided to hold a tournament, at which the foreign guests would be welcomed and which the people could watch. All the nobility and the young lords were delighted by the King’s plan, particularly the Duc de Ferrare, M. de Guise and M. de Nemours, who were more skilled than any at this form of display. The King chose them to stand beside himself, as the four champions at the lists.

  It was published throughout the kingdom that, in the City of Paris, on the fifteenth day of June, the joust would be opened by his Most Christian Majesty17 and by the princes Alphonse d’Este, Duc de Ferrare; Franςois de Lorraine, Duc de Guise; and Jacques de Savoie, Duc de Nemours; and that it would be held against all comers, the first combat to be on horseback in the lists, in double armour, four courses of the lance and one for the ladies; the second combat, with swords, singly or two against two, as the masters of the field should elect; the third combat on foot, three thrusts of the pike and six of the sword. That the champions should supply lances, swords and pikes, the choice being with the challengers; that if any combatant in the charge were to wound a horse, he should be put out of the lists; that there should be four masters of the field to issue commands, those of the combatants who had broken the most weapons and fought best having a reward at the discretion of the judges; that all participants, whether French or foreign, should be required to come before the shields hanging at the perron at the far end of the lists and touch one or several, as they wished; that they would find there a herald who would enrol them according to their rank and the shields they had touched; that the combatants should be required to have their shields, with their coats of arms, brought by a squire to be hung at the perron for three days before the start of the tournament, failing which they would not be admitted without leave from the champions.