Frances Elliot - Old Court Life in France, Volume II (of 2)

"How happy you make me!" returned the King, and a sickly smile overspread his haggard face. "I understand – I appreciate your attachment to me; but oh, mademoiselle, how can my feeble words express mine to you? – how can I describe that which is without bounds – without limit? You can live without me. You can find solace in your own perfection, in the admiration of those around you – but I, I am nothing without you. I am a mere blank – a blot upon a luxurious Court – an offence to my superb wife. No one cares for my happiness – not even for my existence, but you. When I cannot approach you, I am overcome by despair. Oh, Louise, give yourself up to me, in pity – without fear, without restraint. Let me see you every day, – let me be encouraged by your words, led by your counsels, soothed by your pity, blessed by your sight. You say you do not doubt me. What then do you fear?"

The maid of honour looked at him with tearful eyes. His earnestness, his desolation, his entreaties, melted her heart. His unconscious love made her pulses beat as quickly as his own.

"You know that I am devoted to you, – what more can I say?" she whispered softly.

"I have a favour to ask you," said Louis anxiously, – "a favour so great I hesitate to name it." He was greatly agitated. At this moment the passionate love he felt animated him with new life, and lent a charm to his countenance it had never borne before.

"A favour, Sire? – it is granted before you speak. How is it that you have concealed it from me?"

"Then I am satisfied," – the King heaved a sigh of relief, – "what I ask depends entirely on you. You will grant it."

"Am I to promise?"

"Well, only give me your word; that is enough."

"Sire, I give you my word; from the bottom of my heart, I give you my word. Tell me what it is you desire." And she raised her face towards the King, who contemplated her with silent rapture.

"Not now, – not now," murmured he, in a faltering voice; "I dare not; it would require too long an explanation, – we might be interrupted," and he turned and glanced at the scene behind him, – at Anne of Austria, blazing with diamonds, radiant with regal beauty, her silvery laugh surmounting the hum of conversation. He saw the brilliant crowd that thronged around her where she sat. Great princes, illustrious ministers, historic nobles, chivalric soldiers, grave diplomatists, stately matrons, ministers of state, her ladies in waiting, and the five other maids of honour, in the glory of golden youth. He saw the dazzling lights, the fluttering feathers, the gorgeous robes, the sparkling jewels, standing out from the painted walls, – all the glamour of a luxurious Court. Then he gazed at the sweet face of the lonely girl whose loving eyes were bent upon him awaiting his reply, – his soul sank within him.

"Would to God I were not King of France," he exclaimed abruptly, following the tenor of his thoughts. Then, seeing her wonder at his sudden outburst, he added, "The favour I ask of you shall be made known to you in writing. This evening you shall receive a letter from me; but," – and he drew closer to her and spoke almost fiercely, – "remember you have pledged yourself to me – you cannot, you dare not withdraw your word. If you do," – and an agonised look came into his face, – "you will drive me to madness." Saying these words, he suddenly disappeared. She was again left standing alone on the balcony.

Louise de Lafayette was startled, but not alarmed. The notion that the King was capable of making any indecorous proposition to her never for a moment occurred to her; at the same time she felt the utmost curiosity to know what this secret might be. She formed a thousand different conjectures, each further than the other from the truth. On entering her room at night, she found a letter from the King. She hastily tore it open and read as follows: —

"I have long adored you, and you only. During the whole time you have been at Court, I have been able but twice to address you alone, and to chance only did I even then owe that inexpressible privilege. It is impossible for me to endure this restraint any longer. If you feel as I do, you will not desire it. I have therefore commanded that my hunting-lodge at Versailles should be arranged as much as possible in accordance with your taste. There is a garden laid out, filled with the flowers you love; there are secluded lawns; there is the boundless forest. Above all, there is freedom. Come then, my Louise, and share with me this rural retreat – come where we can meet, unrestrained by the formalities of my Court. Bring with you any friend you please. At Versailles I hope to spend part of every week in your company. My happiness will be perfect; you will find me the most grateful of men. You will have nothing to fear. Do you dream calumny? Who would dare to attack a lady as pure as yourself? May I not claim your consent when I rely on your promise to grant whatever I ask? I feel that you cannot deny me, for you have repeated a thousand times that you trust my principles. You cannot doubt my honour. To refuse me would only be to insult me. Surely Louise, you would not do that! It would wound me to the very soul. It would destroy every hope of my future life.

When Mademoiselle de Lafayette read this artful letter, which had been composed by Chavigny under the direction of Richelieu, and copied out by the King, she was utterly confounded. The fatal veil which had so long concealed the truth fell from her eyes. Even to a girl pure and simple as herself, all further delusion was impossible. This letter and the feelings that dictated it were not to be misunderstood.

"Merciful heavens!" cried she, clasping her hands, "with what a tone of authority, with what assurance, he proposes to dishonour me! This, then, is the attachment I believed to be so pure! What! does he, the husband of the Queen of France, suppose that I would encourage a guilty passion! Wretch that I am! Instead of helping him, I have led him into sin! I had no right to engross his thoughts. He is already estranged from his wife, and I have severed them still further! O God! what will the Queen think of me? How can I atone for this horrible sin? I must – I will – reconcile them. Then God may forgive my involuntary crime!"

Again and again, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she read and re-read the letter. She pressed the paper to her lips. The next moment she dashed it on the floor in an agony of remorse.

"Oh, how can I reply?" sobbed she. "What can I say to temper the blow which must sever us? He will be in despair – he will die. But my reputation, my honour – his own – his duty to the Queen! No, I will never consent to such degradation – my soul revolts at the thought! How gladly would I sacrifice my life for him, but I cannot commit a sin. I must leave the palace, I must go – Whither?"

As she listened to the echo of her own words, an unformed thought suddenly darted into her mind. Go – yes, she would go where none could follow. Youth, beauty, wealth, the sacrifice should be complete. She would prove, even in separation, how great had been her love. " There is no other way ," she said, speaking aloud, and an angelic smile lit up her face. She cast herself upon her knees, and prayed in peace. Her prayer finished, she took up her pen and replied thus to the King: —

"Your Majesty desires that we should no longer meet in the presence of witnesses. Before knowing what was required of me, I promised to comply. I will not withdraw my word; but I entreat of your Majesty the liberty of myself selecting the place where these private interviews are to be held. When I have received your Majesty's assent, I will inform you where this place is to be. In eight days' time I shall be prepared to receive you. Your Majesty can then judge of the extent of my confidence, and of the unbounded devotion I feel towards you.