Read Ebook: The Princess De Montpensier by La Fayette Madame De Marie Madeleine Pioche De La Vergne

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The marriage of the King to the daughter of the Emperor Maximilian filled the Court with f?tes and celebrations. The King put on a ballet in which Madame and all the princesses were to dance; among them only the Princess de Montpensier could rival Madame in beauty. The Duc d'Anjou and four others were to make an appearance as Moors; their costumes would all be identical, as was usual in this sort of performance. On the first occasion on which the ballet was presented, the Duc de Guise, before the dance began and before he had donned his mask, said a few words to the Princess as he went past her. She saw clearly that the Prince her husband had noticed this, which made her feel uneasy. A little later, seeing the Duc d'Anjou in his mask and Moorish costume, who was coming to speak to her, she mistook him for the Duc de Guise and said to him "Do not have eyes for anyone but Madame this evening: I shall not be in the least jealous. I am ordering you. I am being watched. Do not come near me again." As soon as she had said this she moved away.

The Duc d'Anjou stood there thunderstruck. He saw that he had a successful rival: the reference to Madame made it obvious that this was the Duc de Guise, and left him in no doubt that his sister was to play second fiddle to the Princess de Montpensier. Jealousy, frustration and rage joining to the dislike which he already had for the Duc roused him to a violent fury; and he would have given there and then some bloody mark of his temper had not that dissimulation which came naturally to him prevented him from attacking the Duc de Guise in the present circumstances. He did not, however, refrain from the pleasure of disclosing his knowledge of this secret affair. He approached the Duc de Guise as they left the salon where they had been dancing and said to him "To presume to raise your eyes towards my sister, as well as stealing the affection of the woman I love is altogether too much. The presence of the King prevents me from taking any action just now, but remember that the loss of your life may be, one day, the least thing with which I shall punish your impertinence."

The pride of the Duc de Guise was not accustomed to submit tamely to such threats, but he was unable to reply because at that moment the King called both of them to his side. He did not forget, however, and tried all his life to exact revenge.

From that evening the Duc d'Anjou endeavoured in all sorts of ways to turn the King against the Duc de Guise. He persuaded the King that Madame would never agree to her proposed marriage to the King of Navarre as long as the Duc de Guise was allowed to have any contact with her; and that it was unacceptable that a subject, for his own vain purposes, should place an obstacle in the way of what could bring peace to France. The King already disliked the Duc de Guise and this speech inflamed his dislike so much that the next day when the Duc presented himself to join the ball at the Queen's apartments, he stood in the doorway and asked him brusquely where he was going. The Duc, without showing any surprise answered that he had come to offer his most humble services, to which the King replied that he had no need of any services which the Duc might provide, and turned away without any other acknowledgement. The Duc was not deterred from entering the room, his feelings incensed both against the King and the Duc d'Anjou. His natural pride led him, as an act of defiance, to pay more attention to Madame than usual, and what the Duc d'Anjou had told him prevented him from looking in the direction of the Princess de Montpensier.

The Duc d'Anjou watched both of them with close attention. The Princess's expression, in spite of herself, showed some chagrin when the Duc de Guise spoke with Madame. The Duc d'Anjou who realised from what she had said to him, when she mistook him for the Duc de Guise, that she was jealous, hoped to cause trouble. He drew close to her and said, "It is in your interest and not in mine that I must tell you that the Duc de Guise does not deserve the choice you have made of him in preference to me, a choice which you cannot deny and of which I am well aware. He is deceiving you, Madame, and betraying you for my sister as he betrayed her for you. He is a man moved only by ambition, but since he has the good fortune to please you, that is enough; I shall not attempt to stand in the way of a felicity which without doubt I merit more than he. It would be undignified for me to persist in trying to gain the heart which is already possessed by another. It is bad enough to have attracted only your indifference and I would not like to have this replaced by dislike by wearying you with endless protestations of unwelcome devotion."

The Duc d'Anjou who was genuinely touched by love and sadness, was hardly able to complete this speech, and although he had begun in a spirit of spite and vengeance, he was so overcome when he thought of the Princess's beauty and of what he was losing by giving up all hope of being her lover, that without waiting for her reply he left the ball, saying that he felt unwell, and went home to nurse his grief.

The Princess de Montpensier stayed there, upset and worried as one might imagine. To see her reputation and her secret in the hands of a suitor whom she had rejected and to learn from him that she was being deceived by her lover were not things which would put her in the right frame of mind for a place dedicated to enjoyment; she had, however, to remain where she was and later go to supper in the company of the Duchess de Montpensier, her mother-in-law.

The Duc de Guise who had followed them to his sister's house, was dying to tell her what the Duc d'Anjou had said the day before, but to his astonishment when he did have the opportunity to speak to her, he was overwhelmed by reproaches which were tumbled out in such angry profusion that all he could gather was that he was accused of infidelity and treachery. Dismayed at finding himself in this unhappy situation when he had hoped for consolation, and being so much in love with the Princess that he could not bear to be unsure if he was loved in return, he took a sudden decision. "I shall lay your doubts at rest." He said. "I am going to do what all the royal power could not make me do. It will cost me my fortune but that is of little account if it makes you happy."

He went straight from his sister's house to that of his uncle, the cardinal. He convinced him that having fallen into the King's disfavour, it was essential that it should be made quite clear that he would not marry Madame, so he asked for his marriage to be arranged with the Princess de Portien, a matter which had previously been discussed. The news of this was soon all over Paris and gave rise to much surprise. The princess de Montpensier was both happy and sad. Glad to see the power she had over the Duc, and sorry that she had caused him to abandon something so advantageous as marriage to Madame. The Duc who hoped that love would compensate him for his material loss, pressed the Princess to give him a private audience so that he could clear up the unjust accusations which she had made. He obtained this when she found herself at his sister's house at a time when his sister was not there and she was able to speak to him alone. The Duc took the opportunity to throw himself at her feet and describe all that he had suffered because of her suspicions, and though the Princess was unable to forget what the Duc d'Anjou had said to her, the behaviour of the Duc de Guise did much to reassure her. She told him exactly why she believed he had betrayed her which was because the Duc d'Anjou knew what he could only have learned from him. The Duc did not know how to defend himself and was as puzzled as she to guess what could have given away their secret: at last, while the Princess was remonstrating with him for giving up the idea of the advantageous marriage with Madame and rushing into that with the Princess de Portien, she said to him that he could have been certain that she would not be jealous since on the day of the ball she herself had told him to have eyes only for Madame. The Duc said that she might have intended to do so but that she certainly had not. She maintained that she had, and in the end they reached the correct conclusion that she herself, deceived by the resemblance of the costumes, had told the Duc d'Anjou what she accused the Duc de Guise of telling him. The Duc de Guise who had almost entirely returned to favour, did so completely as a result of this conversation. The Princess could not refuse her heart to a man who had possessed it in the past and had just made such a sacrifice to please her. She consented to accept his declaration and permitted him to believe that she was not unmoved by his passion. The arrival of the Duchess, her mother-in-law, put an end to this t?te-?-t?te, and prevented the Duc from demonstrating his transports of joy.

Some time later, the Court having gone to Blois, the marriage between the King of Navarre and Madame was celebrated. The Duc de Guise who wanted nothing more than the love of the Princess de Montpensier, enjoyed a ceremony which in other circumstances would have overwhelmed him with disappointment.

The Duc was not able to conceal his love so well that the Prince de Montpensier did not suspect that something was going on, and being consumed by jealousy he ordered his wife to go to Champigny. This order was a great shock to her, but she had to obey: she found a way to say goodbye to the Duc de Guise privately but she found herself in great difficulty when it came to a means of providing a method whereby he could write to her. After much thought she decided to make use of the Comte de Chabannes, whom she always looked on as a friend without considering that he was in love with her. The Duc de Guise, who knew of the close friendship between the Comte and the Prince de Montpensier, was at first amazed at her choice of the Comte as a go-between, but she assured him of the Comte's fidelity with such conviction that he was eventually satisfied. He parted from her with all the unhappiness which such a separation can cause.

The Comte de Chabannes, who had been ill in Paris while the Princess was at Blois, learning that she was going to Champigny arranged to meet her on the road and go with her. She greeted him with a thousand expressions of friendship and displayed an extraordinary impatience to talk to him in private, which at first delighted him. Judge his dismay when he found that this impatience was only to tell him that she was loved passionately by the Duc de Guise, a love which she returned. He was so distressed that he was unable to reply. The Princess, who was engrossed by her infatuation, took no notice of his silence. She began to tell him all the least details of the events, and how she and the Duc had agreed that he should be the means by which they could exchange letters. The thought that the woman he loved expected him to be of assistance to his rival, and made the proposal as if it was a thing he would find agreeable was bitterly hurtful, but he was so much in control of himself that he hid all his feelings from her and expressed only surprise at the change in her attitude. He hoped that this change which removed even the faintest hope from him would at the same time change his feelings, but he found the Princess so charming, her natural beauty having been enhanced by a certain grace which she had acquired at Court that he felt that he loved her more than ever. This remarkable devotion produced a remarkable effect. He agreed to carry his rival's letters to his beloved.

The Princess was very despondent at the absence of the Duc de Guise, and could hope for solace only from his letters. She continually tormented the Comte de Chabannes to know if he had received any and almost blamed him for not having delivered one sooner. At last some arrived, brought by a gentleman in the Duc's service, which he took to her immediately so as not to delay her pleasure for a moment longer than necessary. The Princess was delighted to have them and tortured the poor Comte by reading them to him, as well as her tender and loving reply. He took this reply to the waiting courier even more sadly than he had made the delivery. He consoled himself a little by the reflection that the Princess would realise what he was doing for her and would show some recognition. Finding, however, that she daily treated him with less consideration, owing to the anxieties which preoccupied her, he took the liberty of begging her to think a little of the suffering she was causing him. The Princess who had nothing in her head but the Duc de Guise, was so irritated by this approach that she treated the Comte much worse than she had done on the first occasion when he had declared his love for her. Although his devotion and patience had stood so many trials, this was too much. He left the Princess and went to live with a friend who had a house in the neighbourhood, from where he wrote to her with all the bitterness that her behaviour had provoked and bid her an eternal adieu.

The Princess began to repent having dealt so harshly with a man over whom she had so much influence, and being unwilling to lose him, not only on account of their past friendship, but also because of his vital role in the conduct of her affair, she sent a message to him to say that she wished to speak to him one more time and that afterwards she would leave him free to do as he pleased. One is very vulnerable when one is in love. The Comte came back, and in less than an hour the beauty of the Princess, her charm and a few kind words made him more submissive than ever, and he even gave her some letters from the Duc de Guise which he had just received.

At this time there was a scheme afoot in the Court to attract there all the leaders of the Huguenots, with the secret aim of including them in the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew's day. As part of this attempt to lull them into a false sense of security, the King dismissed from his presence all the princes of the houses of Bourbon and de Guise. The Prince de Montpensier returned to Champigny, to the utter dismay of his wife, the Duc de Guise went to the home of his uncle, the Cardinal de Lorraine.

Love and idleness induced in him such a violent desire to see the Princess de Montpensier that without considering the risks to her and to himself he made some excuse to travel and leaving his suite in a small town he took with him only the gentleman who had already made several trips to Champigny, and went there by post-chaise. As he knew no one whom he could approach but the Comte de Chabannes, he had the gentleman write a note requesting a meeting at a certain spot. The Comte, believing that this was solely for the purpose of receiving letters from the Duc de Guise went there, but was most surprised to see the Duc himself and equally dismayed. The Duc, full of his own plans, took no more notice of the Comte's dismay than had the Princess of his silence when she told him of her amour. He described his passion in florid terms and claimed that he would infallibly die if the Princess could not be persuaded to see him. The Comte replied coldly that he would tell the Princess all that the Duc wanted to convey and would return with her response. He then went back to Champigny with his own emotions in such a turmoil that he hardly knew what he was doing. He thought of sending the Duc away without saying anything to the Princess, but the faithfulness with which he had promised to serve her soon put an end to that idea. He arrived without knowing what he should do, and finding that the Prince was out hunting, he went straight to the Princess's apartment. She saw that he was distressed and dismissed her women in order to find out what troubled him. He told her, as calmly as he could, that the Duc de Guise was a league distant and that he wanted passionately to see her. The Princess gave a cry at this news and her confusion was almost as great as that of the Comte. At first she was full of joy at the thought of seeing the man she loved so tenderly, but when she considered how much this was against her principles, and that she could not see her lover without introducing him into her home during the night and without her husband's knowledge, she found herself in the utmost difficulty. The Comte awaited her reply as if it were a matter of life or death. Realising that her silence indicated her uncertainty, he took the liberty of presenting to her all the perils to which she would be exposed by such a meeting, and wishing to make it clear that he was not doing this in his own interest, he said that if, in spite of all that he had said she was determined to see the Duc, rather than see her seek for aid from helpers less faithful than himself, he would bring the Duc to her. "Yes Madame," he said, "I shall go and find the Duc and bring him to your apartment, for it is too dangerous to leave him for long where he is."

"But how can this be done?" interrupted the Princess.

"Ha! Madame," cried the Comte, "It is then decided, since you speak only of the method. I shall lead him through the park; only order one of your maids whom you can trust to lower, exactly at midnight, the little drawbridge which leads from your antechamber to the flower garden and leave the rest to me." Having said this he rose and without waiting for any further comment from the Princess, he left, remounted his horse and went to look for the Duc de Guise, who was waiting for him with the greatest impatience.

The Princess remained in such a state of confusion that it was some time before she came to her senses. Her first thought was to send someone after the Comte to tell him not to bring the Duc, but she could not bring herself to do so. She then thought that failing this she had only not to have the drawbridge lowered, and she believed that she would continue with this resolve, but when the hour of the assignation drew near she was no longer able to resist the desire to see the lover whom she longed for, and she gave instructions to one of her women on the method by which the Duc was to be introduced into her apartment.

Meanwhile the Duc and the Comte were approaching Champigny, but in very differing frames of mind. The Duc was full of joy and all the happiness of expectation. The Comte was in a mood of despair and anger, which tempted him at times to run his sword through his rival. They at last reached the park, where they left their horses in the care of the Duc's squire, and passing through a gap in the wall they came to the flower garden. The Comte had always retained some hope that the Princess would come to her senses and resolve not to see the Duc, but when he saw that the drawbridge was lowered he realised that his hope was in vain. He was tempted to take some desperate measure, but he was aware that any noise would be heard by the Prince de Montpensier whose rooms looked out onto the same flower-garden, and that all the subsequent disorder would fall on the head of the one he loved most. He calmed himself and led the Duc to the presence of the Princess. Although the Princess signaled that she would like him to stay in the room during the interview, he was unwilling to do so, and retired to a little passage which ran alongside the Princess's apartment, a prey to the saddest thoughts which could afflict a disappointed lover.

Now, although they had made very little noise while crossing the bridge, the Prince de Montpensier was awake and heard it. He made one of his servants get up and go to see what it was. The servant put his head out of the window and in the darkness he could make out that the drawbridge was lowered. He told his master who then ordered him to go into the park and find out what was going on. A moment later he got up himself, being disturbed by what he thought he had heard, that is, footsteps on the bridge leading to his wife's quarters.

As he was going towards the little passage where the Comte was waiting, the Princess who was somewhat embarrassed at being alone with the Duc de Guise, asked the latter several times to come into the room. He refused to do so and as she continued to press him and as he was furiously angry he answered her so loudly that he was heard by the Prince de Montpensier, but so indistinctly that the Prince heard only a man's voice without being able to recognise it as that of the Comte.

These events would have infuriated a character more placid and less jealous than the Prince de Montpensier. He hurled himself against the door, calling for it to be opened, and cruelly surprising the Princess, the Duc de Guise and the Comte de Chabannes. This last, hearing the Prince's voice, saw immediately that it was impossible to prevent him from believing that there was someone in his wife's room, and that he was in such a state that if he found that it was the Duc de Guise he might kill him before the eyes of the Princess and that even her life might be at risk. He decided, in an act of extraordinary generosity, to sacrifice himself to save a successful rival and an ungrateful mistress.

While the Prince was battering on the door, he went to the Duc, who had no idea what to do, put him in the care of the woman who had arranged his entry by the bridge and told her to show him the way out. Scarcely had he left when the Prince having broken down the door entered the room like a man possessed. However when he saw only the Comte de Chabannes, motionless, leaning on a table with a look of infinite sadness on his face, he stopped short. The astonishment of finding his best friend alone at night in his wife's room deprived him of speech. The Princess had collapsed onto some cushions and never perhaps has fate put three people in a more unhappy position. At last the Prince made an attempt to make sense of the chaos before his eyes. He addressed the Comte in a tone of voice which still had some friendliness, "What is this I see?" he said, "Is it possible that a man I love so dearly has chosen among all other women to seduce my wife? And you, Madame," he said, turning to his wife, "Was it not enough to deprive me of your love and my honour without depriving me of the one man who could have consoled me in such circumstances? Answer me, one of you," he said to them, "And explain this affair, which I cannot believe is what it seems." The Princess was incapable of replying and the Comte opened his mouth once or twice but was unable to speak.

"You see me as a criminal," he said at last. "And unworthy of the friendship you have shown me; but the situation is not what you may think it is. I am more unhappy than you and more despairing. I do not know how to tell you more than that. My death would avenge you, and if you were to kill me now you would be doing me a favour." These words, spoken with an air of the deepest sorrow, and in a manner which declared his innocence instead of enlightening the Prince confirmed him in the view that something mysterious was going on which he did not understand. His unhappiness was increased by this uncertainty. "Kill me yourself," he said. "Or give me some explanation of your words for I can understand nothing. You owe it to my friendship, you owe it to my restraint, for anyone but me would have already taken your life to avenge such an affront."

"The appearances are wholly misleading," interrupted the Comte.

"Ah! It is too much. I must be avenged and clear things up later," said the Prince, advancing towards the Comte like a man carried away by rage. The Princess, fearing bloodshed, placed herself between the two of them and fell fainting at her husband's feet. The Prince was even more affected by this than he was by the calmness of the Comte when he confronted him, and as if he could no longer bear the sight of those two people who had caused him such distress, he turned away and fell on his wife's bed, overcome by grief. The Comte de Chabannes, filled with remorse at having abused the friendship of which he had had so many marks, and believing that he could never atone for what he had done, left the room abruptly and passing through the Princess's apartment where he found all the doors open, he went down to the courtyard. He had a horse brought to him and rode off into the country led only by his feelings of hopelessness. The Prince de Montpensier, seeing that his wife did not recover from her faint, left her to her women and retired to his own quarters greatly disturbed.

The Duc de Guise having got out of the park, hardly knowing what he was doing being in such a state of turmoil, put several leagues between himself and Champigny, but could go no further without news of the Princess. He stopped in the forest and sent his squire to find out from the Comte de Chabannes what had happened. The squire found no trace of Chabannes but was told by others that the Princess was seriously ill. The Duc's inquietude was increased by what the squire had told him, but as he could do nothing he was constrained to go back to his uncle's in order not to raise suspicions by too long an absence.

The Duc's squire had been correct when he said that the Princess was seriously ill, for as soon as her women had put her to bed she was seized by a violent fever with horrible phantasies, so that by the second day her life was despaired of. The Prince pretended that he himself was ill so that no one should be surprised that he did not visit his wife's room. The order which he received to return to the Court, to which all the Catholic princes were being recalled in preparation for the massacre of the Huguenots, relieved him of his embarrassment. He went off to Paris without knowing what he had to hope or fear about his wife's illness. He had hardly arrived there when the assault on the Huguenots was signalised by the attack on admiral de Chatillon. Two days later came the disgraceful massacre, now so well known throughout Europe.

The poor Comte de Chabannes who had gone to hide himself away in one of the outer suburbs of Paris to abandon himself to his misery was caught up in the ruin of the Huguenots. The people to whose house he had retired, having recognised him, and having recalled that he had once been suspected of being of that persuasion, murdered him on the same night which was fatal to so many people. The next day the Prince de Montpensier, who was in that area on duty, passed along the street where the body of the Comte lay. He was at first shocked by this pitiful sight and, recalling his past friendship, was grieved; but then the memory of the offence, which he believed the Comte had committed, made him feel pleased that he had been avenged by the hand of chance.

The Duc de Guise who had used the opportunity of the massacre to take ample revenge for the death of his father, gradually took less and less interest in the condition of the Princess of Montpensier; and having met the Marquise de Noirmoutier, a woman of wit and beauty, and one who promised more than the Princess de Montpensier, he attached himself to her, an attachment which lasted a lifetime.

The Princess's illness reached a crisis and then began to remit. She recovered her senses and was somewhat relieved by the absence of her husband. She was expected to live, but her health recovered very slowly because of her low spirits, which were further depressed by the realisation that she had received no news of the Duc de Guise during all her illness. She asked her women if they had not seen anyone, if they had not had any letters, and finding that there had been nothing, she saw herself as the most wretched of women, one who had risked all for a man who had abandoned her. A fresh blow was the news of the death of the Comte de Chabannes, which her husband made sure she heard about as soon as possible. The ingratitude of the Duc de Guise made her feel even more deeply the loss of a man whose fidelity she knew so well. These disappointments weighed heavily upon her and reduced her to a state as serious as that from which she had recently recovered. Madame de Noirmoutier was a woman who took as much care to publicise her affairs as others do to conceal them. Her relations with the Duc de Guise were so open that, even though far away and ill, the Princess heard so much about it that she was left in no doubt. This was the final straw. She had lost the regard of her husband, the heart of her lover, and the most loyal of her friends. She took to her bed, and died not long after in the flower of her youth. She was one of the loveliest of women and could have been one of the happiest if she had not strayed so far from the path of prudence and virtue.

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