THE KING RECEIVES.
It may have been that Mademoiselle Nanon, the faithful _confidante_ of
Madame de Maintenon, had learned something of this interview, or it may
be that Pere la Chaise, with the shrewdness for which his Order is
famous, had come to the conclusion that publicity was the best means of
holding the king to his present intention; but whatever the source, it
was known all over the court next day that the old favourite was again
in disgrace, and that there was talk of a marriage between the king and
the governess of his children. It was whispered at the _petit lever_,
confirmed at the _grand entree_, and was common gossip by the time that
the king had returned from chapel. Back into wardrobe and drawer went
the flaring silks and the feathered hats, and out once more came the
sombre coat and the matronly dress. Scudery and Calpernedi gave place
to the missal and St. Thomas a Kempis, while Bourdaloue, after preaching
for a week to empty benches, found his chapel packed to the last seat
with weary gentlemen and taper-bearing ladies. By midday there was none
in the court who had not heard the tidings, save only Madame de
Montespan, who, alarmed by her lover's absence, had remained in haughty
seclusion in her room, and knew nothing of what had passed. Many there
were who would have loved to carry her the tidings; but the king's
changes had been frequent of late, and who would dare to make a mortal
enemy of one who might, ere many weeks were past, have the lives and
fortunes of the whole court in the hollow of her hand?
Louis, in his innate selfishness, had been so accustomed to regard every
event entirely from the side of how it would affect himself, that it had
never struck him that his long-suffering family, who had always yielded
to him the absolute obedience which he claimed as his right, would
venture to offer any opposition to his new resolution. He was
surprised, therefore, when his brother demanded a private interview that
afternoon, and entered his presence without the complaisant smile and
humble air with which he was wont to appear before him.
Monsieur was a curious travesty of his elder brother. He was shorter,
but he wore enormously high boot-heels, which brought him to a fair
stature. In figure he had none of that grace which marked the king, nor
had he the elegant hand and foot which had been the delight of
sculptors. He was fat, waddled somewhat in his walk, and wore an
enormous black wig, which rolled down in rows and rows of curls over his
shoulders. His face was longer and darker than the king's, and his nose
more prominent, though he shared with his brother the large brown eyes
which each had inherited from Anne of Austria. He had none of the
simple and yet stately taste which marked the dress of the monarch, but
his clothes were all tagged over with fluttering ribbons, which rustled
behind him as he walked, and clustered so thickly over his feet as to
conceal them from view. Crosses, stars, jewels, and insignia were
scattered broadcast over his person, and the broad blue ribbon of the
Order of the Holy Ghost was slashed across his coat, and was gathered at
the end into a great bow, which formed the incongruous support of a
diamond-hilted sword. Such was the figure which rolled towards the
king, bearing in his right hand his many-feathered beaver, and
appearing in his person, as he was in his mind, an absurd burlesque of
the monarch.
"Why, monsieur, you seem less gay than usual to-day," said the king,
with a smile. "Your dress, indeed, is bright, but your brow is clouded.
I trust that all is well with Madame and with the Duc de Chartres?"
"Yes, sire, they are well; but they are sad like myself, and from the
same cause."
"Indeed! and why?"
"Have I ever failed in my duty as your younger brother, sire?"
"Never, Philippe, never!" said the king, laying his hand affectionately
upon the other's shoulder. "You have set an excellent example to my
subjects."
"Then why set a slight upon me?"
"Philippe!"
"Yes, sire, I say it is a slight. We are of royal blood, and our wives
are of royal blood also. You married the Princess of Spain; I married
the Princess of Bavaria. It was a condescension, but still I did it.
My first wife was the Princess of England. How can we admit into a
house which has formed such alliances as these a woman who is the widow
of a hunchback singer, a mere lampooner, a man whose name is a byword
through Europe?"
The king had stared in amazement at his brother, but his anger now
overcame his astonishment.
"Upon my word!" he cried; "upon my word! I have said just now that you
have been an excellent brother, but I fear that I spoke a little
prematurely. And so you take upon yourself to object to the lady whom I
select as my wife!"
"I do, sire."
"And by what right?"
"By the right of the family honour, sire, which is as much mine as
yours."
"Man," cried the king furiously, "have you not yet learned that within
this kingdom I am the fountain of honour, and that whomsoever I may
honour becomes by that very fact honourable? Were I to take a
cinder-wench out of the Rue Poissonniere, I could at my will raise her
up until the highest in France would be proud to bow down before her.
Do you not know this?"
"No, I do not," cried his brother, with all the obstinacy of a weak man
who has at last been driven to bay. "I look upon it as a slight upon me
and a slight upon my wife."
"Your wife! I have every respect for Charlotte Elizabeth of Bavaria,
but how is she superior to one whose grandfather was the dear friend and
comrade in arms of Henry the Great? Enough! I will not condescend to
argue such a matter with you! Begone, and do not return to my presence
until you have learned not to interfere in my affairs."
"For all that, my wife shall not know her!" snarled monsieur; and then,
as his brother took a fiery step or two towards him, he turned and
scuttled out of the room as fast as his awkward gait and high heels
would allow him.
But the king was to have no quiet that day. If Madame de Maintenon's
friends had rallied to her yesterday, her enemies were active to-day.
Monsieur had hardly disappeared before there rushed into the room a
youth who bore upon his rich attire every sign of having just arrived
from a dusty journey. He was pale-faced and auburn-haired, with
features which would have been strikingly like the king's if it were not
that his nose had been disfigured in his youth. The king's face had
lighted up at the sight of him, but it darkened again as he hurried
forward and threw himself down at his feet.
"Oh, sire," he cried, "spare us this grief--spare us this humiliation!
I implore you to pause before you do what will bring dishonour upon
yourself and upon us!"
The king started back from him, and paced angrily up and down the room.
"This is intolerable!" he cried. "It was bad from my brother, but worse
from my son. You are in a conspiracy with him, Louis. Monsieur has
told you to act this part."
The dauphin rose to his feet and looked steadfastly at his angry father.
"I have not seen my uncle," he said. "I was at Meudon when I heard this
news--this dreadful news--and I sprang upon my horse, sire, and galloped
over to implore you to think again before you drag our royal house so
low."
"You are insolent, Louis."
"I do not mean to be so, sire. But consider, sire, that my mother was a
queen, and that it would be strange indeed if for a step-mother I had
a--"
The king raised his hand with a gesture of authority which checked the
word upon his lips.
"Silence!" he cried, "or you may say that which would for ever set a
gulf between us. Am I to be treated worse than my humblest subject, who
is allowed to follow his own bent in his private affairs?"
"This is not your own private affair, sire; all that you do reflects
upon your family. The great deeds of your reign have given a new glory
to the name of Bourbon. Oh, do not mar it now, sire! I implore it of
you upon my bended knees!"
"You talk like a fool!" cried his father roughly. "I propose to marry a
virtuous and charming lady of one of the oldest noble families of
France, and you talk as if I were doing something degrading and unheard
of. What is your objection to this lady?"
"That she is the daughter of a man whose vices were well known, that her
brother is of the worst repute, that she has led the life of an
adventuress, is the widow of a deformed scribbler, and that she occupies
a menial position in the palace."
The king had stamped with his foot upon the carpet more than once during
this frank address, but his anger blazed into a fury at its conclusion.
"Do you dare," he cried, with flashing eyes, "to call the charge of my
children a menial position? I say that there is no higher in the
kingdom. Go back to Meudon, sir, this instant, and never dare to open
your mouth again on the subject. Away, I say! When, in God's good
time, you are king of this country, you may claim your own way, but
until then do not venture to cross the plans of one who is both your
parent and your monarch."
The young man bowed low, and walked with dignity from the chamber; but
he turned with his hand upon the door.
"The Abbe Fenelon came with me, sire. Is it your pleasure to see him?"
"Away! away!" cried the king furiously, still striding up and down the
room with angry face and flashing eyes. The dauphin left the cabinet,
and was instantly succeeded by a tall thin priest, some forty years of
age, strikingly handsome, with a pale refined face, large well-marked
features, and the easy deferential bearing of one who has had a long
training in courts. The king turned sharply upon him, and looked hard
at him with a distrustful eye.
"Good-day, Abbe Fenelon," said he. "May I ask what the object of this
interview is?"
"You have had the condescension, sire, on more than one occasion, to ask
my humble advice, and even to express yourself afterwards as being
pleased that you had acted upon it."
"Well? Well? Well?" growled the monarch.
"If rumour says truly, sire, you are now at a crisis when a word of
impartial counsel might be of value to you. Need I say that it
would--"
"Tut! tut! Why all these words?" cried the king. "You have been sent
here by others to try and influence me against Madame de Maintenon."
"Sire, I have had nothing but kindness from that lady. I esteem and
honour her more than any lady in France."
"In that case, abbe, you will, I am sure, be glad to hear that I am
about to marry her. Good-day, abbe. I regret that I have not longer
time to devote to this very interesting conversation."
"But, sire--"
"When my mind is in doubt, abbe, I value your advice very highly.
On this occasion my mind is happily _not_ in doubt. I have the honour
to wish you a very good-day."
The king's first hot anger had died away by now, and had left behind it
a cold, bitter spirit which was even more formidable to his antagonists.
The abbe, glib of tongue and fertile of resource as he was, felt himself
to be silenced and overmatched. He walked backwards, with three long
bows, as was the custom of the court, and departed.
But the king had little breathing space. His assailants knew that with
persistence they had bent his will before, and they trusted that they
might do so again. It was Louvois, the minister, now who entered the
room, with his majestic port, his lofty bearing, his huge wig, and his
aristocratic face, which, however, showed some signs of trepidation as
it met the baleful eye of the king.
"Well, Louvois, what now?" he asked impatiently. "Has some new state
matter arisen?"
"There is but one new state matter which has arisen, sire, but it is of
such importance as to banish all others from our mind."
"What then?"
"Your marriage, sire."
"You disapprove of it?"
"Oh, sire, can I help it?"
"Out of my room, sir! Am I to be tormented to death by your
importunities? What! You dare to linger when I order you to go!"
The king advanced angrily upon the minister, but Louvois suddenly
flashed out his rapier. Louis sprang back with alarm and amazement upon
his face, but it was the hilt and not the point which was presented to
him.
"Pass it through my heart, sire!" the minister cried, falling upon his
knees, his whole great frame in a quiver with emotion. "I will not live
to see your glory fade!"
"Great heaven!" shrieked Louis, throwing the sword down upon the ground,
and raising his hands to his temples, "I believe that this is a
conspiracy to drive me mad. Was ever a man so tormented in his life?
This will be a private marriage, man, and it will not affect the state
in the least degree. Do you hear me? Have you understood me? What more
do you want?"
Louvois gathered himself up, and shot his rapier back into its sheath.
"Your Majesty is determined?" he asked.
"Absolutely."
"Then I say no more. I have done my duty." He bowed his head as one in
deep dejection when he departed, but in truth his heart was lightened
within him, for he had the king's assurance that the woman whom he hated
would, even though his wife, not sit on the throne of the Queens of
France.
These repeated attacks, if they had not shaken the king's resolution,
had at least irritated and exasperated him to the utmost. Such a blast
of opposition was a new thing to a man whose will had been the one law
of the land. It left him ruffled and disturbed, and without regretting
his resolution, he still, with unreasoning petulance, felt inclined to
visit the inconvenience to which he had been put upon those whose advice
he had followed. He wore accordingly no very cordial face when the
usher in attendance admitted the venerable figure of Father la Chaise,
his confessor.
"I wish you all happiness, sire," said the Jesuit, "and I congratulate
you from my heart that you have taken the great step which must lead to
content both in this world and the next."
"I have had neither happiness nor contentment yet, father," answered the
king peevishly. "I have never been so pestered in my life. The whole
court has been on its knees to me to entreat me to change my intention."
The Jesuit looked at him anxiously out of his keen gray eyes.
"Fortunately, your Majesty is a man of strong will," said he, "and not
to be so easily swayed as they think."
"No, no, I did not give an inch. But still, it must be confessed that
it is very unpleasant to have so many against one. I think that most
men would have been shaken."
"Now is the time to stand firm, sire; Satan rages to see you passing out
of his power, and he stirs up all his friends and sends all his
emissaries to endeavour to detain you."
But the king was not in a humour to be easily consoled.
"Upon my word, father," said he, "you do not seem to have much respect
for my family. My brother and my son, with the Abbe Fenelon and the
Minister of War, are the emissaries to whom you allude."
"Then there is the more credit to your Majesty for having resisted them.
You have done nobly, sire. You have earned the praise and blessing of
Holy Church."
"I trust that what I have done is right, father," said the king gravely.
"I should be glad to see you again later in the evening, but at present
I desire a little leisure for solitary thought."
Father la Chaise left the cabinet with a deep distrust of the king's
intentions. It was obvious that the powerful appeals which had been
made to him had shaken if they had failed to alter his resolution.
What would be the result if more were made? And more would be made;
that was as certain as that darkness follows light. Some master-card
must be played now which would bring the matter to a crisis at once, for
every day of delay was in favour of their opponents. To hesitate was to
lose. All must be staked upon one final throw.
The Bishop of Meaux was waiting in the ante-room, and Father la Chaise
in a few brief words let him see the danger of the situation and the
means by which they should meet it. Together they sought Madame de
Maintenon in her room. She had discarded the sombre widow's dress which
she had chosen since her first coming to court, and wore now, as more in
keeping with her lofty prospects, a rich yet simple costume of white
satin with bows of silver serge. A single diamond sparkled in the thick
coils of her dark tresses. The change had taken years from a face and
figure which had always looked much younger than her age, and as the two
plotters looked upon her perfect complexion, her regular features, so
calm and yet so full of refinement, and the exquisite grace of her
figure and bearing, they could not but feel that if they failed in their
ends, it was not for want of having a perfect tool at their command.
She had risen at their entrance, and her expression showed that she had
read upon their faces something of the anxiety which filled their minds.
"You have evil news!" she cried.
"No, no, my daughter." It was the bishop who spoke. "But we must be on
our guard against our enemies, who would turn the king away from you if
they could."
Her face shone at the mention of her lover.
"Ah, you do not know!" she cried. "He has made a vow. I would trust
him as I would trust myself. I know that he will be true."
But the Jesuit's intellect was arrayed against the intuition of the
woman.
"Our opponents are many and strong," said he shaking his head.
"Even if the king remain firm, he will be annoyed at every turn, so that
he will feel his life is darker instead of lighter, save, of course,
madame, for that brightness which you cannot fail to bring with you.
We must bring the matter to an end."
"And how, father?"
"The marriage must be at once!"
"At once!"
"Yes. This very night, if possible."
"Oh, father, you ask too much. The king would never consent to such a
proposal."
"It is he that will propose it."
"And why?"
"Because we shall force him to. It is only thus that all the opposition
can be stopped. When it is done, the court will accept it. Until it is
done, they will resist it."
"What would you have me do, then, father?"
"Resign the king."
"Resign him!" She turned as pale as a lily, and looked at him in
bewilderment.
"It is the best course, madame."
"Ah, father, I might have done it last month, last week, even yesterday
morning. But now--oh, it would break my heart!"
"Fear not, madame. We advise you for the best. Go to the king now, at
once. Say to him that you have heard that he has been subjected to much
annoyance upon your account, that you cannot bear to think that you
should be a cause of dissension in his own family, and therefore you
will release him from his promise, and will withdraw yourself from the
court forever."
"Go now? At once?"
"Yes, without loss of an instant."
She cast a light mantle about her shoulders.
"I follow your advice," she said. "I believe that you are wiser than I.
But, oh, if he should take me at my word!"
"He will not take you at your word."
"It is a terrible risk."
"But such an end as this cannot be gained without risks. Go, my child,
and may heaven's blessing go with you!"