THE WOMAN'S JUDGMENT.
We must now, for a little, change the scene entirely; and, as we find
often done most naturally, both in reality and poetry, bring the
prison and the palace side by side. It was in one of the smaller
chambers, then, of the palace at Versailles--exquisitely fitted up
with furniture of the most costly, if not of the most splendid
materials, with very great taste shown in every thing, grace in all
the ornaments, harmony in all the colours, and a certain degree of
justness and appropriateness in every object around--that there sat a
lady, late on the evening of an autumnal day, busily reading from a
book, illustrated with some of the richest and most beautiful
miniatures that the artists of the French capital could then produce.
She was, at the time we speak, of somewhat past the middle age,--that
is to say, she was nearly approaching to the age of fifty, but she
looked considerably younger than she really was, and forty was the
very extreme at which any one by the mere look would have ventured to
place the number of her years. The rich worked candelabra of gold
under which she was reading cast its light upon not a single grey
hair. The form was full and rounded; the arms white and delicate; the
hand, which in general loses its symmetry sooner than aught else,
except, perhaps, the lips, was as tapering, as soft, and as beautiful
in contour as ever. The eyes were large and expressive, and there was
a thoughtfulness about the whole countenance which had nothing of
melancholy in its character, perhaps a little of worldliness, but more
of mind and intellect than either.
After she had been reading for some time, the door was quietly opened,
and the King himself entered with a soft and almost noiseless step.
The lady immediately laid down her book and rose, but the King took
her by the hand, led her back to her chair, and seated himself beside
her.
"Still busy, reading," he said.
"I am anxious to do so, your Majesty," she answered, "at every moment
that I can possibly command. In the sort of life which I am destined
to lead, and in your Majesty's splendid court, temptations to forget
what is right, and to think of nothing but pleasures and enjoyments,
are so manifold, that one has need to have recourse to such calmer
counsellors as these," and she laid her hand upon the book,
"counsellors who are not disturbed by such seductions, and whose words
have with them a portion of the tranquillity of the dead."
The words were of a soberer character than Louis had been accustomed
to hear from the lips of woman during the greater part of his life,
but still they did not displease him, and he replied only by saying,--
"But we must have a few more living counsels at present, Madame, for
the fate of Louis----"
"Which is the fate of France," she said in so low a voice that it
could scarcely be termed an interruption.
"For the fate of Louis and of his domestic happiness--a word, alas,
which is so little known to kings--is even now in the balance.
Madame," he continued, taking that fair hand in his, "Madame, it is
scarcely necessary at this hour to tell you that I love you; it is
scarcely necessary to speak what are the wishes and the hopes of the
King; scarcely necessary to say what would be his conduct were not
motives, strong and almost overpowering, opposed to all that he most
desires."
Madame de Maintenon, for she it was, had risen from her seat; had
withdrawn her hand from that of the King, and for a moment pressed
both her hands tightly upon her heart, while her countenance, which
had become as pale as death, spoke that the emotion which she felt was
real.
"Cease, Sire; oh, cease," she exclaimed, "if you would not have me
drop at your feet! Indeed," she continued more vehemently, "that is my
proper place," and she cast herself at once upon her knees before the
King, taking the hand from which she had just disengaged her own, to
bend her lips over it with a look of reverence and affection.
"Hear me, Sire, hear me," she said, as the King endeavoured to raise
her, "hear me even as I am; for notwithstanding the deep and sincere
love and veneration which are in my heart, I must yet offend in one
person the monarch whom every voice in Europe proclaims the greatest
in the earth; the man whom my own heart tells me is the most worthy to
be loved. There is one, however, Sire, who must be loved and venerated
first, and beyond all--I mean the Almighty; and from his law, and from
his commands, nothing on earth shall ever induce me to swerve. Now,
for more than a year, such has been my constant reply to your Majesty
on these occasions. I have besought you, I have entreated you never to
speak on such subjects again, unless that were possible which I know
to be impossible."
"Nay," replied the Monarch, interrupting her, and raising her with a
little gentle force, "nay, nothing is impossible, but for me to see
you kneeling there."
"Oh yes, indeed, indeed, it is, your Majesty!" she said; "I have long
known it, I have long been sure of it. You once condescended to dream
of it yourself; you mentioned it to me, and I for a single instant was
deceived by hope; but as soon as I came to examine it, I became
convinced, fully convinced, that such a thing was utterly and entirely
impossible, that your Majesty should descend from your high station,
and that you should oppose and over-rule the advice and opinion of
courtiers and ministers, who, though perhaps a little touched with
jealousy, can easily find sound and rational reasons enough to oppose
your will in this instance. Oh, no, no, Sire, I know it is impossible;
for Heaven's sake do not agitate me by a dream of happiness that can
never be realised!"
"So little is it impossible, dear friend," replied the King, "that it
is scarcely half an hour ago since I spoke with Louvois upon the
subject."
"And what did he say?" exclaimed Madame de Maintenon, with an
eagerness that she could not master. "He opposed it, of course--and
doubtless wisely. But oh, Sire, you must grant me a favour: the last
of many, but still a very great one. You must let me retire from your
court, from this place of cruel and terrible temptation, where they
look upon me, from the favour which your Majesty has been pleased to
show me, in a light which I dare not name. No, Sire, no, I will never
have it said, that I lived on at your court knowing that I bore the
name of your concubine. However false, the imputation is too terrible
to be undergone--I, who have ever raised my voice against such acts,
I, who have risked offending your Majesty by remonstrances and
exhortations. No, Sire, no! I cannot, indeed I cannot, undergo it any
longer. It is terrible to me, it is injurious to your Majesty, who has
so nobly triumphed over yourself in another instance. It matters not
what Monsieur de Louvois has said, though I trust he said nothing on
earth to lead you to believe that I am capable of yielding to unlawful
love."
"Oh no," replied the King, "his opposition was but to the marriage,
and that as usual was rude, gross, and insulting to his King. I wonder
that I have patience with him. But it will some day soon give way."
"I hope and trust, Sire," cried Madame de Maintenon, clasping her
hands earnestly, "I hope and trust that your Majesty has not suffered
insult on my account. Then, indeed, it were high time that I should
go."
"No," replied Louis, "not absolute insult. Louvois means but to act
well. He said every thing in opposition, I acknowledge, coarsely and
rudely, and in the end he cast himself upon his knees before me,
unsheathed his sword, and, offering the hilt, besought me to take his
life, rather than to do what I contemplated."
"He did!" cried Madame de Maintenon, with a bright red spot in either
cheek. "He did! The famous minister of Louis XIV. has been studying at
the theatre lately I know! But still, Sire, though doubtless he was
right in some part of his view, Francoise d'Aubigne is not quite so
lowly as to be an object of scorn to the son of Michael le Tellier,
whose ancestors I believe sold drugs at Rheims, while my grandfather
supported the throne of yours with his sword, his blood, and his
wisdom. He might have spared his scorn, methinks, and saved his wit
for argument. But I must not speak so freely in my own cause, for that
it is my own, I acknowledge," and she wiped away some tears from her
fine eyes. "It is my own, for when I beseech your Majesty to let me
leave you, I tear my own heart, I trample upon all my own feelings.
But oh, believe me, Sire," she continued ardently, "believe me when I
say, that I would rather that heart were broken, as it soon will be,
than that your Majesty should do any thing derogatory to your crown
and dignity, or I must add, than I would do myself any thing in
violation of the precepts of virtue and religion."
She wept a good deal; but she wept gracefully, and hers was one of
those faces which looked none the worse for tears. The King gently
drew her to her seat, for she had still been standing; saying, "Nay,
nay, be comforted. You have yet the King. You think not really then,"
he said, "really and sincerely you think not, that there is any true
degradation in a monarch wedding a subject? I ask you yourself, I ask
you to speak candidly!"
"Nay, Sire," cried Madame de Maintenon, "how can you ask me, deeply
interested as I am--how can you ask any woman? For we all feel alike
in such things, and differently from you men. There is not one woman,
proud or humble in your Majesty's court, that would not give you the
same answer, if she spoke sincerely."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the King; "then we men must be certainly in the
wrong. But what think you," he continued, "what think you, as a
proof--what would yon fair girl Clemence de Marly say, were we to ask
her? I saw her but now, as I passed, reading with the Dauphine in
somewhat melancholy guise."
"Well may she be melancholy, Sire!" replied the lady, somewhat sadly,
"when the King hears not her prayers. But methinks it would be hardly
fair to make her a judge."
"Why, why?" demanded Louis quickly; "because she is so proud and
haughty?--Remember, you said the proudest in our court."
"So I say still, Sire," replied Madame de Maintenon in a gentle tone;
"but I do not think her proud. She would be too favourable a judge;
that was my sole objection. Her own station in the court is doubtful;
and besides, Sire, you could not think of submitting that, on which
none--no, not the wisest minister you have--can judge so well as
yourself, to the decision of a girl."
"Fear not," replied the King; "I will but take her voice on the
matter, without her knowing aught of that on which her opinion is
called for. I would fain hear what a young and unpractised tongue
would say. Let her be called in."
Madame de Maintenon hesitated for a moment. The risk seemed great; the
object of long years was at stake; and her own fate, and that of
France, might depend upon the words of a wild, proud girl. But she saw
no means of avoiding the trial; and she rang the bell: even in the
very act of doing so, remembering many a trait of Clemence, both in
childhood and youth, which gave her some assurance. A page appeared
instantly, and was despatched to the apartments of the Dauphine to
call Mademoiselle de Marly to the presence of the King.
The feet of Clemence bore her thither like light, though her heart
beat wildly with fear and agitation; and the hue of her cheek, once so
bright and glowing, was now as pale as death. She was glad, however,
to find the King and Madame de Maintenon alone, for she had succeeded
in interesting the latter in the fate of the Count de Morseiul, and
she doubted not that she would exert herself, as much as she dared to
do for any one, to persuade the King to deal with him gently. So many
long and weary days had passed, however, with but little progress,
that she had well nigh sunk into despair, when the summons of this
night made her suppose that her fate, and that of her lover, was upon
the eve of being decided.
The page who conducted her closed the door as soon as she had entered,
and Clemence stood before the King with feelings of awe and agitation,
such as in former days she knew not that she could feel towards the
greatest potentate on earth: but Clemence de Marly loved, and her
whole feelings had been changed.
Not a little was her surprise, however, when the King addressed her in
a tone half playful, half serious,--
"Come hither, spoiled beauty," he said, "come hither: and sit down
upon that stool--or, in truth, I should give you up this chair, for
you are going to act a part that you never performed before--that of
judge, and in a matter of taste, too."
Clemence put her hand to her brow, as if to clear away the thoughts
with which she had come thither. But, after gazing in the King's face
for a moment with a bewildered look, she recovered herself, and
replied,--
"Indeed, Sire, I am, of all people, the most unfit; but I will do my
best to please your Majesty. What may be the question?"
"Why," answered the King, smiling at her evident surprise and
embarrassment, the real cause of which he had quite forgotten in his
own thoughts and feelings, "why the matter is this; a new play has
been submitted to us for approval by one of our best poets. It turns
upon an ancient king becoming in love with one of his own subjects,
and marrying her while his ministers wish him to marry a neighbouring
queen. The question of the policy, however, is not the thing. We have
settled all that, but the point in dispute between me and this fair
lady is, whether the poet would have done better to have made the
heroine turn out, after all, to be some princess unknown. I say not;
but our sweet friend, whose opinion, perhaps, is better than my own,
contends that it would have been better, in order to preserve the
king's dignity."
Madame de Maintenon panted for breath, and grasped the book that lay
on the table to prevent herself from betraying her agitation; but she
dared not say a word, nor even look up.
She was almost instantly relieved, however, for Clemence exclaimed,
almost before the King had done speaking,--"Oh, no! oh, no! Dear lady,
you are wrong, believe me. Kings lose their dignity only by evil acts;
they rise in transcendent majesty when they tread upon base
prejudices. I know nothing of the policy; you tell me that is apart;
and the only question is whether she was worthy that he chose. Was
she, Sire--was she noble and good?"
"Most noble, and most excellent!" said the King.
"Was she religious, wise, well educated?" continued Clemence, eagerly.
"She was all!" answered Louis, "all in a most eminent degree."
"Was she in knowledge, demeanour, character, worthy of his love and of
himself?" asked the enthusiastic girl, with her whole face glowing.
"In demeanour not inferior, in character equal, in knowledge
superior--in all respects worthy!" replied the Monarch, catching her
enthusiasm.
But he was stopped by the agitated sobs of Madame de Maintenon, who,
sinking from her chair at his feet, clasped his knees, exclaiming,
"Spare me, Sire! Spare me, or I shall die!"
The King gazed at her tenderly for a moment, then bent down his head,
kissed her check, and, whispering a few brief words, placed her in the
chair where he himself had been sitting. He then turned to Clemence de
Marly, who stood by, astonished at the agitation that her words had
produced, and fearful that the consequences might be the destruction
of all her own hopes.
The countenance of Louis, as he turned towards her, somewhat
re-assured her; but still she could not help exclaiming with no slight
anxiety, "I hope, Sire, I have not offended. I fear I have done so
unintentionally."
"If you have," said the King, smiling upon her graciously, "we will
find a punishment for you; and as we have made you act as a judge
where you little perhaps expected it, we will now make you a witness
of things that you expected still less, but which your lips must never
divulge till you are authorised to do so. Go as fast as possible to my
oratory close by the little cabinet of audience, there you will find
good Monsieur la Chaise: direct him to ring the bell, and--after
having told Bontems to summon Monsieur de Montchevreuil and the
Archbishop, who is still here, I think--to come hither himself as
speedily as possible. You will accompany him."
What were the King's intentions Clemence de Marly scarcely could
divine; but seeing that her words had evidently given happiness both
to the King and to Madame de Maintenon, and judging from that fact
that her own best hopes for the deliverance of him she loved might be
on the eve of accomplishment, she flew rather than ran to obey the
King's directions. She found the King's confessor, La Chaise, waiting,
evidently for the return of the King, with some impatience. The
message which she brought him seemed to excite his astonishment
greatly; but after pausing for a moment to consider what kind of event
that message might indicate, the old man clasped his hands,
exclaiming, "This is God's work, the King's salvation is now secure."
He then did as he had been directed, rang the bell for Bontems, gave
the order as he had received it, and hurried after Clemence along the
corridor of the palace. At the door of Madame de Maintenon's apartment
the young lady paused, for there were voices speaking eagerly within,
and she feared to intrude upon the monarch. His commands to return,
however, had been distinct, and she consequently opened the door and
entered. Madame de Maintenon was standing by the table with her eyes
bent down, and her colour much heightened. The King was also standing,
and with a slight frown upon his countenance was regarding a person
who had been added to the party since Clemence had left it. This was
no other than the minister Louvois, whose coarse harsh features seemed
filled with sullen mortification, which even the presence of the King
could scarcely restrain from breaking forth in angry words. His eyes
were bent down, not in humility but in stubborness, his shoulders a
little raised, and he was muttering rather than speaking when Clemence
entered. The only words, however, that were audible were, "Your
Majesty's will must be a law to yourself as well as to your people. I
have ventured in all sincerity to express my opinion, and have nothing
more to say."
The opening of the door caused Madame de Maintenon to raise her eyes,
and when she saw Clemence and the confessor a glad and relieved smile
played over her countenance, which was greatly increased by the words
which the confessor addressed to the King immediately on his entrance.
"Sire," he said, without waiting for Louis to speak, "from what I have
heard, and from what I see, I believe--nay, I am sure, that your
Majesty is about to take a step which will, more than any that I know
of, tend to insure your eternal salvation. Am I not right?" and he
extended his hand towards Madame de Maintenon, as if that gesture were
quite sufficient to indicate his full meaning.
"You are, my good father," replied the King; "and I am happy to find
that so wise and so good a man as yourself approves of what I am
doing. Monsieur Louvois here still seems discontented, though I have
conceded so much to his views of policy as to promise that this
marriage shall remain for ever private."
"What are views of policy," cried Pere la Chaise, "to your Majesty's
eternal salvation? There are greater, there are higher considerations
than worldly policy, Sire; but even were worldly policy all, I should
differ with Monsieur Louvois, and say that you were acting as wisely
in the things of this world as in reference to another."
"God knows, and this lady knows," said Louvois, "that my only
opposition proceeds from views of policy. For herself, personally," he
added, feeling that he might have offended one who was more powerful
than even himself, "for herself, personally, she well knows that I
have the most deep and profound respect; and, since it is to be, I
trust that his Majesty will allow me to be one of the witnesses."
"Assuredly," replied the King. "I had so determined in my own mind,
Monsieur de Louvois; and as we need not have more than three, we will
dispense with this young lady's presence. Oh, here comes the
Archbishop and Montchevreuil; my good father La Chaise, let me beg you
to prepare an altar, even here. I have determined that all doubt and
discussion upon this subject shall be over to-night. Explain, I beg
you, to Monsieur de Harlay what are my views and intentions. One word,
belle Clemence," he added, advancing to Clemence, and speaking to her
with a gracious smile, "we shall not need your presence, fair lady,
but you shall not want the bridemaid's presents. Come hither to-morrow
half an hour before I go to the council; and as you have judged well
and wisely in this cause to-night, we will endeavour to judge
leniently on any cause that you may bring before us to-morrow."
Although the King spoke low, his words did not escape the keen ear of
Louvois; and when Clemence raised her eyes to reply, they met those of
the minister gazing upon her with a look of fiend-like anger, which
seemed to imply, "You have triumphed over me for the time, and have
thwarted me in a matter of deep moment. You think at the same time you
have gained your own private end, but I will disappoint you."
Such at least was the interpretation that Clemence put upon that angry
glance. For an instant it made her heart sink, but, recollecting her
former courage the next instant, she replied boldly to the King, "My
trust is always in your Majesty alone. I have ever had that trust; and
what I have seen to-night would show me clearly, that let us expect
what we may of your Majesty's magnanimity and generosity no
disappointment will await us."
Thus saying she retired; and what farther passed in the chamber that
she quitted--though it affected the destinies of Louis, and of France,
and of Europe, more than any event which had taken place for
years--remains in the records of history amongst those things which
are known though not proved, and are never doubted even though no
evidence of their reality exists.