Progress of Madame de Maintenon.--The Anonymous Letter.
Since the birth of Mademoiselle de Blois, and the death of Mademoiselle
de Fontanges, the King hardly ever saw me except a few minutes
ceremoniously,--a few minutes before and after supper. He showed himself
always assiduous with Madame de Maintenon, who, by her animated and
unflagging talk, had the very profitable secret of keeping him amused.
Although equally clever, I venture to flatter myself, in the art of
manipulating speech, I could not stoop to such condescensions. You
cannot easily divert when you have a heart and are sincere--a man who
deserts you, who does not even take the trouble to acknowledge it and
excuse himself.
The Marquise sailed, then, on the open sea, with all sail set; whilst my
little barque did little more than tack about near the shore. One day I
received the following letter; it was in a pleasant and careful
handwriting, and orthography was observed with complete regularity, which
suggested that a man had been its writer, or its editor:
The person who writes these lines, Madame la Marquise, sees you but
rarely, but is none the less attached to you. The advice which he is
going to give you in writing he would have made it a duty to come and
give you himself; he has been deterred by the fear either of appearing to
you indiscreet, or of finding you too deeply engrossed with occupations,
or with visitors, as is so often the case, in your own apartments.
These visitors, this former affluence of greedy and interested hearts,
you will soon see revealed and diminishing; probably your eyes, which are
so alert, have already remarked this diminution. The monarch no longer
loves you; coolness and inconstancy are maladies of the human heart. In
the midst of the most splendid health, our King has for some time past
experienced this malady.
In your place, I should not wait to see myself repudiated. By whatever
outward respect such an injunction be accompanied, the bottom of the cup
is always the same, and the honey at the edge is but a weak palliative.
Being no ordinary woman by birth, do not terminate like an ordinary
actress your splendid and magnificent role on this great stage. Know how
to leave before the audience is weary; while they can say, when they miss
you from the scene, “She was still fine in her role. It is a pity!”
Since a new taste or new caprice of the monarch has led his affections
away, know how to endure a fantasy which you have not the power to
remove. Despatch yourself with a good grace; and let the world believe
that sober reflections have come to you, and that you return, of your own
free will, into the paths of independence, of true glory, and of honour.
Your position of superintendent with the Queen has been from the very
first almost a sinecure. Give up to Madame de Maintenon, or to any one
else, a dignity which is of no use to you, for which you will be paid now
its full value; which, later, is likely to cause you a sensible
disappointment; for that is always sold at a loss which must be sold at a
given moment.
Nature, so prodigal to you, Madame la Marquise, has not yet deflowered,
nor recalled in the least degree, those graces and attractions which were
lavished on you. Retire with the honours of war.
Annoyance, vexation, irritation, do not make your veins flow with milk
and honey; you would lose upon the field of battle all those treasures
which it is in your power to save.
Adieu, madame.
This communication, though anonymous, is none the less benevolent. I
desire your peace and your happiness.