Birth of the Comte de Vegin.--Madame Scarron as Governess.--The King's
Continued Dislike of Her.--Birth of the Duc du Maine.--Marriage of the
Nun.
The King became ever more attached to me personally, as also to the
peculiarities of my temperament. He had witnessed with satisfaction the
birth of Madame de la Valliere's two children, and I thought that he
would have the same affection for mine. But I was wrong. It was with
feelings of trepidation and alarm that he contemplated my approaching
confinement. Had I given birth to a daughter, I am perfectly certain
that, in his eyes, I should have been done for.
I gave birth to the first Comte de Vegin, and, grasping my hand
affectionately, the King said to me, "Be of good courage, madame; present
princes to the Crown, and let those be scandalised who will!" A few
moments later he came back, and gave me a million for my expenses.
It was, however, mutually arranged that the newborn Infant should be
recognised later on, and that, for the time being, I was to have him
brought up in secrecy and mystery.
When dissuading Madame Scarron from undertaking a journey to Lisbon, I
had my own private ends in view. I considered her peculiarly fitted to
superintend the education of the King's children, and to maintain with
success the air of mysterious reserve which for a while was indispensable
to me. I deputed my brother, M. de Vivonne, to acquaint her with my
proposals,--proposals which came from the King as well,--nor did I doubt
for one moment as regarded her consent and complacency, being, as she
was, alone in Paris.
"Madame," said M. de Vivonne to her, "the Marquise is overjoyed at being
able to offer you an important position of trust, which will change your
life once for all."
"The gentle, quiet life which, thanks to the kindness of the King, I now
lead, is all that my ambition can desire," replied the widow, concealing
her trouble from my brother; "but since the King wishes and commands it,
I will renounce the liberty so dear to me, and will not hesitate to
obey."
Accordingly she came. The King had a few moments' parley with her, in
order to explain to her all his intentions relative to the new life upon
which she was about to enter, and M. Bontems--[First Groom of the
Chamber, and Keeper of the Privy Purse.]--furnished her with the
necessary funds for establishing her household in suitable style.
A month afterwards, I went incognito to her lonely residence, situate
amid vast kitchen-gardens between Vaugirard and the Luxembourg. The
house was clean, commodious, thoroughly well appointed, and, not being
overlooked by neighbours, the secret could but be safely kept. Madame
Scarron's domestics included two nurses, a waiting-maid, a physician, a
courier, two footmen, a coachman, a postilion, and two cooks.
Being provided with an excellent coach, she came to Saint Germain every
week, to bring me my son, or else news of his welfare.
Her habitually sad expression somewhat pained the King. As I soon
noticed their mutual embarrassment, I used to let Madame Scarron stay in
an inner room all the time that his Majesty remained with me.
In the following year, I gave birth to the Duc du Maine. Mademoiselle
d'Aubigne, who was waiting in the drawing-room, wrapped the child up
carefully, and took it away from Paris with all speed.
On her way she met with an adventure, comic in itself, and which
mortified her much. When told of it, I laughed not a little; and, in
spite of all my excuses and expressions of regret, she always felt
somewhat sore about this; in fact, she never quite got over it.
Between Marly and Ruel, two mounted police officers, in pursuit of a nun
who had escaped from a convent, bethought themselves of looking inside
Madame Scarron's carriage. Such inquisitiveness surprised her, and she
put on her mask, and drew down the blinds. Observing that she was
closely followed by these soldiers, she gave a signal to her coachman,
who instantly whipped up his horses, and drove at a furious rate.
At Nanterre the gendarmes, being reinforced, cried out to the coachman to
stop, and obliged Madame Scarron to get out. She was taken to a tavern
close by, where they asked her to remove her mask. She made various
excuses for not doing so, but at the mention of the lieutenant-general of
police, she had to give in.
"Madame," inquired the brigadier, "have you not been in a nunnery?"
"Pray, monsieur, why do you ask?"
"Be good enough to answer me, madame; repeat my question, and I insist
upon a reply. I have received instructions that I shall not hesitate to
carry out."
"I have lived with nuns, but that, monsieur, was a long while ago."
"It is not a question of time. What was your motive for leaving these
ladies, and who enabled you to do so?"
"I left the convent after my first communion. I left it openly, and of
my own free will. Pray be good enough to allow me to continue my
journey."
"On leaving the convent, where did you go?"
"First to one of my relatives, then to another, and at last to Paris,
where I got married."
"Married? What, madame, are you married? Oh, young lady, what behaviour
is this? Your simple, modest mien plainly shows what you were before
this marriage. But why did you want to get married?"
As he said this, the little Duc du Maine, suffering, perhaps, from a
twinge of colic, began to cry. The brigadier, more amazed than ever,
ordered the infant to be shown as well.
Seeing that she could make no defence, Madame Scarron began to shed
tears, and the officer, touched to pity, said:
"Madame, I am sorry for your fault, for, as I see, you are a good mother.
My orders are to take you to prison, and thence to the convent specified
by the archbishop, but I warn you that if we catch the father of your
child, he will hang. As for you, who have been seduced, and who belong
to a good family, tell me one of your relatives with whom you are on
friendly terms, and I will undertake to inform them of your predicament."
Madame Scarron, busy in soothing the Duc du Maine, durst not explain for
fear of aggravating matters, but begged the brigadier to take her back to
Saint Germain.
At this juncture my brother arrived on his way back to Paris. He
recognised the carriage, which stood before the inn, with a crowd of
peasants round it, and hastened to rescue the governess, for he soon
succeeded in persuading these worthy police officers that the sobbing
dame was not a runaway nun, and that the new-born infant came of a good
stock.