PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT.
Meanwhile, Madame de Montespan expatiated to all the Court on the
impossibility of an alliance between Mademoiselle and the Comte de
Lauzun. That Lauzun should be received as a prince of the blood would,
according to her, for ever lessen that dignity so dear to the heart of
the monarch.
[Illustration: LOUVOIS.]
Louvois, her creature—some said her lover—spoke more strongly. Not
only France, he said, would be eternally disgraced, but his Majesty
would be personally censured in every Court in Europe, for permitting
one of his nearest relatives thus to demean herself. Monsieur, father
of Mademoiselle, declared that such an alliance would be an affront
to the memory of his daughter's illustrious grandfather, Henry the
Great. Nobles and ministers, incited by Louvois, threw themselves at
the King's feet. They implored him not to cloud his glorious reign
by consenting to such a _mésalliance_. The poor weak Queen, worked upon
by the artifices of the malicious De Montespan, who, as superintendent
of her household, was constantly about her person, complained loudly
of the insult about to be put upon her circle—she a royal daughter
of Spain! All the princesses of the blood joined with her. The cabal
was adroitly managed. It attacked the King's weak side. No man was
ever such a slave to public opinion, or so scrupulously regardful of
appearances, as Louis XIV. To him the _vox populi_ was indeed "the
voice of God."
About eight o'clock that evening, Mademoiselle was summoned to the
Louvre from the Luxembourg. "Was the King still at cards?" she asked
the messenger.
"No; his Majesty was in the apartments of Madame de Montespan, but he
desired to see her highness the instant she arrived."
As Mademoiselle drove into the quadrangle, a gentleman in waiting
approached her coach, and begged her to enter by another door, leading
directly into the private apartments. This mystery seemed to her
excited imagination full of evil import. When she reached the King's
cabinet, some one ran out by another door. It was Madame de Montespan.
The King was sitting over the fire. His head rested on his hand.
Mademoiselle stood before him trembling all over.
[Illustration: BEDCHAMBER OF LOUIS XIV. AT VERSAILLES.]
"My cousin," said the King at length, rising and offering her a seat
beside his own, "what I have to tell you makes me wretched."
"Good God! Sire, what is it?" asked Mademoiselle in a hoarse voice. She
had turned as white as the dress (that of an affianced bride) she wore.
Her eyes were fixed upon the King in a wild stare.
"Calm yourself, my cousin," said Louis solemnly. "It is said by my
ministers that I am sacrificing you, my relative, to the interests of
my favourite Lauzun. I am also informed that Lauzun declares he does
not love you—that it was you who offered yourself to him in marriage!"
Mademoiselle clasped her hands, then pressed them on her forehead. "Not
love me?" she cried. "What a base lie! Lauzun tells me he adores me."
"Nevertheless, my cousin, such reports must have some foundation,"
resumed the King, speaking with great gravity. "They compromise me in
my royal person; they tarnish the glory of the Crown of France, which
I wear." His look and manner from grave had become overbearing and
pompous. It was quite evident that whatever touched his own position
he would ruthlessly sacrifice. "My cousin, I have to announce to you
that I cannot permit this marriage." He spoke in a loud, grating voice,
raised his eyes to the ceiling, stroked his chin with his hand, and
seemed to swell with self-consciousness.
A ringing scream was heard from Mademoiselle. She lay back on her
arm-chair motionless.
Having asserted his dignity, and conveyed in proper terms to his cousin
that neither her entreaties nor her sufferings could for an instant be
considered when they encroached upon his royal state, Louis relaxed his
rigid attitude, condescended to turn his eyes downwards upon poor
Mademoiselle, and in a voice kind, spite of his sublimity, added—
"I am very sorry for you, my cousin, very sorry. You have good cause
to complain of me; but my duty as King of France is supreme. I cannot
permit you to espouse the Comte de Lauzun."
"Ah, sire—" groaned Mademoiselle, in a voice so choked by agitation
it sounded strange in the King's ears, and made him shudder; (for his
selfish nature instinctively caused him to shrink from every species
of suffering). She held out her hands supplicatingly towards him, and
vainly essayed several times to speak. "Ah, Sire," she said at last in
a voice scarcely audible, "you cannot withdraw your word—the word of
a King. Consider," and she stopped and burst into an agony of tears.
"Consider, my cousin, no one can have anything to do with my marriage
but myself."
No sooner had she uttered these words than Louis drew himself up;
the long curls of the full-bottomed wig which covered his shoulders
vibrated, and the diamond star he wore on his coat of peach-coloured
satin glistened, so sudden had been his action. At the same time, such
a stony look came into his hard face, as gave him the aspect of a
statue.
"Excuse me, my cousin, my royal dignity, the splendour of my Court,
the esteem of every crowned head in Europe are implicated. You seem
to forget that you are born a _daughter of France_. But, madame, I
remember it, and I shall shield my royal name from dishonour!"
Overcome as was Mademoiselle, she perceived the mistake she had made.
Her brain reeled, her limbs quivered convulsively, but she staggered to
her feet.
"Oh, sire, hear me!" she cried. "Let me implore you," and she threw
herself before him and clasped his knees, "do not, do not forbid me to
marry my beloved Lauzun? No ordinary rule applies to him. Lauzun is
good, great, heroic! Oh! who would become a royal position like Lauzun?"
Louis did not reply. Having sufficiently asserted his dignity, he no
longer restrained his kindlier feelings. He put his arms round his
cousin, and tried to raise her from the ground.
"No, no; let me kneel," cried she passionately, clinging to him, "until
you have recalled those dreadful words. Sire, I have ever respected and
loved you. I have lived beside you as a sister. Do not—oh! do not make
my life desolate. For God's sake, let me spend it with the only man I
ever loved! A man so made to love. Kill me! kill me! my cousin," and
she wrung her hands convulsively; "but, if I am to live, let me live
with Lauzun. I cannot—I will not give him up!"
Louis rose from the arm-chair on which he was seated. He knelt on the
floor by her side. He again took her in his arms, and laying her head
upon his breast, he soothed her like a child. Big tears rolled down his
cheeks. He called her by every endearing name to comfort her. He did
all, save consent to her marriage.
Mademoiselle was drowned in tears. Vainly did she, turning her swollen
eyes upon the King, who soothed her so fondly, strain her ears to hear
that one little word which was to dry them. She listened in vain; that
word was never to be spoken. At last, faint with emotion, she signed
to the King to raise her up, which he did, placing her on a chair. He
kissed her burning forehead, and pressed her dry hands in his.
"My cousin," he said, "do not blame me. Rather blame yourself. Why did
you not take my advice? I told you to lose no time. To marry at once.
You should have done so. Why did you give me time to reflect—time for
others to reflect? You ought to have obeyed me."
Mademoiselle dared not confess that it was Lauzun's fault she had not
done so, but at this recollection a fresh burst of grief choked her
utterance.
"Alas, Sire," she moaned at last, "when did you ever break your word
before? Could I believe you would begin with me? To break your word,
too, in such a manner!"
As Louis listened to her, he knit his brows, and looked gloomy and
embarrassed.
"I am not my own master," he replied coldly, "in affairs touching my
house and the honour of my race."
"Sire, if I do not marry Lauzun," groaned Mademoiselle, almost
inaudibly, "I shall die. I never loved any other man. I ask my life of
you, cousin. Do not take my life. You are sacrificing me to a court
intrigue," she added faintly, catching at his hand, for she was fast
losing heart; "but believe me, and let others know, that much as I love
and respect your Majesty, and desire to obey you, I will never, never
marry another man." Holding the King's hand, she kissed it, and gazed
imploringly at him.
"Dear cousin, do not be so unhappy," he replied, at a loss what answer
to make to such a home-thrust, which he knew to be so true. "Believe
me, your obedience in this matter of Lauzun will make you doubly dear
to me. You can command me in all other ways."
"Nothing—nothing can give life a value without Lauzun!" broke in
Mademoiselle vehemently.
"My cousin," answered the King gravely, "I cannot permit you to be
sacrificed. You are made a tool of. I cannot permit it. Now," he
continued, rising,—and with difficulty suppressing a yawn—"you can have
nothing more to say to me. I shall not alter my determination."
Mademoiselle wrung her hands, the King drew her to him and kissed her
on the forehead. As he did so, a tear dropped upon her cheek.
"Oh, Sire!" cried Mademoiselle, "you pity me, and you have the heart to
refuse me! You are the master of my fate. Have mercy on me! Do not give
heed to others. Ah, Sire, you are destroying me!"
"Come to me to-morrow, my cousin," said Louis soothingly, much
affected, but unshaken by her prayers. "Come and tell me you have
forgiven me. Now, good night," and again he tenderly embraced her. Then
he summoned his attendants to conduct her to her coach.
* * * * *
"Lauzun had played deep for a great prize, and he had lost the game. He
broke out into savage abuse and called the King opprobrious names.
Absolutely maddened by rage, he rushed to the palace. He was refused
admittance. Yet he swore and cursed at the attendants until he forced
them to let him pass. Then he strode up-stairs to the apartments of
Madame de Montespan. Here he found the King seated by her side."
Louis rose, placed himself in front of the Marquise, and faced him with
a look of the gravest displeasure.
"Sire," cried Lauzun, his face swollen with passion, "I am come to ask
you what I have done that you should dishonour me?"
"Come, come, Lauzun," replied Louis, still standing before Madame de
Montespan; "calm yourself."
Lauzun was too deep in the royal secrets to make an open breach with
him either advisable or safe.
"No, Sire," roared Lauzun, emboldened by the King's calmness; "permit
me to say I will _not_ calm myself. I will not permit this humiliation.
There is my sword," and he drew it from its scabbard; "your Majesty has
made me unworthy to wear it. Take it—take my life also."
Lauzun presented his sword. The King put it from him with an imperious
gesture.
"Comte de Lauzun," said he with dignity, "I refuse to accept your
sword. Let it still be drawn in my service. There is much to wound
you in what has passed. I feel deeply for you. But my duty as King of
France compels me to act as I have done."
This was a bold assertion in the presence of Madame de Montespan, who
sat motionless behind the King, her cheeks blanched at the thought of
what revelations Lauzun might make in his rage.
"I will make what recompense I can to you," continued the King. "You
shall be raised, Comte de Lauzun, so high that you will cease to
remember this marriage you now so much desire."
"Sire, I will accept no gifts, no honours, from a monarch who has
forfeited his word. Ay, Sire, I repeat it deliberately," seeing the
King's glance of fury at his insolence, "forfeited his word. Here do
I surrender this sword, which your Majesty conferred on me. Here do I
break it, Sire, in your face as you have broken your word."
As he spoke, he bent his knee, snapped the blade in two, and violently
dashed the fragments on the ground at the King's feet.
"And you, perfidious woman," he continued, addressing Madame de
Montespan, "of whom I could reveal so much, whose treachery I have
proved—you who sit there unmoved—behold your handiwork! Do I not know
that it is you, who, for your own wicked purposes, have influenced my
royal master against me!"
Lauzun spoke so rapidly that all this had been said before Louis could
stop him.
[Illustration: LOUIS XIV. IN 1661.
From an illustration, based on an old print, in Philippson's _Das
Zeitalter Ludwigs XIV_.]
"Comte de Lauzun," broke forth the King in a voice unsteady with
passion, "leave me—leave the palace, I command you. Presume not to
insult Madame de Montespan in my presence, or"—and he put out his hand,
grasped the gold-headed cane which lay beside him, and strode up to
where Lauzun stood, crimson in the face—"or I shall chastise you as
you deserve!" and Louis brandished the stick in the air.
Then, as if thinking better of it, his uplifted arm dropped to his
side, he drew back some steps, flung away the cane to the farthest
corner of the room, and, with a great effort, collected himself.
"Leave me!" he exclaimed, in a voice he strove with difficulty to
render calm. "Leave me instantly, while I can still command myself.
Go," and he extended his hand with authority, "go, until you learn how
to address your Sovereign."
Notwithstanding these altercations, Mademoiselle de Montpensier did not
leave the Court. She was gracious to all who approached. She looked
happy, even radiant. Lauzun, also, after a short absence, resumed his
service about the King's person. He was sleek, prosperous, and more
haughty than ever. All this was very strange. That vindictive beauty,
Madame de Montespan, could not understand it. Her vengeance after all
had failed. The matter must be looked into. Spies were immediately set.
Every means of inquiry the State could command was brought to bear on
Lauzun and the Princess. Their secret was soon discovered. _They were
married!_
Madame de Montespan rushed to the King, and announced the tremendous
fact. Lauzun was instantly arrested, and imprisoned at Pignerol.
Mademoiselle, plunged in the depths of despair, left the Court for her
Château of Eu, on the coast of Normandy.