FALL OF DE MONTESPAN.
About this time Madame de Maintenon announced to the King that she had
received a mission from Heaven to convert him from the error of his
ways. "I was brought to Court miraculously for this purpose; God willed
it," she writes to her daughter. Singularly enough, this conviction of
her mission coincided with the absence of Madame de Montespan at the
baths of Bourbon.
Louis had come to view these temporary absences as a relief. He had
grown somewhat weary of the once-adored Marquise. He inclined to think
the society of Madame de Maintenon preferable. In her company the
charms of friendship exceeded the delights of love. She was leading him
up to Heaven by an easy path strewn with flowers. Conscious as he was
of his past sins, he yet liked the process of repentance.
The apartments of Madame de Maintenon at Versailles, on the same floor
as his own, were well placed for constant intercourse. They no longer
exist, but the situation is identified as having been near the south
wing, contiguous to his own suite, which was separated from that of the
Queen by the Salle de l'Œil de Bœuf, a corridor, and some smaller rooms.
The affection of her pupil, the Duc de Maine, and the esteem and
approval of the Queen, strengthened Madame de Maintenon's position.
Maria Theresa quite venerated the _ci-devant_ Veuve Scarron.
Maria Theresa, who refused to doubt La Vallière's purity, and who long
defended the virtue of Madame de Montespan, was born to be a dupe. Her
unsuspicious nature fell an easy prey to the duplicity of Madame de
Maintenon, who would have imposed on a stronger-minded person than the
guileless Queen. The King carefully intensified these good impressions.
He confided to his consort the conviction of Madame de Maintenon that
he would infallibly be "damned" if he did not cleave to herself alone,
and live with her in love and unity. Such words from the lips of her
august husband, whom she had all her life worshipped too entirely to
have dared to appropriate to herself, won the Queen's whole heart.
Never had she been so blessed. Her Olympian spouse spent hours beside
her; his conduct was exemplary. Maria Theresa, overcome by the weight
of her obligations to the wily _gouvernante_, treated her with the
utmost distinction. She joined with the King in appointing her lady in
waiting to the new Dauphine.
By-and-by Madame de Montespan, having finished her course of drinking
and bathing at Bourbon, returned. That the waters had agreed with her
was evident. Her eyes were more voluptuous, her aspect more enticing
than ever. For a time the King's conviction of Madame de Maintenon's
mission wavered; he forgot his salvation.
Madame de Maintenon, invested with the authority of a Christian
prophetess, denounced his apostacy. Madame de Montespan was furious;
quarrels ensued between herself and Madame de Maintenon, in which the
choleric, frank-spoken sinner was over-ruled by the crafty saint. The
King, called in as umpire, decided always in favour of the latter;
she could clothe her wrongs in such eloquent language, she was so
specious, so plausible, she continued to identify herself so entirely
with his salvation, that he again became repentant. His coldness
towards herself increased. This rival, the governess of her children,
insulted Madame la Marquise de Montespan. Her fury knew no bounds. She
felt that her fall was approaching; that the ground on which she stood
was undermined. She denounced her treacherous governess to the King;
she declared that the Veuve Scarron had not been immaculate. She even
caused a pamphlet to be printed in which names, places, dates, and
details were given. She showed it to the King; Louis shook his head,
and replied that she had herself defended her _protégée_ so ably that
he was unalterably convinced of her virtue. The Marquise de Montespan
was bowed out of Versailles.
* * * * *
The influence of Madame de Maintenon changed the atmosphere of the
Court. A holy calm succeeded to strife and agitation. Gallantry,
gambling, intrigues, and women no longer formed the staple of general
conversation. Religious discussions, theological disputes, and
ecclesiastical gossip became the fashion. Anecdotes of the various
Court confessors were discussed in the Œil de Bœuf with extraordinary
eagerness. The priest of Versailles was a more important personage
than a royal duke; Bossuet had more influence than Louvois; Père la
Chaise overtopped the great Louis himself. The Court ladies became
decided prudes, rolled their eyes sanctimoniously, wore lace kerchiefs,
renounced rouge, and rarely smiled. No whisper of scandal profaned
the royal circle. His Majesty was subdued and serene, assiduous in
the affairs of religion, and constant in his attendance on his comely
directress.
On the 30th July, 1683, the Queen died. She expired in the arms of
Madame de Maintenon. On her death-bed she gave her the nuptial ring
which she had received from his Majesty. This gift was significant.
The concealed ambition of Madame de Maintenon, her greed of dominion,
the insolence of the inferior about to revenge the wrongs suffered
in her obscurity, a sense, too, of her own power, now roused her to
grasp that exalted position which, even while the Queen lived, had
tempted her imagination. Now began a system of coquetry, so refined,
as to claim the distinction of a fine art. The lady is forty-five, and
looks young and fresh for her age; her hair is still black and glossy;
her forehead smooth, her skin exquisitely white; her figure lissom
and upright, if ample. There is a hidden fire in her stealthy eyes; a
grandeur in her bearing, that charms while it imposes. Not all the
vicissitudes of her chequered career can wash out the blood of the
D'Aubignés which flows in her veins. The old King is desperately in
love with her. It is the first time in his life he has encountered any
opposition to his will. There is a novelty in the sensation wonderfully
enthralling. The conquest of a lady who can thus balk him acquires an
enormous importance in his eyes. He has run the fortune of war both
at home and abroad; he has carried fortresses by storm, assailed the
walls of great cities; he has conquered in the open plain; but here
is a female citadel that is impregnable. His attack and her defence
are conducted in daily interviews, lasting six, and even ten hours.
If he can win her, he feels too that his salvation is insured. A life
of repentance passed with such an angel, is a foretaste of celestial
bliss. There is something sublime in the woman who can reconcile earth
with heaven, and satisfy his longings in time and eternity.
* * * * *
Suddenly Madame de Maintenon announces her intention of leaving the
Court for ever.
The King who occupies his usual place in her saloon, sitting in an
arm-chair placed between the door leading into the antechamber and the
chimney-piece, listens with speechless dismay.
Madame de Maintenon, who sits opposite to him, on the other side of the
chimney-piece, in a recess hung with red damask, a little table before
her, stitches calmly at the tapestry she holds in her hand. She affects
not to observe him, and continues speaking in a full firm voice. "My
mission is accomplished, Sire. I have been permitted to be the humble
instrument of leading your Majesty to higher and holier thoughts. Your
peace with Heaven is now made. I desire to retire, leaving my glorious
work complete."
"What, madame! Do I hear aright? You propose to leave me?—me, a
solitary man, to whom your society is indispensable?" There is a deep
longing in the King's eye as it rests upon her, a tremulous solicitude
in his manner that she observes with secret joy.
"Sire, I implore you to allow me to depart. I yearn for repose. I have
remained at Court greatly against my will, solely for your advantage."
"Remain always," murmurs the King, contemplating her fondly; "my
life—my happiness—my very being is bound up in you. Deprived of you, I
may again fall into deadly sin. Do not forsake me."
These last words are spoken in a whisper, full of tenderness. He rises
from his arm-chair and approaches her. Madame de Maintenon looks at him
sharply; then moves her chair backwards. Louis stops midway and gazes
at her timidly. He returns to his arm-chair, and sighs profoundly.
"Impossible, your Majesty," replies the Marquise stiffly, arranging the
folds of her dress. "I repeat, my task is done. The Court is reformed,
your salvation secure. But, while benefiting others, I have exposed
myself to calumny. Sire, I am called your mistress. I am branded as the
successor of Madame de Montespan."
"What villain has dared to assail your immaculate virtue? Tell me
who he is, and there is no punishment he shall not suffer," and the
King's face flushes scarlet. There is the old look of command upon his
brow—the old decision in his manner.
"Sire," answers Madame de Maintenon quietly, "such passion is
unnecessary. I am not worthy of it. I have already done all that is
needful, let me go. I can serve you no longer."
"You are worthy, madame, of all that a man—that a monarch can lay at
your feet," cries Louis with enthusiasm. A cynical smile plays upon her
full-lipped mouth while the King speaks.
"I am at least worthy of respect, Sire. The suspicion of impurity is
intolerable. I cannot bear it; I must go."
"You are too hurried, dearest madame," returns the King; "too
impressionable. Whatever observations may be aroused by our intimacy,
and my well-known attachment to you, they should not annoy you. Your
character is an all-sufficient defence."
"Ah, Sire, this is not sufficient. I must fly from even the semblance
of suspicion. You are a single man, I am a widow. I must leave
Versailles. Your Majesty cannot wish me to remain, to become an object
of contempt."
"Contempt? Impossible!" exclaims Louis abruptly. "No woman whom I, the
King of France, have loved, has ever suffered contempt."
No sooner were these words out of his mouth, than the King had reason
to repent having uttered them. The outraged prude burst into a flood of
tears. After all, was her crafty scheming to be in vain? Would Louis
not understand that as a wife—and a wife only—she would remain?
"Ah, Sire," sobs she with genuine sorrow, "is this the return you make
for my too great devotion to your Majesty's salvation? I, who have led
you step by step towards that Deity, whose wrath your transgressions
had so justly incensed? Is it for this I have rescued you from the
flames of Purgatory—the fire of everlasting Hell?"
Louis turns ghastly pale; a nervous tremor seizes him. He dare not look
Madame de Maintenon in the face, for her piercing black eyes glare upon
him, and seem to scan his inmost soul. He dare not interrupt her; he
must listen to all she has to say, so great is her empire over him.
She continues:—
"Am I sunk so low in your esteem that you mention me in the same breath
with a Montespan, a Fontanges? Alas, I have soiled my good name to
serve you, and is _this_ then my recompense?"
As she speaks, in a hard resolute voice, her reproachful eyes rivet
themselves upon Louis.
"Do you forget, Sire, that I am the woman whom your sainted Queen
specially esteemed? On whose bosom she expired? To whom, as she drew
her dying breath, she gave this ring?"
She takes from her finger the nuptial ring which Maria Theresa had
given her. It was a single diamond of remarkable brilliancy. After
contemplating it for an instant she drops it on the floor, midway
between herself and Louis, then, with a stately gesture, she rises to
depart.
The impress of many passions is visible on the countenance of the
aged monarch. Love and pride are written there. Pride is on his
broad forehead—in the carriage of his head—in his arched and bushy
eyebrows—in his still erect form—in the action of his hands and arms,
as they grasp the chair on which he sits upright. Pride, intense,
inflexible pride. But his dark eyes glow with passion. Those eyes
devour Madame de Maintenon, as she stands erect before him, her eyes
turned towards heaven, the ring at her feet. His mouth, around which
deep wrinkles gather, works—as did his father's—with a nervous spasm;
but the parted lips seem to pant for the beloved object before him.
At length he raises himself slowly from his chair—stoops—picks up the
nuptial ring of his first wife—kisses it, and places it on the finger
of Madame de Maintenon.
"_Mon amie_," he says, with solemnity, "do not leave me. As your
husband I will defend you."
Even in the reign of Louis XIV. public opinion made itself heard.
Placards appeared upon the walls of Paris to this effect:—
"LOST—The Royal Sceptre. The finder will be well rewarded."
The next day was announced, in the same place:
"The Sceptre found—Discovered on the toilette of a hypocrite.
"The Scales of Justice, also lost, found hidden in the sleeve of a
Jesuit."
Other placards followed; they ran as follows:
GRAND SPECTACLE.
HIS MAJESTY .... MARIONETTES.
_In the Chapel of Versailles._
GRATIS!
On a day to be hereafter announced.
Louis XIV. will fill the part of Gargantua; Madame de Maintenon,
Madame Gigogne; the Abbé Gobélin, Pierrot; Père la Chaise, Satan
(the lover of Madame Gigogne).