THE
PRINCESS
OF
AN
HISTORICAL NOVEL.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
L’amour ne vient qu’une
fois; s’il n’a pas êté
encore prouvé, il doit être
attendu.
ANON.
PRINTED
FOR J. WILKIE, No. 71,
CHURCH-YARD.
M.DCC.LXXVII.
TO
THE
READER.
THE following Novel will, I hope, be found
interesting; for the story is simple, although the actors are supposed to be
persons of the first rank in life. There are certain parts of the original,
which is in French, that appear to be lengthened out, rather more than is
necessary, as dwelling upon adventitious or trivial circumstances, generally
draws off the attention from the principal action, and, of consequence, in a
certain degree, throws a heaviness over the whole relation—on which account the
story, as it now appears, is something shorter than the original.
It
may possibly be objected to this little piece, that it contains no moral.—I
must here beg leave to offer a few words in favour of a performance, which I
own has employed several of my leisure hours most agreeably.
The story at least serves to prove,
that the most rigid virtue, the most distinguished rank, united to the best
character, will scarcely be found powerful enough to prevent that woman from
feeling the deepest sorrow and distress, who gives her hand without her
heart.—There is nothing romantic in this assertion, the deduction is plain, and
the lesson may be useful.
Let
me add, that whatever awakens our sensibility for suffering
virtue, will always be productive of salutary effects, to an
innocent mind.
If
this be true, the story of the Princess of Cleves, cannot be pronounced
devoid of moral.
THE
PRINCESS OF
DURING the reign of Henry the second of
Ambition
and galantry were the springs that here actuated
every one; the ladies had near an equal share in the interests, the business,
and intrigues, that employed this court; and love seemed here united with the
most important concerns of state, while each followed with warmth and eagerness
their several pursuits. Languor was utterly unknown. The Queen, the Dauphiness,
Madame de Valentinois (the King’s mistress) and the
Princess, had each their several suitors and favourites of both sexes. The
extreme beauty of the Dauphiness, the sweetness of her disposition, and a
partiality she was thought to shew towards the Duke
de Nemours, gave rise to a suspicion that he loved and admired that Princess.
He
had been when in
About
this time there appeared at the court of France, a lady, who in the midst of
acknowledged beauties, attracted all eyes: she was of the family of the
Viscount de Chartres, and one of the richest
heiresses in the kingdom. Her father had died during her infancy, and left her
to the guardianship of Madame de Chartres, her
mother, who was a woman of great merit and accomplishments. After her husband’s
death, she had retired from court, and devoted her attention solely to the
educating of her daughter, in a manner suited to her birth and fortune. The
person of Mademoiselle de Chartres, which was
naturally beautiful, had every advantage that a polite education could bestow;
but her mind had been the principal object of her mother’s care; and it was
replete with every merit. Madame de Chartres thought
differently from the generality of prudent mothers, who seem to found the
security of their daughter’s virtue, on their ignorance of that passion which
alone can endanger it. She talked of love, and described it, as it really is,
the source of our most exalted joys, and our most poignant sorrows. She
informed her of the insincerity of men; of their want of candour, of their
deceit and infidelity, and pointed out the causes from whence springs domestic
unhappiness; while, on the other side, she beautifully represented in the strongest lights, the felicity
attending a virtuous wife and mother; she remarked to her, that virtues as well
as vices were most conspicuous in women of rank and beauty, and anxiously
inculcated to her what could alone constitute her future happiness,—To merit a
sincere passion, and to be capable of returning it. Mademoiselle de Chartres was, in point of fortune, one of the greatest
matches in
The
Chevalier de Guise, who was the Prince’s first friend, became, as well as many
others, deeply enamoured with the fair de Chartres.
She was now present at all the public entertainments of the court, and a most
particular and distinguished favourite of the
beautiful Dauphiness. The Prince of Cleves was her
declared and avowed admirer; he pursued his suit with the utmost ardour, but
feared the haughtiness of Madame de Chartres. This
fear was alone the timidity of love; for he had then a very near relation
married to a lady of the Royal Blood. He had many rivals to contend with; the
Chevalier de Guise was one of the most formidable; their former friendship
diminished daily, and they had scarcely the power to conceal their mutual
resentments.
Madame
de Valentinois was a professed enemy to the Viscount
de Chartres, uncle to Mademoiselle; she was therefore
determined, if possible to prevent the marriage of the Prince of Cleves with his niece: she employed all her interest with
the Duke de Nevers, father to that Prince, who
absolutely refused his consent to their union. Madame de Chartres
was thoroughly sensible of the dangers her daughter was exposed to in a court, where
galantry was universally pursued; she conjured her,
not as a mother, but as a friend, to acquaint her with every sentiment of her
heart, and to make her the confidante of every particular address she should
meet with, promising by her advice and experience to guide her safely through
the dangers that awaited her.
The
Cardinal of Lorrain forbad his nephew, the Chevalier
de Guise, to think of an alliance with Mademoiselle de Chartres,
for the hatred he likewise bore to the Viscount her uncle. The indignation
Madame de Chartres conceived at the affront she
thought she received from the houses of
Madame
de Valentinois, having by some means discovered this
matter, imparted it to the King, and so prejudiced him against the marriage, as
rendered the friendship of the Dauphiness vain. He told her, he altogether
disapproved of the alliance she spoke of, and desired her to acquaint the Duke
de Montpensier with his pleasure. No person dared
further to pursue Mademoiselle de Chartres, fearing
to incur the King’s displeasure, or despairing she would accept any thing
beneath the match that had been proposed for her.
The death of the Duke de Nevers soon left the Prince of Cleves
at liberty to pursue his inclinations; the first use he made of that liberty,
was to offer his hand and fortune to the lady he had so long loved. But though
having the power to convince her of his attachment by so strong a proof, he was
not, however, altogether happy; he loved her to excess, but feared he had not
been sufficiently fortunate, to inspire her heart with an equal degree of
passion; and was not without some jealousy that the Chevalier de Guise
possessed her favour more than himself. But reflexion
having soon convinced him that these ideas proceeded more from his own
apprehensions than her behaviour; he entreated her to make him acquainted with
her real sentiments for him; assuring her, that though her refusal would render
him for ever miserable, he was capable, even in this instance, of preferring
her happiness to his own.
Mademoiselle
had a heart full of tenderness and generosity: she pitied the passion which she
had inspired, though she was not capable of returning it. She was sensible of
the constancy of the Prince’s attachment to her, and grateful for his kindness;
these sentiments gave a softness to her speech and manner,
that flattered the Prince of Cleves so far as
to make him hope, he was not indifferent to her. Madame de Chartres
was consulted, who approved of their union, but wished her daughter to assure
her that she loved the Prince of Cleves. Mademoiselle
could only answer that she highly esteemed his good qualities, that she could
marry him without reluctance, and preferred no other person to him. Madame de Chartres unfortunately thought this cold assent sufficient,
and ventured to bestow her daughter on a man whom at that time she did not
love. His proposals were formally accepted; the articles were concluded, and
the intended match made public.
The
Prince of Cleves was sensible of the highest
transport at the idea of his approaching nuptials, yet his reason did not
assent to his joy. He could not deceive himself into an opinion, that
Mademoiselle de Chartres felt any other sentiments
than those of gratitude and esteem for him, as the circumstances of their
situation would have warranted her shewing some
degree of tenderness to her husband elect, without the least offence to her
maiden modesty. Her manners remained totally unaltered, though scarce a day
passed in which the Prince did not pour forth his complaints of her coldness.
Is
it possible (said he to her one day) that I can be unhappy even on the eve of
my marriage with the woman I adore? Yet it is certain that my heart is not at
peace. The condescending softness with which you treat me, does not satisfy my
ardour; you do not express the least inquietude at my
absence, or emotion at my presence, and seem to be no more affected by my
passion, than you would be if my attachment arose from the advantages of your
fortune, and not from the united charms of your mind and person.
You
injure me by your complaints, replied she, I have already granted every thing
within the bounds of decorum to your wishes. Ah, charming maid! cried he, I should be too happy if I could persuade myself
that you had any sentiments for me, which prudence forbade you to reveal. But
on the contrary, I fear that your heart has no share even in the slight
appearance of kindness with which you sometimes honour me. Ought not (said she,
with inimitable sweetness) those blushes which you now call forth, and which I
cannot hide from you, be a sufficient proof you are not indifferent to me? Ah!
Madam (replied the Prince) it is impossible you can ever return a love like
mine.
The
fair de Chartres was but too sensible of the calmness
of her own attachment; and wished that the ardour of her lover might be able to
kindle an equal flame in her bosom. Madame de Chartres,
knowing the sensibility of her daughter, was astonished that the passion of the
Prince of Cleves should make no greater impression on
such a heart; and took every occasion to extol his virtues, and place his
attachment in the strongest and most forcible light.
The
marriage was at length solemnized at the Louvre, and
the Royal Family were present; the entertainment was extremely magnificent: the
Chevalier de Guise assisted at the ceremony, but it was easy to perceive the
distress it gave him. The prince of Cleves was
unfortunate enough to be sensible that Mademoiselle de Chartres
had not added to her affection by her change of situation; he was conscious he
had a right to her heart, but did not feel that he had obtained it: her person
was not the utmost of his wish; he still sued as a lover for that return of
passion he could not be happy without.
The conduct of the Prince was such as
to leave no room for jealousy, even in the midst of a court where galantry was openly professed; and where, though she was
surrounded with admirers, she admitted not of any particular address: every one
approached her with respect. The Marshal de St André, who had been long her
lover, and who possessed many advantages, could only prove his partiality by
assiduously rendering every little attention in his power. Many others wished
to be regarded with favour by this charming woman. But Madame de Chartres’s excellent counsels were so interwoven with her
own purity and delicacy of mind, that she convinced the court of France she had
a soul so virtuous as to resist every tint of the folly that surrounded her.
The
Duke de Nemours was yet at
The
Princess of Cleves had heard the highest praises of this
nobleman; the Dauphiness had often spoken to her of him, as so superior to the
generality of mankind, that she felt a degree of impatience to behold so
extraordinary a person. She was that evening by far the most brilliant figure
at the Louvre. Her dress was prepared for the
occasion: that, as well as her beauty, outshone all others. She was dancing
when she perceived by some noise and bustle at the entrance of the room, that
some considerable person had just then appeared: She had finished a minuet with
the Duke of P——, when the King himself brought the stranger up to her; and she
instantly knew him to be the Duke de Nemours.—He was dressed with the utmost
elegance, and a murmur of applause attended their performance. As soon as it
was over, the Queen asked if they did not wish to be known to each other. “It
is impossible I can be mistaken (said the Duke) this lady can be no other than
the Princess of Cleves; but I entreat your Majesty do
me the honour to inform her who it is that admires her.” I believe (whispered
the Dauphiness to her) you can divine as well as the Duke.” “I am not so good a
prophet, as you imagine, Madam,” (answered she). “You
are a hypocrite,” replied the Dauphiness. Nemours had thought the Dauphiness a
perfect Beauty: such indeed she was allowed to be: he now thought the Princess
of Cleves had some advantages.
The
Princess was so pleased with the entertainment of the evening, that
notwithstanding it was very late before she retired, she called to give Madame
de Chartres (who she knew went out early to rest)
some account of it; and spoke of Nemours with a warmth of expression, unusual
to her.—This penetrating mother perceived it even then with uneasiness.
The day following was that of the marriage of the Duke of Lorrain. The Duke de Nemours was there, still more
conspicuous than he had been the night before: his conversation was easy, chearful, pleasant, directed to all, admired by all: every
one attended to what he said; and his praises were the only theme where he was
not himself engaged.—Madame de Cleves also joined in
the common subject; she had many opportunities of conversing with the Duke, and
he involuntarily endeavoured to render himself amiable in her eyes. As he was
the most accomplished man, so was she the most accomplished woman, of the
court. It was not surprising that they should be infinitely agreeable to each
other.
Nemours,
without being conscious of his danger, conceived a violent passion for this
lady: it seemed in a short time to have robbed him of all other thoughts; he
took care to be constantly of her party, and to refuse all those, where she was
not to be one. He now scarcely listened to any conversation in which she did
not bear a part. He went oftenest to the court of the Dauphiness, because
Madame de Cleves was most frequently there; yet he
was resolved rather to bury in his heart the sentiments he felt, than to suffer
her name to be mentioned by the public in a way it had never yet been; his
conduct in this matter was so circumspect that no one guessed at the person who
had occasioned the change that was so observable in him.
Madame de Cleves herself would have been
equally ignorant, had not the looks and actions of Nemours been more
interesting to her than they were to any one else. She could not prevail
upon herself to declare to her mother with the ingenuousness she had hitherto
done, the situation of her mind; she was resolved this secret should be
confined to her own breast. Madame de Chartres wanted
not to be told, she was already but too sensible of the danger of her daughter,
and it gave her the utmost disquiet. Her good-sense and experience taught her
to observe that both the fame and peace of Madame de Cleves
were concerned.
The
Marshal de St. André, who was fond of shew and expence, gave a sumptuous entertainment, at which were
present the King and Queen; but Madame de Cleves was
the person to whom he particularly meant the compliment. The Dauphiness had
presented her with some jewels which she was to wear on the occasion. That
Princess had been indisposed; and was with a very small company in her own
chamber, attended by no other lady than Madame de Cleves,
when the Prince of Conde was admitted. “I am come”
(said he, after some other conversation) “from supporting a warm argument
against the Duke de Nemours, who has been bitterly inveighing against the
vanity of the fair sex: it is this, he says, that causes all the distress of
ours: and nothing can be so strong a support to this dangerous turn of mind, so
painful in its consequences, as the public diversions of the court, where the
ladies absolutely appear for no other purpose than to gain general admiration:
While the lover there sees his mistress as much pleased with the empty
adulations of others, as with those attentions which proceed really from his
heart, she has not a look to bestow on him who truly loves her, and must have
so great a consciousness of the power of her beauty as must for the time efface
every other idea. “I believe,” concluded the Prince, “there is a little
selfishness in the opinions of Nemours, as his Majesty sends him particular
dispatches to-morrow to the Duke of F——, and it will not be possible that he
can be present at St. André’s entertainment in the evening.” Madame de Cleves attended to this conversation; it occurred to her
then, though it had never done so before, that there was an impropriety in her
going to St. André’s ball, when she knew he professed himself her lover.—She
gave this reason to her mother, who reminded her, that, in accepting an
invitation where such numbers were concerned, there could be no particularity,
whatever there might appear in a refusal. Madame de Cleves
was so obstinately bent on being absent, that an apology of indisposition was
sent. Nemours returned the day after the entertainment, and was informed that
the Princess of Cleves had not been present at it;
and a flattering hope arose, that his conversation had been repeated to her.
She that day made her appearance at the court of the Dauphiness in an undress, as if not yet perfectly recovered. “You look so
well (said the Princess, who was engaged in conversation with Nemours when
Madame de Cleves entered) that I really think you
might have been with us last night. I have a strong suspicion, that the
arguments of this gentleman which were repeated to us,
had more influence over you than any indisposition.” Madame de Chartres now knew the reason of her daughter’s absence from
the ball. She could not easily prevail upon herself, nor did she think it right
to tell her, that she knew the situation of her heart; but she took frequent
opportunities of mentioning the Duke to her in a way that she hoped would cause
her to think of him with that indifference it was necessary she should. In
these conversations she denied him not the worth and merit he so apparently
possessed; she even extolled them, but assured Madame de Cleves,
that he was professedly a man of galantry; that women
were his amusement; that, at present, he was attached to the Dauphiness, from
whose court he was hardly ever absent. “I advise you, my dear daughter,” said
Madame de Chartres, “avoid this dangerous character:
the world sees your great intimacy with the Dauphiness, they will at least
imagine you are her confidante, and it will be better you should even resign
her friendship, than engage yourself in the intrigues that are here practised.”
Madame
de Cleves was so astonished at her mother’s
intelligence, that she lost all power to conceal the distress it gave her: when
alone, she gave way to the utmost anguish. “Wretch that I am!
(exclaimed she) the Prince of Cleves deserves my
utmost tenderness: his wish, his study, is to oblige and make me happy; while
I, ungrateful and unworthy of his love, bestow that affection which is his due
on one who is ungenerous enough to feign an attachment to me, in order to hide
that which he really feels for another. My situation is such, that I dare not
impart it to my mother. She will despise even her daughter when capable of such
weakness. Yet I will tell her, and she will help me to conquer what I really
despise in myself.”—She went with this resolution to the house of Madame de Chartres; but finding her very much indisposed, was obliged
for that time to defer her intention.
She then proceeded on her usual visit
to the Dauphiness, who had not yet quitted her own apartment, where there were
only a few ladies attending her. “You are welcome, my dear Madame de Cleves (said she) we were just speaking of Nemours and the
surprising change there is in him since his return from
When
she returned to the house of her mother, she found her much worse: a fever had
attacked her, and in a few days she was pronounced by her physicians to be in
great danger. Her daughter scarcely ever quitted her chamber; and the Prince of
Cleves remained constantly at her house, that he
might omit no opportunity of softening and sharing the griefs
of a wife he loved with the most tender and ardent affection. Nemours, who had
been long well acquainted with him, took every opportunity of cultivating his
friendship. He called frequently at the house of Madame de Chartres
to visit him, and enquire after the health of both the ladies; for that of Madame
de Cleves was sensibly impaired by her attendance on
her mother. He had sometimes an opportunity of seeing for a few minutes her
laudable affection and deep distress for the danger of a valuable parent
rendered still more charming, as her affliction still added to her beauty, and
at the same time evinced the goodness of her heart.
He
sincerely sympathized in her grief. He could not help sometimes telling her so,
and in terms so pathetic, and with looks so expressive of the share he took in
her sufferings, as often whispered to her heart, that she alone was the object
nearest to his. Her soul more than usually softened found a pleasure (she then
examined not the cause of) in his soothings, thinking
that any one who had talked as he did of her sorrows, would have been equally
pleasing to her.
Madame
de Chartres’s dissolution now approached: she
received the fatal intelligence with far more composure than her daughter; with
a fortitude suitable to her piety and virtue. She told
Madame de Cleves she had something very particular to
say to her; and, having ordered her attendants to quit the chamber, eagerly
grasped the hand of her darling child, and thus addressed herself to her.
“Heaven has thought fit to part us, my dearest child; and to leave you, is my only
sorrow. But where shall I find words to tell you the grief I experience for the
danger in which I leave you? You love the Duke de Nemours, I ask you not to
confess it to me; I am no longer in a situation to avail myself of your
sincerity in guiding your future conduct. I have long since discovered this
fatal truth, though I forbore mentioning it to you. Your heart, my child, is
yet virtuous: you must be sensible you stand on the brink of a fatal precipice;
no endeavours, however painful, must be spared to prevent your proceeding one
single step further. Reflect upon the duty you owe a husband who merits your
utmost affection; forget not that which should be ever due to the memory of a
tender mother. Your fame is yet unsullied, spotless as Purity itself. This has
been my pride and pleasure. Make use of your resolution, my dearest child: fear
not a transient pain. Desire your husband to remove you from this court.
Ardently pursue those paths which, though unpleasant at the beginning, will
lead you to lasting happiness. If any other motives than honour and virtue were
necessary to induce you to persist in that character you have hitherto worthily
sustained; I would tell you, that a reverse of conduct will disturb my
happiness in a better world. But should (which Heaven forbid!) this heavy
misfortune be inevitable, I shall welcome death with joy, since it prevents my
being witness to your disgrace.”
Madame
de Cleves bathed her mother’s hands (which still held
her’s) with tears, while grief denied all utterance
to her words. “Farewel, my dearest child (continued
the expiring monitor) let us put a period to this conversation, which is far
more grievous to me than my approaching fate: I see
how it distresses you: may these be the only tears you will ever shed on the
occasion! Adieu, my dear daughter. Forget not, I beseech you, the last words of
your mother.” Having exerted herself to the utmost, she experienced a short
repose: but a few hours terminated her life, and left Madame de Cleves overwhelmed with sorrow.
Her
husband used every tender argument to console her, and he conducted her into
the country from a scene where every object reminded her of a loss her heart
most severely felt.—“Ah! my mother,” would she often
say to herself, “why did I lose you at a time when my fate made your presence
so necessary to me? What will become of me, deprived of your counsel, of your
example? To whom shall I now open my heart? Who will pity and listen to my
weakness; or who, alas! will now kindly endeavour to
support my sinking soul?”
The
behaviour of her husband touched her heart most sensibly. She was ever with
him, and became so well satisfied with the situation of her affection towards
him, that she imagined Nemours for ever banished from her mind. “I love (said
she) only this affectionate and best of men, and I shall yet be every thing my
dearest mother wished me.”
A
few weeks brought the Duke a visitant to their house in the country. Madame de Cleves felt more alarmed at his arrival than she thought
she should have been, and the recent death of her mother gave her an
opportunity of refusing to see him, without any apparent rudeness.—She chose
not to return to Paris for some time; but the Prince of Cleves
having business at court, he and the Duke returned together the next day.
The
former being detained in town entreated the presence of his wife, whose grief
he feared would be augmented by solitude; she obeyed his summons with some
reluctance, as she knew she could not avoid their receiving the visits of her
acquaintance, a task she by no means felt her spirits then equal to: she
examined her heart, and yet persuaded herself she had nothing to dread from the
presence of Nemours. Her mother’s last conversation, and the sincere regret she
felt for her loss, had damped every other idea, and she judged they would never
more return with any degree of strength to her mind.
The
Dauphiness visited her, on her arrival in town, and having told her with great
kindness, how much she had been a sharer in her afflictions, “I must now (said
she) entertain you with some anecdotes of a very different nature, that have
occurred since your absence from court. I must begin with Nemours’s history. Do
you know that his conduct is a mystery not to be discovered? It is certain he
loves some woman in this kingdom sufficiently to make him neglect the prospect
of being wedded to a powerful Princess. No one is his confidant, not even, I am
assured, your uncle de
The
ambassador can no longer excuse his delay to the Queen, he tells him so in the
strongest terms; he entreats him to attend more warmly to his interest. The
King himself has urged him on the subject. He excuses himself with the
improbability of success; but it is very plain his wishes to succeed are
totally at an end. Your uncle believes and fears that he is engaged in some
very unfortunate passion, as he is almost certain he holds no sort of
intercourse with the object of his love, as he is thoroughly acquainted with
the manner of spending his time; all places seem alike to him and none are
pleasing: de Chartres is miserable that his friend,
so worthy to be beloved, should have placed his affections where, according to
all appearance, they are so ungratefully received.”
What
a conversation was this to Madame de Cleves,
believing (as she could not avoid doing) herself to be the person so fatal to
Nemours! Her heart, naturally tender, what did it not feel at the idea of the
distress she gave to his? At the idea that she alone was the unfortunate
bar between him and that glorious fortune and elevation that awaited him?
His careful concealment of his sentiments for her raised him still higher in
her esteem. “The world will have it, continued the Dauphiness,
that I am the person who has caused this change in the Duke de Nemours,
and I am continually flattered with so extraordinary a conquest.”
These
last words brought an unwilling blush into the countenance of Madame de Cleves. “No one (answer’d she,
coolly) could make him renounce his present prospects, but yourself.” “I should
certainly confess it, replied the Princess, did I know it to be so: real
passion seldom escapes the discovery of those who inspire it; I am convinced
Nemours feels for me no more than that complaisance and attention his address
and politeness oblige him to pay to every woman of rank he approaches: I have
been a pretty strict observer of his change of character, and am positively
certain I have no share in whatever may have occasioned it.” After some other
conversation the Dauphiness left Madame de Cleves to
the most uneasy reflexions.
The
next day she was obliged to receive a number of visits. Nemours, who had waited
her return with extreme impatience, took that opportunity of paying her his compliments: he happened to find her alone: she could not be
perfectly at ease on receiving him. He approached her with a respect and
fearfulness attendant only on a genuine passion. Her mourning, and the
melancholy cast of her features, rather added to her beauty. He condoled with
her on the loss of Madame de Chartres: the subject
still indulged her:—she dwelt upon it.
She
told him, that though time might possibly abate the violence of her present
grief, this heavy misfortune would impress every hour of her future life with a
degree of sorrow. “It is true, Madam, (replied Nemours) that great afflictions,
as well as violent passions, occasion alterations in our dispositions. I have
often heard this advanced, but was not actually convinced of it, till since my
return from Flanders; I can now from experience pronounce it to be a truth, as
I am told by my friends, that I am no longer the same person they formerly knew
me.”
“The
Dauphiness, (said Madame de Cleves, wishing to
interrupt him) yesterday made some such observation.” “I am no way displeased,
Madam, said he, that the Dauphiness has made this remark; I should be very glad
she were not the only lady I respect, that did so.
Mine is a situation the most painful: I appeal to yourself, Madam, if what I
shall now describe is not so;—To feel the most sincere, the most pure, yet the
most ardent passion, for one to whom we dare give no evidence of love, except
by circumstances that are not immediately addressed to themselves: yet, though
forbid to utter those sentiments which torture the heart by restraint, we are
yet willing they should be sensible that we regard every other object but
themselves with indifference: Even a crown would be too dearly purchased if
only to be attained by absence from her we love. In general women estimate the
merit of their lovers by their assiduity. Alas! Madam, in attending to your sex
there is a pleasure that never costs a difficulty to perform; but, to avoid
meeting the person we adore, for fear of discovering to the world, or even to themselves, that passion which is at once our happiness and
misery! this, Madam, is surely the most severe task
that Fate can inflict. The truest proof of a love without hope of cure is, when
it has power sufficient to alter our nature and render us indifferent to every
thing which formerly attached our regard. When we renounce our ambition and our
pleasures, surely the object for which we do so, must
be dearer than them all. Is not this, Madam, a certain
evidence that one only passion engrosses the whole soul?”
Madame
de Cleves was in the utmost confusion during this
speech: too well did she understand whose situation he thus described, as well
as the object to which it referred. She debated in her mind whether she should
answer as one who had a right to be offended at such a declaration, or should
let it pass seemingly unobserved. A silent advocate within her own breast
pleaded excuse for what was uttered with so much delicacy and respect. She
therefore only agreed with the Duke on the difficulty of such circumstances, and
their further conversation was happily for her interrupted by other visitors.
When
Madame de Cleves had leisure to reflect, she found
she had too soon flattered herself with indifference for Nemours. She was
convinced he loved her, and could only hope, that those sentiments she was
likewise possessed of towards him, might remain a secret to all
the world, but more particularly so to him, for whom she felt them. To
effect this, and to endeavour entirely to banish what she blamed to the highest
degree in herself, she determined to go seldom to court, to spend her time at
home, and to be as little as possible in his company. These thoughts, so
painful to her delicate mind, were attended with a deep melancholy that preyed
upon her health and spirits. Her late loss was a sufficient cause to the public
for her retirement and aversion to all amusements. She even flattered herself, it was the principal source of every distress she
felt.
Nemours
was no longer seen in public. Where Madame de Cleves
was not, there could be no charm for him. The Prince, her husband, was attacked
with a slight indisposition, which confined him to his house, but did not
prevent him from seeing his friends. The Duke de Nemours was of that number: he
spent the greatest part of the day with him. Madame de Cleves
was under the utmost embarrassment on this account: The more agreeable she
found the conversation of her concealed lover, the stronger charm she found in
his society, the more did she become determined not to
indulge herself in either. —These resolutions, though they cost her heart some
struggles, she put in practice; and she began by constantly quitting the room,
soon after he made his appearance there. The Duke was too much interested, not
to perceive she intended to avoid him. To see her, to speak to her, were now
the only pleasures he was capable of enjoying: in depriving him of these, she
made him the most wretched of mankind.
Her husband grew displeased at her aversion to company. He saw that she frequently left his friends to sit alone in her chamber; tears and sighs were there her only companions. He remonstrated at this conduct with more vehemence and severity than he had ever spoken to her with before. He beseeched her not to allow grief for her departed mother to overcome her regard for those that survived, and loved her tenderly. He insisted that this cause should no longer be alledged against the society of him and of her friends.
Upon
which she eagerly entreated him to take her from
The
Prince of Cleves, though affected by her tears, was
not to be prevailed on by her entreaties. He believed the only way to remove
the dejection that preyed upon her, and to restore her to her former self, was
to insist on her again partaking those amusements of which she had often been
considered as the brightest ornament. He consented to her passing a few weeks
in the country; but determined that, after that period, she should again mix in
all the entertainments and gaiety of the court.
Madame
de Cleves then hastened to her wished retirement.
There she no longer feared to see the Duke de Nemours; but though she saw him
not, her thoughts were incessantly employed on him alone. By continually
considering how she should banish his idea, it became the more firmly rooted in
her mind. The more time she had for reflexion, the
more certainly did she find herself convinced, that one only subject engrossed
her every thought.
Angry
and dissatisfied with herself, she now became more impatient to return to
Among
many thoughts of which Nemours was the subject, his connections and reputations
from
That
friend whom Nemours had placed in
The
Dauphiness had about this time miniature pictures of all the beauties of the
French court drawn, as a present for the Queen of Scotland, her mother. Her
favourite’s was one of the first done, and Nemours was sometimes present when
Madame de Cleves sat to the painter. The Dauphiness
asked the Prince of Cleves for a miniature he already
had of his Princess, to compare the likeness with the one which was then doing:
after it had been examined, it was laid upon a table in Madame de Cleves’s apartment.
Nemours
had long ardently wished for her picture. He saw now an opportunity of getting
this treasure into his possession: and as there were many persons at that time
present, he knew that Madame de Cleves only would
suspect him particularly for having taken it. The scheme was no sooner formed
in his mind, then it was determined upon: It was too delightful not to be pursued;
no difficulties were allowed to interfere; that very instant was most
favourable; the Prince of Cleves was not then in the
room: His lady and the Dauphiness were deeply engaged in conversation. He
approached the table and stood with his back to them; looking round, he saw the
rest of the company variously engaged, and hesitated not a moment to deposit in
his bosom his precious theft. Turning hastily to Madame de Cleves,
he soon perceived by the crimson in her cheeks, that he had not been unnoticed
by her.
The
Dauphiness observing her confusion and inattention,
asked her aloud what had occasioned the disorder that was visible in her
countenance. Nemours was not less embarrassed by the question, than the person
to whom it was addressed. When she had a little recovered herself, she
determined to ask for her picture: but to do it so publickly,
was to discover to the world that Nemours loved her; to ask it privately, was
to engage him, at least to give him an opportunity of making further
declarations on a subject which she of all others wished to avoid. She was for
some time irresolute; but the idea that she made him happy without being at all
blameable in doing so, turned the scale in his favour, and she determined that
the picture should remain in his possession.
Nemours,
though he had succeeded in a matter to him far from being of small importance,
was thoroughly vexed at the disquiet that clouded the countenance of her he
truly loved; and in a low voice, as he leaned on the back of the chair in which
she sat, he ventured to say; “If, Madame, you have really been a witness of my
presumption, yet have the kindness to let me believe you are ignorant of it;
this is all I dare ask of you.” He waited not her reply, but impatiently
retired to contemplate at leisure what he was content to purchase, even at the expence of her displeasure.
The
picture was missed and searched for, the next day. The Prince of Cleves greatly regretted the loss; and nothing could hurt
the ingenuous mind of his Princess more than being obliged to hear the
enquiries made after it, and the necessity she felt herself under to conceal
the truth on this occasion. Her husband told her with a smile, that some
favoured lover had certainly received the picture at her hands, or else had
stolen it: for no one but your lover, said he, would have been content with the
picture only. It had indeed been taken even from the little gold frame that
enclosed it, to have some alteration made in the dress. This remark, though
spoken in jest, was very sensibly felt by Madame de Cleves.
“To what am I reduced?” (said she, when alone) “What
is become of that laudable sincerity in which I prided myself? My actions and
my sentiments no longer agree. Oh, my mother,” (continued she, with a flood of
tears) “behold not the conduct of your daughter, without you have the power to
sustain her weakness, and save her from herself! She is no longer that daughter
who was worthy of your love.—Yet witness, most
respected shade! your last words are engraven on my heart; and I will dare to be unhappy, but
not guilty! Oh! be thou still my guardian angel;
support me in this conflict, and point out to me what I ought to do. Sincerity
was your favourite virtue: I will obey its dictates; I will open my heart to my
husband. Shall I plant sorrows in his worthy breast? Shall I tell him I have
given away that affection which he merits, and which is his due? Ungenerous
resolve! No, let me still stifle in my own bosom distresses which I have
brought upon myself. Let me be wretched alone, but let him be ever happy.”
A
match at tennis had long been fixed to be played by the King with Nemours, de
Guise, and de Chartres. The Queen and the ladies of
the court were present. As they were retiring after it was over, one of the Dauphiness’s ladies presented her with a letter, which she
told her, had a few minutes before fallen from the pocket of the Duke de
Nemours.—“Give it me,” (said the Dauphiness eagerly) “I will take care of it.”
The
company then attended the King to see some famous horses which he had lately
purchased. Nemours and de Guise mounted two of them, that they might be seen to
greater advantage. That on which the Duke de Nemours rode, was so extremely
mettlesome, that in pulling him in rather too much, he started against a post
with great violence, and his rider received such a shock as for a while
deprived him of sense. Every one ran to his assistance. Madame de Cleves forgot the part she was to sustain; her countenance
changed, and she fainted before they could procure any thing for her relief.
Nemours,
after a little while, was supported to the place where she and the rest of the
ladies were. He instantly perceived the emotion this
accident had occasioned her to feel, nor could she be insensible, from his
looks, of the extreme gratitude this mark of her kindness had excited. No
sooner was she convinced of his safety, than her face glowed at the
recollection of the evidence she had involuntarily given of her anxiety for
him; she yet hoped it might be attributed to the delicacy of her health and
spirits, at that time; but the Chevalier de Guise, who led her to her carriage,
destroyed this flattering idea. “Pardon me, Madam,” said he, “if for a moment I
forget the profound respect I have ever paid you. I am too much grieved at what
I have but now discovered, to remain silent; absence shall effectually prevent
my presuming again to disoblige. Forgive me, Madam, when I say, that till this
hour I believed all who loved you were as unfortunate as myself.” Madame de Cleves was too much hurt at this observation to answer it.
The Chevalier, who had indeed tenderly loved her, really quitted the court, and
went abroad soon after.
Madame
de Cleves made a point of appearing at court the
evening of that day which had so much distressed her: to the surprise of every
one Nemours was likewise at the Louvre, more
magnificently dressed than usual; so far from being affected by the accident
that had happened but a few hours before, an uncommon joy lighted up his
countenance, liveliness and good humour animated his features; he not only
seemed, but really was, the happiest person there. That proof, so little to be
doubted, which Madame de Cleves had so lately given
of the interest she took in his safety, could not but influence his behaviour.
He
was universally congratulated on his fortunate escape. A thousand enquiries were made after his health, nor were they omitted by any one
but her, who was of all others most sincerely interested in the enquiry. She
was overwhelmed with confusion at his entrance. She seemed not to observe him
as he approached her. “For Heaven’s sake, Madam,” (said he, stung with
indifference) “repent not of the pity you have this day shewn
me. I beseech you to believe that I am not unworthy of it. At least, Madam, I
merit your compassion.” He then passed on to speak to the lady that was next
her.
“Alas!”
(said Madame de Cleves to
herself) “all that I wished to conceal is discovered,
and Nemours now believes that I love him. Yet, is he not beloved by many? See I not this night how much respect and attention are paid
him? Who can refuse esteem to worth like his? To Honour, Truth, and Delicacy,
is not love and esteem due? Virtue of every kind should command its reward.”
Such reflexions were balm to her doubting mind; she
passed the evening more tolerably than she expected, by being able to assure
herself there was no peculiar partiality in thinking well of Nemours.
The
Dauphiness whispered Madame de Cleves, that she had
something very particular to communicate to her, and having withdrawn to another
apartment, she took the letter Madame de N—— had given her from her pocket. “I
have here,” said she, “a treasure: it is a letter to Nemours written to him by
that mistress who has sole possession of his heart: you must assist me in
finding out this lady; you must carefully peruse the paper, and try, if by the
character or expression you can discover the writer. Come to me early in the
morning, for I shall be impatient to know what you can make of it.” Madame de Cleves took the letter with a trembling hand: She was
unable to make any comments on the matter, at that time, but promised to obey
the Princess. They returned to the company, and she took her leave immediately
after.
Having
shut herself up in her chamber, with no small agitation she opened the letter,
and read the following lines.
“I
have loved you too well to let you believe the change you observe in me is the
effect of an unsteady temper. Your infidelity is alone the cause of my
coldness. You have used many arts to hide your perfidy, and will therefore
wonder at the discovery I have made. Never was affliction equal to mine. I
believed you loved me with a sincere affection. I imprudently scrupled not to
tell you my heart felt an equal passion.¾You have deceived me; you love another, and sacrifice
me to your caprice and inconstancy.—You are unworthy to know that I have felt
any grief on your account, yet I allow you to complete your triumph, and
recommend yourself to your new mistress, by convincing her that you have
already been sincerely beloved. To tell you I no longer regard you, will give
you but little sorrow; yet you seemed distressed at the change in my behaviour,
and I beheld your apparent uneasiness with pleasure. It will be in vain for you
to protest that you do not love her, for whose sake you have forfeited my
affection: all explanations are of none effect. Your repentance can now make no
atonement to me; you have once deceived me, your heart has been divided.¾There requires no more to render your love no longer of any consequence
to me: I utterly disclaim it. Believe that my resolution is unalterable, and
that I will never see you more.”
“Unworthy
man!” exclaimed Madame de Cleves, “more deceitful,
because more apparently good, than the rest of your sex. There wanted but this
proof to convince me of my dearest mother’s observations, and to make me fully
attend to them as I ought. Yes, the Duke de Nemours is just what she painted
him; capable of sporting with the tenderness of our whole sex. This letter is
the picture of a virtuous, a sensible, and generous mind. Such are his
amusements, and such the sacrifice his vanity requires. That he should think I
regard him in any favourable light is now the only uneasiness I feel; but he
shall be convinced of the contrary. I have been also the dupe of his galantry¾mortifying reflection! Treacherous,
and almost hateful man! I ought to look upon this discovery as fortunate; it
has restored me to myself. I shall henceforward be at peace.”
Madame
de Cleves passed a most restless night. She found
herself much indisposed in the morning, and rose not at her usual hour; she was
astonished at the situation of her mind, having persuaded herself she was no
longer any way interested in the actions of Nemours. She totally forgot her
promise to attend the Dauphiness very early, though the letter was yet in her
hand which had occasioned that promise, and though she had read it over an
hundred times.
She
was not the only person who lost their repose by it. The Viscount de Chartres, to whom the letter really belonged, was miserable
from its loss: he had searched in vain for it; at length he was informed, a
paper had been found by one of the Pages and given to Madame de N——, who seeing
him take it up had asked for it, and said she herself would take care to return
it.
De
Chartres was more alarmed at this intelligence than
before. The Queen had long distinguished him by her peculiar favour and
confidence; so high a distinction was supposed to preclude all other serious
attachments. Her friendship was of the utmost
consequence to him; he was bound to her by the warmest
gratitude, the highest respect and zeal to her interests. But Madame de Themines, a young widow of rank and beauty possessed all
his tenderest affections. She was indeed the writer of this letter, which he so
much dreaded being handed about the court, and reaching the hands of the Queen.
After
debating some time what method was best to pursue, he recollected, that, as
there were no names inserted, Nemours might be of singular service to him,
through the letter’s being supposed to have been his. He went to his house
before he was risen, and, as they were on the most
intimate footing, desired to be admitted to his chamber on urgent business.
Nemours,
whose mind had enjoyed a most delightful tranquillity from the idea that Madame
de Cleves was not insensible to his passion, was
extremely unwilling to be disturbed; but, on hearing the message, instantly
attended the summons of his friend.
“I am come” (said de Chartres) “to acquaint you with a matter to me of the utmost moment. You are but little obliged to me for my confidence; nothing but the most urgent necessity could induce me to impart to any one what I must now tell you. I hardly know where to begin, or in what terms to relate my story: but first, by our friendship I conjure you, promise me that you will own a letter which was written to me by a lady, and which I was so unfortunate as to drop from my pocket, yesterday. I am undone if you deny me
this request.”
“This
is a very strange proposal;” (said Nemours, smiling) “do you imagine there is
no one existing who would be uneasy at my receiving such letters?” “Be serious,
my dear Nemours,” (interrupted the Viscount) “this is really no matter of
pleasantry. I doubt not of your having attachments; but you shall be enabled to
acquit yourself, indeed you shall, to any particular person: At the same time
be assured I speak truly, when I say, if you refuse what I now ask of you, I
must by this unlucky adventure entirely break with a woman I love beyond measure,
and certainly procure myself the implacable hatred of another who has it in her
power to hurt my interest most materially.”
“I
understand you,” said Nemours, “you are afraid of the Queen.” “You know,” said
de Chartres, “that I am honoured with her friendship
and confidence in a particular degree; on these terms only were they granted to
me.” “I am willing,” said she, “and desirous that you should be my friend, but
I must not be a stranger to your engagements;
you must ingenuously tell me, if your heart is
attached to any woman whatever.” I assured her it was not. “I will believe
you,” said she, “because I wish it to be so. It would be impossible I should be
satisfied with your attachments to me, if you confessed yourself a lover. There
is no trusting those who are so, no reliance on their secrecy; their mistress
certainly thinks herself entitled to their confidence: Of course such a
situation would be incompatible with the friendship I expect from you; as I
have many matters of the highest importance to communicate and advise with you upon.”
“I
dealt not ingenuously with the Queen,” added he, “I loved, and still love
Madame de Themines, from whom the letter I have
mentioned came; judge then, on either side how
distressed I shall be if this paper is handed about as mine. My conduct has
been blameable, I confess; yet I entreat you to assist in extricating me from
this difficulty. Go to the Dauphiness, who by this time has the letter from
Madame de N——, and get it for me on any terms before it goes further.”
“Your
situation,” said Nemours, “I allow, my friend, is an unpleasant one: You cannot
doubt of my readiness to serve you; but I assure you, in this matter there are
some
difficulties on my own account that I would very gladly
avoid: And if the paper, as you say, fell from your pocket, how am I to
persuade any one that it dropped from mine?” “I thought I had before informed
you,” said de Chartres,
“that the Dauphiness has been told the letter is yours.” “How” (replied Nemours
hastily; apprehending the consequence of the mistake) “do they believe it mine
already?” “Assuredly,” said the Viscount; “and the reason is, that you and I
were really speaking to each other, at the instant it was dropped; therefore,
if you do not avow it to be yours, it must inevitably be pronounced mine, and I
have already told you the fatal consequences of such an event to me; it is in
your power to get it instantly returned, as yours, and to save me a world of inquietude.”
Nemours
really loved de Chartres: he wished to oblige him,
yet could not help hesitating to give this proof of his friendship.¾He paused: he knew not what to determine upon.¾“I see very plainly,” said the Viscount, “that you fear making some one
you love unhappy by this mistake. This difficulty will I obviate. Most likely
it is the Dauphiness herself, whom you would not suffer to imagine the letter
yours. It is by no means reasonable you should sacrifice your happiness to
mine. I consent to your revealing to the woman you love, whoever she be, the
reasons of your conduct; and for your further justification, I give you this
billet from Madame d’Amboise,
the friend of Madame de Themines, who demands from me
the very letter I have lost. Their names are here inserted. It is addressed to
me, and will leave no doubt with the person to whom you shew
it. Hasten, then, my friend, I beseech you, and set my mind at peace as soon as
possible.”
Nemours
gladly took the billet, as he was impatient to clear himself to Madame de Cleves, who he was certain by this time was fully acquainted
with the matter. He went immediately to her house, and was a good deal
disappointed to be told she was not yet
risen, though it was then very late. He begged she
might be asked at what hour she would see him, as he had something very
particular to communicate to her. Madame de Cleves
was a good deal surprised at his message but so totally out of humour at the
very name of Nemours, that she answered she was indisposed, and should see no
company that day.
Nemours, when he recollected the cause why he was treated thus severely, could not be altogether displeased. Any thing was preferable to her indifference; but in
what manner he should be able to convince her, that
he deserved not the censure he now laboured under, was a task by no means easy
to accomplish. He enquired for the Prince of Cleves,
and being conducted to his apartment, told him he was come to Madame de Cleves on a matter that very nearly concerned the Viscount
de Chartres her uncle; that it was really an affair
of some importance, and though he heard she was not well, entreated he would
prevail on her to see him but for a few minutes.
He
explained part of the subject of his visit, and the Prince readily conducted
him to her dressing-room; where she was sitting quite in dishabille
and alone, having desired that no visitors whatever should be admitted. She was
struck with astonishment when she saw who her husband had introduced into her
apartment. “You must not refuse to see Nemours (said he) he comes to you on
business relative to your uncle, and you must consult together what can be done
for him. I would willingly assist you, but am under a necessity of attending
the King immediately. I doubt not but you will be able to relieve the Viscount
from his anxiety.” Saying this he left them.
“Have
you, Madam (said Nemours) seen or heard of a letter found yesterday and given
to the Dauphiness by one of her ladies?”¾“I have, Sir,” she replied, “but cannot see how my uncle can be at all
concerned in this matter: His name, I am certain, is not even mentioned in the
paper you speak of.”—“Notwithstanding what you say, Madam, (answered Nemours)
the letter is the Viscount’s, and written to him by a lady he very much
regards. If you will favour me with your attention, I will relate to you, how
much your uncle is interested in this affair: And if you, Madam, do not kindly
lend your assistance to recover this letter from the Dauphiness, before it is
rendered more public, he will think himself extremely unhappy.”
“Excuse
me, Sir,” (said Madame de Cleves, a little angrily) I
have not leisure at present to attend to your relation. I see not why the paper
should be requested in my uncle’s name. What you could take the trouble to say
to me would be of no sort of consequence; you had much better see the Dauphiness
yourself. I can inform you, that she really has the letter, and likewise that
she is already informed it is yours.” Nemours could not but be secretly
flattered by the uneasiness visible in her countenance, when she pronounced
these words. “You must at least hear me, Madam (said he) what I say is strictly
true. I am really no other ways interested about this letter, than as it
concerns the peace and interest of Monsieur de Chartres,
to whom it really was written.”
“Very
possibly, Sir, (said Madame de Cleves) but the
Dauphiness has been told otherwise, and perhaps it will not be very easy to
persuade her, or any one else, that my uncle’s letter should drop from your
pocket. As you can have no cause, I should imagine, to conceal the truth, you
had better at once confess it to be yours, and it will certainly be returned to
you.”
“I
have nothing to confess, Madame (said Nemours) the paper I speak of concerns my
friend, and him only, and if you will deign to hear me, I will convince you of
the truth of what I assert.”—He then briefly acquainted her with the
circumstances that de Chartres had before told him.¾The coldness and indifference with which she attended to his
conversation, plainly shewed that she believed not what he said, till at length
he produced the billet of Madame de Amboise; this he
would willingly have suppressed; but there was no other way of convincing
Madame de Cleves.
She
had no sooner perused this paper (with the writer of which she was acquainted)
than she entered warmly into the interests of her uncle, and confessing that
the letter was then in her own possession, scrupled not to return it by
Nemours. She then entreated he would assist her in framing some excuses to the
Dauphiness for not returning the paper. Having agreed this matter, she was
preparing to attend the Princess, when she received a message that she was
impatiently expected.
“Why
were you not here sooner,” (said the Dauphiness, when she saw Madame de Cleves) your delay has extremely perplexed me. The Queen
has heard of our letter, she suspects it to be your uncle’s; she has made great
enquiry about it, and sent to me some time ago desiring she might see it; I
would not say it was with you, fearing to strengthen her in her opinion of its
belonging to de Chartres, and that I had given it to
you on his account. Give it me then quickly (said she) that I may send it to
the Queen.”
“I
know not what to say to you (answered Madame de Cleves)
you will with great reason be displeased with me, when I confess to you that I
gave the letter to the Prince of Cleves to whom
Nemours had this morning told the story of his losing it. He at first only
asked my interest with you for its return; but finding it was in the possession
of my husband, prevailed upon him by the strongest entreaties to restore it. He
would not indeed be refused, after the Prince of Cleves
had imprudently confessed he had the paper. He painted it as a matter of the
utmost importance, and assured himself, and us, that you would pardon his not
waiting on you himself to request it.”
“You
have acted very improperly (said the Dauphiness) to give up any thing I
entrusted to you, without my consent; the consequences are, that I shall
disoblige the Queen, by refusing what she will certainly believe is in my
possession; and your uncle will be a sufferer, as she will never be convinced
there are not reasons for concealing it. I am extremely angry with you
(continued she) and could not have believed you would have abused my confidence
so much.”
“Believe
me, Madam (said the Princess of Cleves) I would not
forfeit your friendship for the world; and be assured, I have been extremely
uneasy at this
circumstance, which I have not been able to avoid. I
entreat that you will forgive me, and impute to the Prince my husband, that
imprudence which I would not myself have been guilty of.”