Old Court Life in France, Volume II (of 2). Elliot Frances Minto Dickinson

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СКАЧАТЬ of honour looked at him with tearful eyes. His earnestness, his desolation, his entreaties, melted her heart. His unconscious love made her pulses beat as quickly as his own.

      "You know that I am devoted to you, – what more can I say?" she whispered softly.

      "I have a favour to ask you," said Louis anxiously, – "a favour so great I hesitate to name it." He was greatly agitated. At this moment the passionate love he felt animated him with new life, and lent a charm to his countenance it had never borne before.

      "A favour, Sire? – it is granted before you speak. How is it that you have concealed it from me?"

      "Then I am satisfied," – the King heaved a sigh of relief, – "what I ask depends entirely on you. You will grant it."

      "Am I to promise?"

      "Well, only give me your word; that is enough."

      "Sire, I give you my word; from the bottom of my heart, I give you my word. Tell me what it is you desire." And she raised her face towards the King, who contemplated her with silent rapture.

      "Not now, – not now," murmured he, in a faltering voice; "I dare not; it would require too long an explanation, – we might be interrupted," and he turned and glanced at the scene behind him, – at Anne of Austria, blazing with diamonds, radiant with regal beauty, her silvery laugh surmounting the hum of conversation. He saw the brilliant crowd that thronged around her where she sat. Great princes, illustrious ministers, historic nobles, chivalric soldiers, grave diplomatists, stately matrons, ministers of state, her ladies in waiting, and the five other maids of honour, in the glory of golden youth. He saw the dazzling lights, the fluttering feathers, the gorgeous robes, the sparkling jewels, standing out from the painted walls, – all the glamour of a luxurious Court. Then he gazed at the sweet face of the lonely girl whose loving eyes were bent upon him awaiting his reply, – his soul sank within him.

      "Would to God I were not King of France," he exclaimed abruptly, following the tenor of his thoughts. Then, seeing her wonder at his sudden outburst, he added, "The favour I ask of you shall be made known to you in writing. This evening you shall receive a letter from me; but," – and he drew closer to her and spoke almost fiercely, – "remember you have pledged yourself to me – you cannot, you dare not withdraw your word. If you do," – and an agonised look came into his face, – "you will drive me to madness." Saying these words, he suddenly disappeared. She was again left standing alone on the balcony.

      Louise de Lafayette was startled, but not alarmed. The notion that the King was capable of making any indecorous proposition to her never for a moment occurred to her; at the same time she felt the utmost curiosity to know what this secret might be. She formed a thousand different conjectures, each further than the other from the truth. On entering her room at night, she found a letter from the King. She hastily tore it open and read as follows: —

      "I have long adored you, and you only. During the whole time you have been at Court, I have been able but twice to address you alone, and to chance only did I even then owe that inexpressible privilege. It is impossible for me to endure this restraint any longer. If you feel as I do, you will not desire it. I have therefore commanded that my hunting-lodge at Versailles should be arranged as much as possible in accordance with your taste. There is a garden laid out, filled with the flowers you love; there are secluded lawns; there is the boundless forest. Above all, there is freedom. Come then, my Louise, and share with me this rural retreat – come where we can meet, unrestrained by the formalities of my Court. Bring with you any friend you please. At Versailles I hope to spend part of every week in your company. My happiness will be perfect; you will find me the most grateful of men. You will have nothing to fear. Do you dream calumny? Who would dare to attack a lady as pure as yourself? May I not claim your consent when I rely on your promise to grant whatever I ask? I feel that you cannot deny me, for you have repeated a thousand times that you trust my principles. You cannot doubt my honour. To refuse me would only be to insult me. Surely Louise, you would not do that! It would wound me to the very soul. It would destroy every hope of my future life.

"(Signed) Louis."

      When Mademoiselle de Lafayette read this artful letter, which had been composed by Chavigny under the direction of Richelieu, and copied out by the King, she was utterly confounded. The fatal veil which had so long concealed the truth fell from her eyes. Even to a girl pure and simple as herself, all further delusion was impossible. This letter and the feelings that dictated it were not to be misunderstood.

      "Merciful heavens!" cried she, clasping her hands, "with what a tone of authority, with what assurance, he proposes to dishonour me! This, then, is the attachment I believed to be so pure! What! does he, the husband of the Queen of France, suppose that I would encourage a guilty passion! Wretch that I am! Instead of helping him, I have led him into sin! I had no right to engross his thoughts. He is already estranged from his wife, and I have severed them still further! O God! what will the Queen think of me? How can I atone for this horrible sin? I must – I will – reconcile them. Then God may forgive my involuntary crime!"

      Again and again, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she read and re-read the letter. She pressed the paper to her lips. The next moment she dashed it on the floor in an agony of remorse.

      "Oh, how can I reply?" sobbed she. "What can I say to temper the blow which must sever us? He will be in despair – he will die. But my reputation, my honour – his own – his duty to the Queen! No, I will never consent to such degradation – my soul revolts at the thought! How gladly would I sacrifice my life for him, but I cannot commit a sin. I must leave the palace, I must go – Whither?"

      As she listened to the echo of her own words, an unformed thought suddenly darted into her mind. Go – yes, she would go where none could follow. Youth, beauty, wealth, the sacrifice should be complete. She would prove, even in separation, how great had been her love. "There is no other way," she said, speaking aloud, and an angelic smile lit up her face. She cast herself upon her knees, and prayed in peace. Her prayer finished, she took up her pen and replied thus to the King: —

      "Your Majesty desires that we should no longer meet in the presence of witnesses. Before knowing what was required of me, I promised to comply. I will not withdraw my word; but I entreat of your Majesty the liberty of myself selecting the place where these private interviews are to be held. When I have received your Majesty's assent, I will inform you where this place is to be. In eight days' time I shall be prepared to receive you. Your Majesty can then judge of the extent of my confidence, and of the unbounded devotion I feel towards you.

"Louise de Lafayette."

       CHAPTER IV.

      THE SACRIFICE

      NEXT morning, as soon as it was light, Louise sent for the King's confessor. She showed him the King's letter, and confided to him her resolution. Caussin listened in silence; but the kindly old man, priest though he was, could not restrain his tears – so touching was her innocence, so heartfelt her sorrow. He understood the simple goodness of her heart; he trembled at the sacrifice she was imposing on herself; but he could not combat her arguments. He promised, therefore, to assist in making the needful arrangements, and he pledged himself to support the King in the trial awaiting him.

      The coach was in waiting which was to bear her to her future home. All at once she recollected she had still one final sacrifice to make. The letters of the King, which she always carried about her, were still intact within the silken cover in which she preserved them. She drew these letters from her bosom and gazed on them in silent agony. Her eyes were blinded by tears. She dared not read them again, for she knew they would but increase her grief. As she held them in her hand, remorse at what she had done preponderated over every feeling. Thus to have enthralled a husband belonging to another – her sovereign and her mistress – came suddenly before her in its true СКАЧАТЬ