Part 30 (1/2)
Mademoiselle was Lauzun's resource and providence. She compensated him as far as might be with a fresh devotion, in which Saint-Fargeau figured as an item, and found means to pay him nearly 300,000 francs[301] over what the King would have been obliged to give him if he had not been sent to Pignerol. With much difficulty, the importunities of Mademoiselle obtained the desired permission for the ex-prisoner to salute the King and afterward to dwell where it pleased him, on the single condition that he would not approach the Court. Access to this was strictly forbidden; but what would it have mattered, when he would have humbled himself before his master?
Alas! the charm was broken, and for ever. In March, 1682, at the single interview granted, Lauzun threw himself ten times, consecutively, at the feet of Louis XIV.--the King himself relates this--and employed all his grace, all his flatteries, without succeeding in breaking the ice.
Received coolly and dismissed without delay, there was nothing left but to fall back upon Mademoiselle. They had not yet met, and it is a terrible test of devotion to meet after eleven years, and to endeavour to again open the page closed by misfortune. The Grande Mademoiselle of the time previous to the imprisonment at Pignerol singularly resembled the Hermione of Racine, in her jealousy and violence. The one of 1682 was not yet a tranquil person, but Hermione was an old woman, and Pyrrhus a licentious greybeard, who was endeavouring to recompense himself for the time lost in prison.
Years had not made Lauzun in love with his benefactress, and he arrived to meet her well resolved to finish simply with expressions of grat.i.tude and of love. Mademoiselle was well aware of his infidelities. The grief, mingled with irritation, which she felt displayed itself in a sort of stiffness and embarra.s.sment. The great joy she had antic.i.p.ated in again seeing her lover, she did not realise.
She had existed ten long years for this moment, and when it came, she desired to escape. She went to await Lauzun at Mme. de Montespan's, a first piece of absurdity. ”M. de Lauzun,” say her _Memoires_, ”arrived after his interview with the King; he wore an old undress uniform with short waistcoat, almost in rags, and a very ugly wig.[302] He sank at my feet with much grace. Then Mme. de Montespan led us into a cabinet, and said, 'You will be glad to speak together.' She then went away, and I followed her.” A second ridiculous action! Lauzun profited by the delay to salute the rest of the royal family. On returning, he found his Princess with Mme. de Montespan and did not see her an instant alone: ”He told me that he had been cordially received, and that this he owed to me; that I was his only source of good, the one from which he received all. He made certain amiable propositions, and in thus acting he was only wise. I was silent; I was astonished.”
This interview finished, Lauzun considered himself free from his obligations and returned to Paris with a peaceful conscience.
Mademoiselle dared not follow him too quickly. The fourth day they were at Choisy, a new mansion that Mademoiselle had built two leagues from Sceaux. Lauzun regarded the Princess while she was having her head adorned with flame-coloured ribbons. ”He said, 'I was astonished to see the Queen with many-coloured ribbons on her head.' 'You must find it wrong, then, that I should wear them, who am older?' He did not reply. I told him that rank permitted the decoration for a longer period.”
Mademoiselle had at first written, ”People of my rank are always young,”
but had effaced the phrase. Lauzun knew well how to restore her to a good-humour, and he let himself be scolded, escaping towards evening to return to his pleasures.
The fifth day they again disputed. Lauzun was in the wrong; he had spoken of his visits to Choisy as duties. Mademoiselle, however, injured her cause with sharpness. ”I see clearly,” said she, ”that in this world people who do good are mocked, as they are bores.” Lauzun, vexed, demanded, ”How much longer is this pleasantry to last?” ”As long as I please; I have the right to say all I wish, and you are bound to listen.” Lauzun showed ”much impatience to depart,” and this was not altogether unnatural, considering the nature of man. At another interview, it was the lover who was the first to show irritation. To be no longer of any importance in the world of society, to be two steps from the Court without being free to enter, this was more than he could bear. He accused Mademoiselle of having managed very badly and having only done harm; ”if she had not interfered with his affairs,” he would have come out of prison under better conditions. Mme. de Montespan overheard the accusation and was very indignant at this injustice and ingrat.i.tude, and the Princess united with her in reproaches. It would be difficult to find a clear moment in the midst of these frequent quarrels, in which the pair would have desired to marry, if they had not done so before Pignerol. Here is again a moral proof to add to the others.
About every two days, Lauzun became metamorphosed, and was again for some hours, or at least minutes, for Mademoiselle the former ”little man” whose eccentricities gave an indescribable charm, difficult to explain, but impossible to deny. He had not the least trouble in again captivating his mistress. As soon as he a.s.sumed the sweet and submissive air and the enigmatical smile which she had so dearly loved (even combined with the manners which she sometimes distrusted, ”of being acquainted with everything without speaking or copying”), Mademoiselle fell anew under the charm and could refuse nothing. But this happy state of affairs never lasted. The time to obtain from her some new concession, another service, and the exaggerated manner of the convict dragging his chain reappeared. He loved to exasperate her jealousy. If nothing better offered, ”he amused himself with grisettes,”[303] even after the royal family had received him as cousin ”understood,” if not avowed, and when all Paris was congratulating Mademoiselle on his happy release.
Other serious difficulties arose from the fact of Lauzun considering the money of Mademoiselle as his own. Choisy appeared to him a useless expense; he found much fault with its management. ”The terraces cost immense sums,” said he one day while walking in the grounds; ”what good are they?” The Princess had sold in his absence a chain of pearls.
”Where is the money?” demanded Lauzun. He wished to hold the purse strings, and no longer to be a ”beggar.” It astonished him that Mademoiselle had not thought of preparing for him, before his arrival, ”a beautiful apartment,” of organising his establishment, of placing one of her carriages at his disposal.
He complained openly in the social world that she left him without a penny; that she had only given him some diamonds, worth perhaps one thousand pistoles in all--and what stones, so ”ugly”!--and that he had immediately sold them to obtain means of ”subsistence.” This is the perpetual complaint of the youthful husband, who wishes to be recompensed for the devotion lavished upon an elderly wife. The ”beautiful apartment” existed and awaited him, but it was at the Chateau of Eu; the King would not tolerate his presence at the Luxembourg.
Those who had the good fortune to visit Eu before the fire of 1902 will not have forgotten the flight of Loves on the ceiling of a chamber situated above that belonging to Mademoiselle. The Chamber of the Loves was the one designed for Lauzun, who failed, however, to honour the symbol. After a delay of three weeks, he no sooner arrived than he committed the unpardonable imprudence of running after the village girls, under the very eyes of Mademoiselle. This was too much. The mistress of the chateau beat Lauzun, scratched his face, and turned him out of doors. There he should stay. He was sufficiently shrewd to desire an accommodation. The Comtesse de Fiesque served as intermediary.
In the Chateau of Eu there was a long gallery filled with family portraits. Mademoiselle appeared at one end; ”he [Lauzun] was at the other, and he crept along on his knees the entire length of the gallery, till he reached the feet of Mademoiselle.”[304] Possibly they forgave each other sincerely, but when friction once exists between married couples it continues, whether in the palace of princes or in the huts of charcoal burners. Such scenes, more or less stormy, occurred again in the future. Lauzun grew weary of being beaten, and in his turn used force with the Princess, and this happened several times. In the end, disgusted with each other, they fought for the last time and separated, never to meet again.
The final quarrel is related in detail in the _Memoires_ of Mademoiselle. It happened in the spring of 1684. France was at war with Spain. On April 22d the King departed to join his army, refusing to permit Lauzun to accompany him, who imagined, rightly or wrongly, that Mademoiselle was responsible for the prohibition, and was indignant. He went to the Luxembourg, where a reception of raillery exasperated him still further:
I met him laughing, and said: ”You must retire to Saint-Fargeau; you will be a laughing stock if you remain at Paris, as you were not permitted to go with the King, and I shall be very vexed if it is believed that it is I who have caused you to remain behind.” He replied: ”I am going away, and bid you farewell; I shall never see you again.” I said: ”It would have been better if we had never met; but better late than never.” ”You have ruined my career,” replied he; ”you might as well have cut my throat; it is your fault that I am not with the King; you asked him to leave me behind.” ”Oh, that is false; he will tell you so himself.” Lauzun grew more and more angry, and I remained very calm. I said to him: ”Adieu, then”; and I entered my boudoir. I remained there some time; on returning, I found him still there. The ladies present said: ”Do you not wish to play cards?” I approached him, saying: ”This is too much; keep your promise; go away.” He finally withdrew.
This rupture made a great scandal. Dangeau, who had followed the King to the frontier, noted on May 6th, in his journal: ”The news comes from Paris that Mademoiselle has forbidden M. de Lauzun to appear again before her.” Thus ends meanly and miserably, with a scene worthy of d.i.c.kens, the most famous pa.s.sion of the century, after that of Chimene and Rodrigue. The first interest in the affair abated, the hero of the romance sank into obscurity. Mademoiselle cast herself into an ecstasy of pious devotion, from which the virtue of pardoning the offences of others was apparently excluded.
Lauzun sought some support to which to attach himself, and did not easily find it. He realised too late that one could not quarrel with impunity with a princess of the blood. He made attempts at reconciliation, which Mademoiselle repulsed; she had loved with too much ardour not to be capable of furious hate. The career of both lovers appeared to be finished, when the fantastic star which had guided Lauzun towards so many adventures, marvellous if not always agreeable, led him to England during the autumn of 1688. He sought a more hospitable court, he found a revolution and glory. ”I admire the star of M. de Lauzun,”
wrote Mme. de Sevigne, ”which again brings its light over the horizon when it was supposed to be for ever extinguished” (December 24, 1688).
The name of Lauzun was actually again on the lips of all. He had saved the Queen of England and her son, and had brought them to Calais at great risk, and suddenly a.s.sumed the pose of a true hero, wrongly despised and persecuted. ”It is long,” at once said Louis, ”since Lauzun has seen my writing. I believe that he will rejoice at receiving a letter from me.” The royal missive bore to the former favourite more than the pardon for the past; it spoke of ”impatience to see him again.”[305] Mademoiselle considered this an outrage against herself; the ministers and courtiers, a menace. (December 27th): ”He [Lauzun] has found the road again to Versailles by way of London; but he alone is joyful.” The Princess is indignant at the thought that the King is again content with him, and that he can return to Court.[306]
In vain the King sent Seignelay to say to his cousin, as a sort of excuse and consolation: ”After such services rendered by Lauzun, it is my duty to see him.” Mademoiselle grew angry, and said, ”This is then the grat.i.tude I receive for having despoiled myself for the sake of the King's children.” One of the friends of M. de Lauzun was charged to present her with a letter. She threw it into the fire unread.[307] When it was realised that she was not to be appeased, people ceased to concern themselves with her and her bad temper. Lauzun re-entered in triumph the Court of France, and Bussy-Rabutin, in a letter to Mme. de Sevigne,[308] summed up the record of his career (February 2, 1689): ”We have seen him in favour, we have seen him submerged, and now behold he is again riding the waves. Do you remember a childish game in which one says, 'I have seen him alive, I have seen him dead, I have seen him alive after his death'? This tells his history.”
The ”second volume of the romance” offers to those interested an account of the solemn conferring upon the little Lauzun, in the church of Notre Dame, by King James II., of the Order of the Garter. To this chapter succeeds one less brilliant. Lauzun received the appointment as commander of the French troops sent to Ireland to sustain the cause of legitimate monarchy. He lacked the necessary qualifications for this post. He astonished his officers with his incapacity, and made them blush by displaying ”a longing to return to France,”[309] which was not heroic.
Louis XIV. consented to make Lauzun Duke, upon ”the urgent prayer”[310]
of their Britannic Majesties, but his opinion once formed never changed.
The King never again employed the new Duke in any official capacity, and this omission was always bitterly resented.
As a result of many years of reflection, Mademoiselle at length arrived at the conviction, an accepted commonplace, that happiness is not for the prominent upon this earth. Without actually compensating her for her troubles, this discovery brought a certain consolation. She had, at this period, as neighbour in Normandy, a young and charming woman called the Comtesse de Bayard, who became in the following century the G.o.dmother of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, and who furnished her G.o.dson with material[311] afterwards woven into tales made charming by his delicately sentimental language. One of these tales by Saint-Pierre is founded upon the romance of the Grande Mademoiselle. Mme. de Bayard liked to recall how, in their lonely walks, the Princess would linger to make the villagers relate the tales of their loves and marriages; how her eyes would fill with tears, and how, returning into the Chateau of Eu, she would say that she would have been happier in a hut.
To tears succeeded a certain childishness; the execrable Court life had educated her only for a puerile old age, and she hastened to Versailles from time to time, fearing to miss a tournament or some spectacle of this kind. On March 15, 1693, she was seized at Paris with a disease of the bladder which rapidly increased in severity.[312] The Luxembourg was besieged with seekers after news; the fear of losing the Grande Mademoiselle had aroused anew her popularity. Monsieur and Madame, who loved her, came to nurse her. Lauzun begged to be admitted, but was refused. The condition grew rapidly worse, and the physicians, not knowing what to do, administered five doses of an emetic, the fas.h.i.+onable remedy that winter for all diseases, with the result that she soon saw the mournful procession of the royal family defile around her bed, the sure sign that all hope had pa.s.sed.
The Princess died on April 15th, at the age of sixty-six years, and was buried at Saint-Denis with much pomp. In the midst of the ceremony, an urn, in which through a curious arrangement the entrails were enclosed, ”broke with a frightful noise and emitted a sudden and intolerable odour.”[313] Some women fainted, while the rest of those present gained the open air by running. ”All was soon perfumed and decorum was re-established,” but this occurrence became the jest of Paris. It was fated that the Grande Mademoiselle should always arouse a little ridicule, even at her interment.