THE ROYAL GOVERNESS.

IT was the King's habit, when at Saint-Germain, to hear early mass in the chapel. On his return, he passed through the great gallery in which the Court was assembled, to make their morning salutations to him. There he also received the petitions of all who had sufficient interest to gain admittance. A woman, tall, finely formed, and of ample proportions, with a stealthy glance out of magnificent black eyes, a well-curved mouth, and a composed and dignified bearing,—quite a style to suit the royal taste,—with a black silk scarf edged with lace thrown over her head, and wearing a dress of common materials, but skilfully designed to set off her rounded figure to the best advantage, presented herself before him. In her hand she held a petition, at the top of which, in large letters, was written: "The Widow Scarron most humbly prays his Majesty to grant——"

Louis read no more; his eye was gratified by the petitioner, not by the petition, which he put into his pocket and forgot. But the lady appeared so often, standing in the same place in the gallery of Saint-Germain, that his Majesty grew weary of her sight. At length he turned his back upon her.

FranÇoise d'AubignÉ, of the Protestant family of that name, had married in her youth the poet Scarron—a dwarf, deformed and bedridden, a lover of loose company, and a writer of looser songs—for her bread. Scarron drew up the marriage contract without the assistance of a notary. The dower of FranÇoise was as follows. Four pounds a year, two large black eyes, a fine bust, well-shaped hands, and a great deal of esprit. Scarron covenanted to contribute the hump upon his back, plenty of brains, and a pension granted to him by the Queen-Regent, Anne of Austria, as le malade de le Reine. He regretted he could not offer either hands or feet, both being paralysed. But he can assure his fiancÉe of a dower which she will gladly accept—Immortality: a prediction made in derision, which was strangely justified by events.

In the house of her husband, this enticing daughter of the D'AubignÉs learned early "to be all things to all men." She copied her husband's ribald songs for him, she entertained his promiscuous circle of friends—the gross Villarceaux, Ninon de l'Enclos, Mademoiselle de ScudÉri, a lady of the highest virtue, but who affected Bohemian society, and many others.

In process of time, Madame Scarron's youth, beauty, and talents opened to her the salon of the MarÉchal d'Albert, where she made the acquaintance of Madame de SÉvignÉ, and Madame de Chalais, to become the Princesse des Ursins. She also made a much more important acquaintance in Madame de Montespan. When Scarron died, she found herself without a resource in the world. The King had disregarded her petition. By her friends' interest she obtained a place in the household of the Princess de Nemours, affianced to the King of Portugal. Before quitting France, she called on all she knew. Among others, she visited Madame de Montespan. To her she related her ill-success at Saint-Germain.

"Why did you not come to me?" asked the favourite. "I would have protected you. I will even now take charge of your petition. I will see that his Majesty reads it."

"What!" cried Louis, when he saw the well-known name, "the Widow Scarron again? Why, I am deluged with her petitions. She is become a Court proverb, 'as importunate as the Widow Scarron.' What do you know of the Widow Scarron, Athanaise?"

The petition for the pension was nevertheless granted, and la Vueve Scarron, notwithstanding many scandalous reports of the past, was appointed governess to the illegitimate children born to the King and Madame de Montespan. Her devotion to her charges was extraordinary. The King, an attached father, was favourably impressed. He showed his approbation by a liberal allowance, out of which was purchased the chÂteau and estate of Maintenon, lying in a picturesque valley beside a river, sheltered by hills, in a woodland district between Versailles and Chartres. From this time the Widow Scarron was known as the Marquise de Maintenon, and became a devout Catholic. She had her own apartments at Court, and cut all her disreputable friends. She was constantly present when the King visited Madame de Montespan.

In the meantime, Mademoiselle de Montpensier returned to Court. Louis XIV. could not tolerate the absence of any of the princes and princesses of the blood-royal, stars of the first magnitude in that heaven where he blazed forth the centre of life and light. Louis had sent a message to her. Mademoiselle therefore dried her eyes, and appeared in her usual place in the circle. Surely, she thinks, the King will appreciate the sacrifice she is making in being present at festivities which, by recalling so vividly the image of Lauzun, drive her to despair!

A ballet is to take place at Versailles; the King is to dance. Mademoiselle forces herself to be present. She looks old, sad, and ill. She is preoccupied. Her thoughts are with Lauzun, in the mountain-bound fortress of Pignerol. There is but one person present in that vast company she cares about. With him she yearns to speak. It is D'Artagnan, Captain of the Musketeers, who accompanied Lauzun to Pignerol.

D'Artagnan, a Gascon, is a countryman of Lauzun. He perfectly understands the part he has to play with Mademoiselle; a part, indeed he had carefully rehearsed with Lauzun while they were together. All the time the ballet lasts, D'Artagnan, in immediate attendance on the King, keeps his eyes fixed on Mademoiselle with a sorrowful expression. This agitates her extremely; she has the greatest difficulty in keeping her seat beside the Queen.

Supper is served in the Queen's apartment, Louis and Maria Theresa sit under a canopy of cloth of gold. Hundreds of wax lights blaze in gilded stands, and the King's twenty-four violins play. The Dauphin, Mademoiselle, and all the princes and princesses of the blood present are seated at the table. The ushers and attendants admit the public to gaze at their Majesties. Every well-dressed person can enjoy this privilege, and the staircases and passages are filled with crowds ascending and descending.

When the tedious ceremony is over, Mademoiselle places herself near the door, and signs to D'Artagnan to approach.

"Ah, Captain d'Artagnan, I saw you looking at me all the time of the ballet," she says, with a sigh.

D'Artagnan, a bluff, soldierly fellow, but crafty withal, and shrewd, a good friend and a bitter hater, salutes her respectfully.

"D'Artagnan," continues Mademoiselle, moving closer beside him, and dropping her voice into a whisper, "you have something to tell me. I see it in your face. You accompanied Monsieur de Lauzun to Pignerol. Tell me everything you can remember." Her manner is quick and hurried, her breath comes fast.

"Your highness, I left the Comte de Lauzun in good health."

"Thank God!" ejaculated Mademoiselle, clasping her hands.

She feels so faint she is obliged to ask the Queen's permission to open the window.

"Was he indisposed on his long journey?"

"No, Madame; he was perfectly well. I never left him. Even at night I slept in the same chamber. Such were my instructions."

"Did he speak to you of me?" asked Mademoiselle in a faltering voice, blushing deeply.

"Constantly, your highness. He spoke of you with the utmost devotion. Next to the grief Monsieur de Lauzun felt at parting from your royal highness, I am persuaded he suffered most from the displeasure of his Majesty."

"Proceed, I entreat you," breaks in Mademoiselle eagerly. "Every word you say is inexpressibly precious to me. When did Lauzun first speak to you of me, and what did he say?"

"I must tell you," continues the artful D'Artagnan, watching her as a cat does a mouse—"I must tell your highness that before these unfortunate events I had avoided the Comte de Lauzun. I imagined he despised every one."

Mademoiselle shakes her head.

"Proper pride—a conscious superiority," she murmurs.

"Well, madame, when he was arrested on St. Catherine's day, at Saint-Germain, the Comte de Rochefort brought him into the guard-room, and consigned him to me. I started at once with him on his journey to Pignerol. From time to time he gazed at me, but did not utter a single word. When we passed your villa at Petit Bourg, he groaned, and tears gathered in his eyes."

"Poor Lauzun!" says Mademoiselle softly, lifting up her eyes.

"'That villa,' said the Count to me, 'belongs to Mademoiselle. Words cannot tell what I owe her. She is as good as she is great.'"

"Did Lauzun really say this?" asks Mademoiselle, with melting eyes.

"He did, madame," rejoins D'Artagnan with secret exultation at seeing how the bait is swallowed. "'I am unhappy, Captain d'Artagnan', he went on to say, 'unhappy, but not guilty. I have served my King faithfully. I have worshipped Mademoiselle—not for her wealth, but for herself.'"

Mademoiselle puts her handkerchief to her eyes. She is convulsed with suppressed sobs.

"Yes, madame; this and much more was said to me by the Count. Indeed, his words were so touching that, soldier as I am, I wept, your highness—I actually wept."

"Excellent man," mutters Mademoiselle, stretching out her hand towards him. "I shall not forget your appreciation of so noble a gentleman."

D'Artagnan makes a profound obeisance.

("My promotion is now assured," he says to himself, "as well as poor Lauzun's pardon. Mademoiselle has great interest with his Majesty.")

D'Artagnan passes his hand across his eyes, as if to brush away tears, which he does not shed.

"I have seen much since I served his Majesty,"—he continues in broken sentences, simulating deep grief. "I am an observer of human nature;—but never—never did I know a man of such elevation of mind, with feelings so warm, so genuine, as Monsieur de Lauzun. The charms of his person, the dignity of his manners, his fortitude and patience in adversity, are more honourable to him than the splendour of his position as the first nobleman in France."

Mademoiselle, unable to contain her feelings, lays her hand upon D'Artagnan's hand, and presses it.

"Your penetration does you honour, Monsieur d'Artagnan. Yet so mean, so base is the envy of a Court, that it is whispered about, loud enough even for me in my exalted position to hear, that Lauzun cares only for my revenues—not for myself."

"Good God, what a slander!" cried D'Artagnan, with a face of well-simulated horror.

"Yes; but I do not believe it," hastily adds Mademoiselle.

"I can pledge my honour as a soldier, your highness, it is a lie," breaks in D'Artagnan, anxious for his friend's prospects.

"I know it—I know it," answers Mademoiselle with triumph.

"Ah, madame," continues D'Artagnan, shaking with suppressed laughter, "did I not fear to offend your delicacy, I could say more."

"Ah! did Lauzun speak often of me?" she asks, and a fire comes into her sunken eyes. "Tell me."

"He spoke of nothing else. Day and night your name was on his lips. My honour as a Gascon upon it."

"Repeat this to me," cries Mademoiselle with ecstasy.

"You little know, your highness, what tortures he suffers at being separated from you."

"Alas! Monsieur d'Artagnan, he cannot suffer more than I!" and Mademoiselle's sigh is almost a groan.

"Your highness has great influence over his Majesty. Is it possible that his imprisonment may be shortened?"

"Can you doubt that my whole life, my influence, my wealth, all I have, will be devoted to this object?" exclaims Mademoiselle.

("Good," thinks D'Artagnan, "I have served my poor friend, and I hope myself, well. What an imbecile she is!")

At this moment there is a general move. The Queen, who has been playing cards, rises, and Mademoiselle is forced to accompany her.

Years pass; Lauzun still remains a prisoner at Pignerol.

Mademoiselle is at the Luxembourg. She is sitting in her closet writing, when a page enters, and announces Madame de Maintenon. This lady is now the recognised governess of the legitimatised children of the King, the bosom friend of their mother, the Marquise de Montespan. Already she is scheming to supplant her in the King's affections. Madame de Maintenon is singularly handsome. Her face is pale; her complexion marble-like; her eyes are large and lustrous, though somewhat fixed and stern. Her glossy dark hair is raised high on her head, and a mantilla of lace is thrown over it. Her dress is of a sombre colour, but of the richest material. It rustles along the ground, as, with measured steps, she advances towards Mademoiselle. The latter is conscious of the stately bearing of the governess, who dares not, however, presume first to address her. Mademoiselle does not rise, but bends her head in acknowledgment of her salutation. She signs to Madame de Maintenon to be seated.

"You are come alone, Madame," says the Princess. "I should have rejoiced to see your little charges—those dear children of whom I am so fond. Are they well?"

"I am happy to inform your highness they are in perfect health. The Duc de Maine looked lovely this morning when he went with me to mass in the royal chapel. I have come to bring you a little letter he has written to your highness," and the Marquise presents a note addressed in a schoolboy's hand. "Ever since he has corresponded with you, during his stay at Holland and at BarÈge, he finds such pleasure in writing to you, I do not like to forbid it."

"The dear child! I love him greatly," replies Mademoiselle, secretly wondering on what errand Madame de Maintenon had come.

"I have the honour to inform your royal highness," says the Marquise after a pause, fixing her black eyes keenly upon her, "my visit to you is official. I come from the King."

Mademoiselle falls back in her chair; a mist gathers before her eyes. "It must be about Lauzun she has come!" is her first thought.

"But before I proceed to the subject of my mission," continues Madame de Maintenon, speaking in a clear metallic voice, all the while contemplating Mademoiselle as if she were an object of minute study—"but before I proceed, allow me to offer to your highness the compliments of Madame de Montespan, who is hunting at Clagny with the King. She bids me pray you to think of everything to please his Majesty, in order that he may be inclined to grant what you have so much at heart."

Mademoiselle colours, and presses her hand to her heart, so violently does it throb.

"Madame de Montespan," continues the Marquise, "has the highest admiration for the constancy and the fortitude you have shown on a certain subject, madame. May I add my tribute of sympathy also?"

Mademoiselle smiles, and bows graciously. She is not ignorant of the growing power of the governess, and her high favour with the King.

"We who live at Court," adds the Marquise loftily, "know too well how often great princes forget those whom they once loved. Your highness is an illustrious exception. May I, madame, be permitted to address you on this delicate subject? It is the purpose of my visit."

"I entreat you to speak," cries Mademoiselle, greatly excited. "Tell me at once. I cannot bear suspense. Tell me, is his Majesty about to liberate Monsieur de Lauzun after so many years of imprisonment?"

"Well," replies Madame de Maintenon, with an air of immense importance, "you shall judge, Princess. His Majesty thinks that it is possible, under certain conditions——"

"Will he acknowledge Lauzun as my husband?"

"He will never sanction the marriage, your highness," answers the Marquise decidedly, avoiding Mademoiselle's eager gaze.

Here is a blow! Mademoiselle is absolutely stunned. Madame de Maintenon proceeds in the same monotonous tone:—

"His Majesty has considered the possibility of liberating Monsieur de Lauzun, but there are difficulties, not perhaps insurmountable, but which at present render his gracious intention impossible."

"Name them," cries Mademoiselle almost fiercely, suddenly sitting upright in her chair—"name them instantly." She has turned ashy pale; her hands, which she extends towards the other lady in her agitation, tremble. She is a pitiable object.

"Why, the fact is," and the wily governess hems once or twice, gives a slight cough, then clears her voice, "his Majesty does not choose that the principality of Dombes and the ChÂteau and estates of Eu, with which he is informed you have invested Monsieur de Lauzun, should go out of the royal family. This is the difficulty which at present weighs with the King. Madame de Montespan uses all her eloquence in your favour, madame."

"I am obliged to her," answers Mademoiselle drily. "It was rumoured that she was the person who caused his Majesty to withdraw his consent to my marriage."

This is dangerous ground, and Madame de Maintenon hastens to change the subject; she well knows how true are Mademoiselle's suspicions.

"I have nothing to do with the King's reasons," is her cautious rejoinder. "Doubtless they are excellent." Then she glances towards the door as if about to go. "Even with your royal highness I must be excused canvassing what these reasons are. I came simply to deliver a message with which I was entrusted, and to carry back to his Majesty your answer."

This speech, delivered with the most freezing coldness, almost frightens Mademoiselle into a fit. She is quite unable to argue with Madame de Maintenon, greatly her superior in intellect and in craft, specially now, when her excited feelings barely permit her to understand what is passing. She has sense, however, to make a sign to the Marquise, intimating her pleasure that she should not depart, which she is preparing to do.

"His Majesty observed," continues that lady, looking steadfastly out of the window, "that it seems strange these royal appanages should pass away into an undistinguished family, while those who are near and most dear to his Majesty are at this time absolutely portionless—the Duc de Maine, for instance."

"What!" exclaims Mademoiselle, "is it only by enriching the Duc de Maine that the Comte de Lauzun can be liberated?" As she puts this question her eyes flash, and her brow darkens. Then, seeing the stony gaze of the imperturbable Marquise fixed upon her, she composes herself, and awaits her reply with more calmness.

"I must again entreat your highness to remember," answers Madame de Maintenon, rising from her chair, and dropping her eyes on the ground with affected humility, "that I am here only as an ambassadress. I beg your highness to excuse aught I may have said to offend you. But, as I perceived a way of accommodation open, I ventured to approach you as an ambassadress—simply as an ambassadress." These last words are spoken with a kind of unctious hypocrisy peculiar to herself. "Now, madame, if you permit, I will take my leave. My duties call me back to my beloved charges. I have been absent too long already."

Forthwith, every device was used to force Mademoiselle into compliance. The little Duc de Maine was represented as being fonder of her than of any other creature breathing—one of those singular attachments, in fact, that are sometimes observed in children, and are quite unaccountable. To favour this assertion, the worthy pupil of Madame de Maintenon was educated in a system of deceit. Every morning he addressed a billet-doux to Mademoiselle, represented as the genuine effusion of a young and innocent heart, the same billet-doux having been indited by his governess overnight and copied by himself. Bouquets, presents, kisses, and caresses were lavished in the same manner. The child played his part so well that Mademoiselle believed at last in this simulated attachment. Madame de Montespan failed not, also, to pay the utmost court to Mademoiselle, and represented to her how earnestly she used her influence in order to induce the King to liberate Lauzun. After these manoeuvres had been continued for some time, and the two intrigantes deemed that the mind of Mademoiselle was sufficiently prepared, Madame de Maintenon again set forth to pay another visit at the Luxembourg Palace.

This time she at once announced that the King had determined to liberate Lauzun. Mademoiselle in transports of joy at the intelligence, so far forgot her dignity as to embrace the cunning messenger, and to load her with thanks.

After this ebullition had a little subsided, Madame de Maintenon gravely begged Mademoiselle not to thank her. She again acted merely as an ambassadress, she said. "But," she adds, "there is one person who does deserve her thanks; for nothing can exceed the earnestness with which he has urged her highness's petition. Nay, he has not feared to encounter the King's anger, so constant, so energetic have been his prayers. It is to him her gratitude is due."

"Who can have been this friend—this benefactor?" cried the Princess. "Tell me, I implore you, that I may load him with my gratitude."

"I can quite understand your feelings," returned Madame de Maintenon; "your wish to be informed of the name of this unknown benefactor is most natural; but to gratify you, I must break a promise—a most solemn promise—I have made never to reveal his name. He did not desire to be known he wished to serve you in secret."

"Don't talk to me of secrecy, madame, in such a moment. Tell me at once to whom I am so deeply indebted."

"If I must speak," replied the inimitable De Maintenon (rejoicing at the success of her manoeuvres), "it is the Duc de Maine, who prevailed on his father to grant the petition he knew would so delight his beloved friend and protectress. The affection he feels towards you is indeed something——"

"The darling child!" exclaimed Mademoiselle, "how I love him! Is it possible he has done this for me! How can I reward him?—what can I do to show him how grateful I am?"

This was precisely the point to which Madame de Maintenon had been labouring to bring the Princess. She now artfully observed that there was only one way of rewarding the disinterested attachment of the Duc de Maine in a manner worthy of Mademoiselle. "I feel bound, however," she continued, "to warn your highness that, after all that has been said, and the personal interest his Majesty feels in the success of these negotiations, he will be so incensed at any withdrawal on your part now, that your personal liberty—yes, madame," she repeated, seeing the Princess's look of terror, "your personal liberty will be in danger. You may be sent to the Bastille!"

The mention of such a possibility alarmed Mademoiselle beyond measure, and she anxiously inquired of Madame de Maintenon if she thought there was any chance of such a misfortune.

"Not if by your generosity you bind his Majesty, as it were, to fulfil the pledge he has now given," was the discreet reply.

Thus did Madame de Maintenon unfold her tactics and work on the weak mind of the love-sick Princess. She saw that the point was already gained, and, fearing to destroy the favourable impression she had made, left Mademoiselle to ruminate on the approaching return of Lauzun, and all the happiness in store for her. Hastening back to Versailles, she communicated her success to the King and to Madame de Montespan, who were equally delighted at the triumph of their unworthy artifices.