FALL OF DE MONTESPAN.

ABOUT this time Madame de Maintenon announced to the King that she had received a mission from Heaven to convert him from the error of his ways. "I was brought to Court miraculously for this purpose; God willed it," she writes to her daughter. Singularly enough, this conviction of her mission coincided with the absence of Madame de Montespan at the baths of Bourbon.

Louis had come to view these temporary absences as a relief. He had grown somewhat weary of the once-adored Marquise. He inclined to think the society of Madame de Maintenon preferable. In her company the charms of friendship exceeded the delights of love. She was leading him up to Heaven by an easy path strewn with flowers. Conscious as he was of his past sins, he yet liked the process of repentance.

The apartments of Madame de Maintenon at Versailles, on the same floor as his own, were well placed for constant intercourse. They no longer exist, but the situation is identified as having been near the south wing, contiguous to his own suite, which was separated from that of the Queen by the Salle de l'Œil de Boeuf, a corridor, and some smaller rooms.

The affection of her pupil, the Duc de Maine, and the esteem and approval of the Queen, strengthened Madame de Maintenon's position. Maria Theresa quite venerated the ci-devant Veuve Scarron.

Maria Theresa, who refused to doubt La ValliÈre's purity, and who long defended the virtue of Madame de Montespan, was born to be a dupe. Her unsuspicious nature fell an easy prey to the duplicity of Madame de Maintenon, who would have imposed on a stronger-minded person than the guileless Queen. The King carefully intensified these good impressions. He confided to his consort the conviction of Madame de Maintenon that he would infallibly be "damned" if he did not cleave to herself alone, and live with her in love and unity. Such words from the lips of her august husband, whom she had all her life worshipped too entirely to have dared to appropriate to herself, won the Queen's whole heart. Never had she been so blessed. Her Olympian spouse spent hours beside her; his conduct was exemplary. Maria Theresa, overcome by the weight of her obligations to the wily gouvernante, treated her with the utmost distinction. She joined with the King in appointing her lady in waiting to the new Dauphine.

By-and-by Madame de Montespan, having finished her course of drinking and bathing at Bourbon, returned. That the waters had agreed with her was evident. Her eyes were more voluptuous, her aspect more enticing than ever. For a time the King's conviction of Madame de Maintenon's mission wavered; he forgot his salvation.

Madame de Maintenon, invested with the authority of a Christian prophetess, denounced his apostacy. Madame de Montespan was furious; quarrels ensued between herself and Madame de Maintenon, in which the choleric, frank-spoken sinner was over-ruled by the crafty saint. The King, called in as umpire, decided always in favour of the latter; she could clothe her wrongs in such eloquent language, she was so specious, so plausible, she continued to identify herself so entirely with his salvation, that he again became repentant. His coldness towards herself increased. This rival, the governess of her children, insulted Madame la Marquise de Montespan. Her fury knew no bounds. She felt that her fall was approaching; that the ground on which she stood was undermined. She denounced her treacherous governess to the King; she declared that the Veuve Scarron had not been immaculate. She even caused a pamphlet to be printed in which names, places, dates, and details were given. She showed it to the King; Louis shook his head, and replied that she had herself defended her protÉgÉe so ably that he was unalterably convinced of her virtue. The Marquise de Montespan was bowed out of Versailles.

The influence of Madame de Maintenon changed the atmosphere of the Court. A holy calm succeeded to strife and agitation. Gallantry, gambling, intrigues, and women no longer formed the staple of general conversation. Religious discussions, theological disputes, and ecclesiastical gossip became the fashion. Anecdotes of the various Court confessors were discussed in the Œil de Boeuf with extraordinary eagerness. The priest of Versailles was a more important personage than a royal duke; Bossuet had more influence than Louvois; PÈre la Chaise overtopped the great Louis himself. The Court ladies became decided prudes, rolled their eyes sanctimoniously, wore lace kerchiefs, renounced rouge, and rarely smiled. No whisper of scandal profaned the royal circle. His Majesty was subdued and serene, assiduous in the affairs of religion, and constant in his attendance on his comely directress.

On the 30th July, 1683, the Queen died. She expired in the arms of Madame de Maintenon. On her death-bed she gave her the nuptial ring which she had received from his Majesty. This gift was significant.

The concealed ambition of Madame de Maintenon, her greed of dominion, the insolence of the inferior about to revenge the wrongs suffered in her obscurity, a sense, too, of her own power, now roused her to grasp that exalted position which, even while the Queen lived, had tempted her imagination. Now began a system of coquetry, so refined, as to claim the distinction of a fine art. The lady is forty-five, and looks young and fresh for her age; her hair is still black and glossy; her forehead smooth, her skin exquisitely white; her figure lissom and upright, if ample. There is a hidden fire in her stealthy eyes; a grandeur in her bearing, that charms while it imposes. Not all the vicissitudes of her chequered career can wash out the blood of the D'AubignÉs which flows in her veins. The old King is desperately in love with her. It is the first time in his life he has encountered any opposition to his will. There is a novelty in the sensation wonderfully enthralling. The conquest of a lady who can thus balk him acquires an enormous importance in his eyes. He has run the fortune of war both at home and abroad; he has carried fortresses by storm, assailed the walls of great cities; he has conquered in the open plain; but here is a female citadel that is impregnable. His attack and her defence are conducted in daily interviews, lasting six, and even ten hours. If he can win her, he feels too that his salvation is insured. A life of repentance passed with such an angel, is a foretaste of celestial bliss. There is something sublime in the woman who can reconcile earth with heaven, and satisfy his longings in time and eternity.

Suddenly Madame de Maintenon announces her intention of leaving the Court for ever.

The King who occupies his usual place in her saloon, sitting in an arm-chair placed between the door leading into the antechamber and the chimney-piece, listens with speechless dismay.

Madame de Maintenon, who sits opposite to him, on the other side of the chimney-piece, in a recess hung with red damask, a little table before her, stitches calmly at the tapestry she holds in her hand. She affects not to observe him, and continues speaking in a full firm voice. "My mission is accomplished, Sire. I have been permitted to be the humble instrument of leading your Majesty to higher and holier thoughts. Your peace with Heaven is now made. I desire to retire, leaving my glorious work complete."

"What, madame! Do I hear aright? You propose to leave me?—me, a solitary man, to whom your society is indispensable?" There is a deep longing in the King's eye as it rests upon her, a tremulous solicitude in his manner that she observes with secret joy.

"Sire, I implore you to allow me to depart. I yearn for repose. I have remained at Court greatly against my will, solely for your advantage."

"Remain always," murmurs the King, contemplating her fondly; "my life—my happiness—my very being is bound up in you. Deprived of you, I may again fall into deadly sin. Do not forsake me."

These last words are spoken in a whisper, full of tenderness. He rises from his arm-chair and approaches her. Madame de Maintenon looks at him sharply; then moves her chair backwards. Louis stops midway and gazes at her timidly. He returns to his arm-chair, and sighs profoundly.

"Impossible, your Majesty," replies the Marquise stiffly, arranging the folds of her dress. "I repeat, my task is done. The Court is reformed, your salvation secure. But, while benefiting others, I have exposed myself to calumny. Sire, I am called your mistress. I am branded as the successor of Madame de Montespan."

"What villain has dared to assail your immaculate virtue? Tell me who he is, and there is no punishment he shall not suffer," and the King's face flushes scarlet. There is the old look of command upon his brow—the old decision in his manner.

"Sire," answers Madame de Maintenon quietly, "such passion is unnecessary. I am not worthy of it. I have already done all that is needful, let me go. I can serve you no longer."

"You are worthy, madame, of all that a man—that a monarch can lay at your feet," cries Louis with enthusiasm. A cynical smile plays upon her full-lipped mouth while the King speaks.

"I am at least worthy of respect, Sire. The suspicion of impurity is intolerable. I cannot bear it; I must go."

"You are too hurried, dearest madame," returns the King; "too impressionable. Whatever observations may be aroused by our intimacy, and my well-known attachment to you, they should not annoy you. Your character is an all-sufficient defence."

"Ah, Sire, this is not sufficient. I must fly from even the semblance of suspicion. You are a single man, I am a widow. I must leave Versailles. Your Majesty cannot wish me to remain, to become an object of contempt."

"Contempt? Impossible!" exclaims Louis abruptly. "No woman whom I, the King of France, have loved, has ever suffered contempt."

No sooner were these words out of his mouth, than the King had reason to repent having uttered them. The outraged prude burst into a flood of tears. After all, was her crafty scheming to be in vain? Would Louis not understand that as a wife—and a wife only—she would remain?

"Ah, Sire," sobs she with genuine sorrow, "is this the return you make for my too great devotion to your Majesty's salvation? I, who have led you step by step towards that Deity, whose wrath your transgressions had so justly incensed? Is it for this I have rescued you from the flames of Purgatory—the fire of everlasting Hell?"

Louis turns ghastly pale; a nervous tremor seizes him. He dare not look Madame de Maintenon in the face, for her piercing black eyes glare upon him, and seem to scan his inmost soul. He dare not interrupt her; he must listen to all she has to say, so great is her empire over him.

She continues:—

"Am I sunk so low in your esteem that you mention me in the same breath with a Montespan, a Fontanges? Alas, I have soiled my good name to serve you, and is this then my recompense?"

As she speaks, in a hard resolute voice, her reproachful eyes rivet themselves upon Louis.

"Do you forget, Sire, that I am the woman whom your sainted Queen specially esteemed? On whose bosom she expired? To whom, as she drew her dying breath, she gave this ring?"

She takes from her finger the nuptial ring which Maria Theresa had given her. It was a single diamond of remarkable brilliancy. After contemplating it for an instant she drops it on the floor, midway between herself and Louis, then, with a stately gesture, she rises to depart.

The impress of many passions is visible on the countenance of the aged monarch. Love and pride are written there. Pride is on his broad forehead—in the carriage of his head—in his arched and bushy eyebrows—in his still erect form—in the action of his hands and arms, as they grasp the chair on which he sits upright. Pride, intense, inflexible pride. But his dark eyes glow with passion. Those eyes devour Madame de Maintenon, as she stands erect before him, her eyes turned towards heaven, the ring at her feet. His mouth, around which deep wrinkles gather, works—as did his father's—with a nervous spasm; but the parted lips seem to pant for the beloved object before him. At length he raises himself slowly from his chair—stoops—picks up the nuptial ring of his first wife—kisses it, and places it on the finger of Madame de Maintenon.

"Mon amie," he says, with solemnity, "do not leave me. As your husband I will defend you."

Even in the reign of Louis XIV. public opinion made itself heard. Placards appeared upon the walls of Paris to this effect:—

The next day was announced, in the same place:

Other placards followed; they ran as follows: