The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan, vol 1 | Page 7

replacing you, in spite of your cruel absence, which at once annoys
and grieves me. I am--no, I shall be --always and ever yours, when you
are always and ever mine.
MONTESPAN.
I hastened to tell my husband in reply that his impatience and
ill-humour made me most unhappy; that as, through sickness or leave
of absence, five or six of the Court ladies were away, I could not
possibly absent myself just then; that I believed that I sufficiently
merited his confidence to let me count upon his attachment and esteem,
whether far or near. And I gave him my word of honour that I would
join him after the Court moved to Fontainebleau, that is to say, in the
autumn.
My answer, far from soothing or calming him, produced quite a
contrary effect. I received the following letter, which greatly alarmed
and agitated me:
Your allegations are only vain pretexts, your pretexts mask your
falsehoods, your falsehoods confirm all my suspicions; you are
deceiving me, madame, and it is your intention to dishonour me. My
cousin, who saw through you better than I did before my wretched
marriage,--my cousin, whom you dislike and who is no whit afraid of
you,--informs me that, under the pretext of going to keep Madame de la
Valliere company, you never stir from her apartments during the time
allotted to her by the King, that is to say, three whole hours every
evening. There you pose as sovereign arbiter; as oracle, uttering a
thousand divers decisions; as supreme purveyor of news and gossip; the
scourge of all who are absent; the complacent promoter of scandal; the
soul and the leader of sparkling conversation.
One only of these ladies became ill, owing to an extremely favourable
confinement, from which she recovered a week ago. At the outset, the
King fought shy of your raillery, but in a thousand discreditable ways
you set your cap at him and forced him to pay you attention. If all the
letters written to me (all of them in the same strain) are not
preconcerted, if your misconduct is such as I am told it is, if you have
dishonoured and disgraced your husband, then, madame, expect all that
your excessive imprudence deserves. At this distance of two hundred

and fifty leagues I shall not trouble you with complaints and vain
reproaches; I shall collect all necessary information and documentary
evidence at headquarters; and, cost me what it may, I shall bring action
against you, before your parents, before a court of law, in the face of
public opinion, and before your protector, the King. I charge you
instantly to deliver up to me my child. My unfortunate son comes of a
race which never yet has had cause to blush for disgrace such as this.
What would he gain, except bad example, by staying with a mother
who has no virtue and no husband? Give him up to me, and at once let
Dupre, my valet, have charge of him until my return. This latter will
occur sooner than you think; and I shall shut you up in a convent,
unless you shut me up in the Bastille.
Your unfortunate husband, MONTESPAN.
The officious cousin to whom he alluded in this threatening letter had
been so bold as to sue for my hand, although possessed of no property.
Ever since that time he remained, as I knew, my enemy, though I did
not know, nor ever suspected, that such a man would find pleasure in
spying upon my actions and in effecting the irrevocable estrangement
of a husband and a wife, who until then had been mutually attached to
each other.
The King, whose glance, though very sweet, is very searching, said to
me that evening, "Something troubles you; what is it?" He felt my pulse,
and perceived my great agitation. I showed him the letter just
transcribed, and his Majesty changed colour.
"It is a matter requiring caution and tact," added the prince after brief
meditation. "At any rate we can prevent his showing you any disrespect.
Give up the Marquis d'Antin to him," continued the King, after another
pause. "He is useless, perhaps an inconvenience, to you; and if deprived
of his child he might be driven to commit some desperate act."
"I would rather die!" I exclaimed, bursting into tears.
The King affectionately took hold of both my hands, and gently said:
"Very well, then, keep him yourself, and don't give him up."
As God is my witness, M. de Montespan had already neglected me for
some time before he left for the Pyrenees; and to me this sudden access
of fervour seemed singularly strange. But I am not easily hoodwinked;
I understood him far better and far quicker than he expected. The
Marquis is one