Licenced,  
Octob. 11. 1678. Roger L' Estrange.   

THE PRINCESS OF CLEVES. The most famed ROMANCE.  
Written in French by the greatest Wits of France.  
Rendered into English by a Person of Quality, at the Request of some Friends.  
LONDON, Printed for R. Bentley and M. Magnes in Russel-street in Covent-Garden, 1679.   

THE PRINCESS OF CLEVE.  
GRandeur and Gallantry never appeared in greater splendour in France, than in the Declension of the Reign of Henry the Second. To the Person and Bravery of this Prince, Nature had added warm inclinations to maintain the amorous Fire she had originally kindled in him: That the passion he had for Diana of Poitiers, Duchess of Valentinois, under which he had laboured upwards of twenty years, was so far from being able to abate of its violence, it rather seemed to add Fuel to the Flame.  
He had the happiness to excel in all those noble Exercises, he judged might merit a place in his Royal thoughts, amongst the number of which he was particularly devoted to Hunting, Tennis-Balls, Running at the Ring, and such other generous Divertisements, as might suit with the Honour of his Presence.  
Their Appointments were seldom made, but colourably, to give the King an opportunity to recruit the passion the Duchess' beauty had so many years since created in him. She seemed to parallel, if not exceed, the fair Model of Madam de la March, her Daughter, then unmarried, in those Grace's Nature had been prodigal of to them both. The Queen's presence still seemed to authorize hers.  
This Princes, though she had outworn her youthful years, her Face yet seemed to retain the ruins of a Noble Beauty. She was pleased to set a value on State, Magnificence, and her pleasures; but to such only she allowed the honour of her presence, as might not contribute to any diminution of her greatness. She was married to the King when he was Duke of Orleans: The Dauphin, his elder Brother, being then living, and who since died at Tournon, a Prince whose Birth and Merit had designed him for the succession of Francis the First, his Royal Father.  
The ambitious humour of the Queen made him keep a straiter Rein upon the Government. He thought she would not so far express her resentment of his passion for the Duchess, that the Symptoms of her Jealousy might fall under his notice. She was so well read in the practice of dissimulation, that it was impossible to pierce further into the Cabinet of her heart, than she was pleased to allow the Inquisitor. Policy obliged her to interpose the Person of this Duchess, that she might the more easily insinuate herself into that of the King. This Prince was pleased to divert himself in the conversation of Ladies, and not always of those for whom he had a kindness. He was ever ready to wait upon the Queen at the usual hour, they took the Tour, which was always honoured with the presence of the greatest and most deserving.  
Never was a Court furnished with a fairer stock of either Sex. Nature seemed to have taken pleasure to be most lavish of her greatest Graces to the greatest Persons. The Princess Elizabeth, who had the honour to marry with the King of Spain, was pleased to expose to the admiration of the Court, that incomparable Beauty, that proved afterwards so fatal to her. The Lady Mary Steward, Queen of Scotland, who being designed to marry the Dauphin, had the honour to wear the Title of the Dauphin-Queen. Nature had made her fair Model inferior in no part to that of the Princess; she received her Education in France, and had taken up an Ambition from her Infancy (that in despite of her green years) she was resolved, not only to love, but understand all such things as might contribute to her improvement. The Queen her Mother-in-law, and the Princess the King's Sister, were much devoted to Music and Poetry. The Veneration King Francis had for those Sciences, was not yet extinguished in France: and the King, who affected all Exercises of the Body, made the Court the Theatre he performed them in. But that which rendered it so splendid, was the presence of so many great Princes and Persons of Merit. Those I shall presume to name here, were equally its Ornament, and its Admiration.  
The King of Navarre had ingross'd the greatest Respect, as pretending to the greatest Rank, which, joined to the Merit of his Person, justly allowed him the Honour of it. He was so great a General, that the Duke of Guise had an Ambition to serve under him in the quality of a private Volunteer. 'Tis Truth, the Duke had given so great proofs of his Valour and Conduct, that there was not a great Captain that could allow his Merit it's due Character without Envy. His Courage was bound up with other great Virtues; he had a Soul as brave as generous, and a Capacity so great, as if Nature had fitted him Tam Marti, quam Mercurio, either for War or Counsel. The Cardinal of Lorain, his Brother, brought into the World so insatiable an Ambition with him, he seemed to have a Design wholly to engross her to himself. Nature had added to it, for its advantage, a Tongue whose Eloquence was made up of Charms. His Studies and Sedulity had furnished him with a stupendious stock of Learning, which he was not wanting on all occasions to employ in the defence of the Church. The Chevalier of Guise, afterwards called the Grand Prior, was a Prince, whose Affability and Sweetness had justly purchased him the respect of all that had the happiness to know him. The Prince of Conde under the small dimension Nature had moulded him, by which she testified the little regard she had for his Person, had a Soul as haughty as great; and the briskness of his Wit had amply supplied Nature's unkind usage; which could not, with all her envy, rob him of the Honour that was due to his Merit and Quality. The Duke of Nevers, who had rendered his Age venerable by the Honour of his Actions. These composed the nobler part of the glorious Train of the Court: He had three Sons as equally as nobly accomplished, the second was called the Prince of Cleve, a Gentleman that truly deserved to support the greatness of his Family, he was as good as great; and he had so large a stock of Prudence and Discretion, such as Nature seldom lodges in green heads. The viscount of Chartres, descended from the illustrious Family of Vendome (whose name the Princes of the Blood think no dishonour to wear) presumed to share in their Gallantry with them: He was inferior, to none either in his Person or his Courage, or any other rich Endowment, that can render a Gentleman truly noble. By which he had purchased himself so great an esteem in the Court, that they thought he might deserve the Honour (if any Man might presume to it) of having his Merit thrown into the Balance with that of the Duke of Nemours. This Prince seemed to have been the chief work of Nature; that which was the least to be admired in him was his Person, than which the World could not produce a nobler. That which lodged him above the common Sphere of others, was not only his Courage, which had not its equal, but the sweet Harmony that was observed in all his other Virtues: they seemed to have conspired together to render him the World's wonder. The sweetness of his Converse made him equally the ambition of both Sexes; and he was pleased to express that Majesty in all his Exercises, that it still purchased him the admiration of his beholders. The gaiety of his Habit had made him the mode of the Court, though all his followers had the Misfortune to fall short of their Pattern. In fine there was that Contexture of worth and Honour in the rich Frame, that wheresoever he came, he had the happiness to engross to himself the respect of the whole Company. There was not a Lady in the Court, whose coyness would not abate upon his approach; neither was there any could boast her heart proof against his Charms; and as few that could forbear to discover a passion for him, though he had not the inclination to interchange the flame. He had so great a passion for Honour, he thought the greatest toils, the noblest steps to mount up to her. He had his choice of Mistresses, but only a Prophet could Divine which of them had the happy Fate to entertain his heart. He was often observed to make his visits to the Dauphin-Queen. The Beauty of this Princess, the Sweetness of her disposition, and the Industry she seemed to use to keep up the Honour and Esteem the Court had for her, joined with the respect she was pleased to show this Prince, gave a suspicion to some, that he might as well love, as admire so deserving a Lady. The Duke of Guise, whose Niece she was, had so far advanced the Reputation of his Family by the Honour of this Match, that his Ambition prompt him to rival it with the Princes of the Blood, and share in the Power and Authority of the Constable Montmorency. The management of great Affairs the King left to the conduct of the Constable; and was pleased to treat the Duke of Guise, and the Marshal of St. Andre, as his Favourites; but as for that Grace and Favour they were to expect from his Royal Bounty, he never granted them with that pleasure and content, as when they came recommended from the Duchess of Valentinois; and notwithstanding age had robbed her of her youth, which should maintain the Charms that first captivated him, she yet retained that absolute Empire over his Heart, she might be still said to be Mistress both of his Royal Person and his Fortune.  
The King had so great a kindness for the Constable, that the first moment of his Reign enlarged him from that Exile, to which Francis the First had condemned him. The Court was divided between the Duke of Guise and the Constable, who was supported by the Princes of the Blood: Both Parties made it their ambition to purchase an Interest in the Duchess of Valentinois. The Duke of Aumale, Brother to the Duke of Guise, had married one of her Daughters, the Constable seemed to aspire at the same Alliance. He was not satisfied that his eldest Son had married Madam Diana, the King's Daughter by a Lady of Piedmont, who had no sooner disburdened herself of that mutual Pledge, between his Majesty and her, but was pleased to retire into a Cloister. This Marriage meets with several difficulties, occasioned by a Promise Monsieur Montmorency had made to Madam de Piennes, one of her Majesty's Maids of Honour. And notwithstanding the King was pleased to carry himself with an indifferency between them, the Constable thought himself not sufficiently propped without the favour of the Duchess, whereby he might divide the interest the House of Guise seemed by that Alliance to engross to its self. Their greatness had already given some disquiet and uneasiness to her; she endeavoured to retard the Dauphin's Marriage with the Queen of Scotland. The Beauty and discretion of this young Queen, with the advantage this Match must give the Family of Guise, she knew not how to relish: She had an inveteracy for the Cardinal of Lorain, who had taken the liberty to discourse her in a Dialect she could by no means understand, by which she perceived he had possessed the Queen to her disadvantage. By this the Constable discovered a disposition in her, which gave him an opportunity of making an Alliance by a Marriage of Madam la March, her Daughter, with Monsieur d' Anvil, his second Son, who succeeded him in his Government under Charles the 9th. The Constable hoped he should not meet the same Remora in his second he had unhappily found in his eldest: But alas, he was mistaken: The Duke d' Anvil was passionately in love with the Dauphin-Queen; but what hopes he might have, that she would vouchsafe to entertain the Flame, out-soared the Constable's apprehension. The Marshal of St. Andre was the only Person in the Court that seemed to lean to neither side: He was a Favourite whose interest seldom regarded any thing above his own advantage. The King loved him from the time he was Dauphin; and since he has been pleased to make him a Marshal of France, in an Age so raw, it could scarce entitle another to the meanest Dignity. The King's favour gave him a great Lustre, which he was not wanting to improve on all occasions, to endear both his Merit and his Person; which he had the happiness to do, under the advantages of a splendid Table, to which his Majesty was a constant Guest; the richness of his Furniture, and gaiety of his Equipage, to the splendour whereof his Majesty's Royal Bounty was ever contributory. This Prince would passionately espouse the interest of those he loved. And notwithstanding he was not enriched with the noblest Qualities, he was not yet barren in them all: As he was a great lover of Arms, he was no Novice in them; Fortune still waited on him with success, and barring the battle of St. Quintine, his Reign was no other than a continued series of Victory. By his Personal Courage he shared in the Honour of the Battle of Renty, Piedmont submitted to his Arms, to which he added the greatest lustre in chase the English out of France.  
The Emperor Charles the 5 th'. found a declension in his Fortune at the Siege of Metz, before which he brought the strength both of the Empire and Spain: But the disgrace he received at St. Quintine had put so great a stop to his glorious Career, he was enforced to suffer his Rival to share his Fortune with him, and treat a Peace.  
The Duchess Dowager of Lorain, had made the first Overture at the Dauphin's Marriage, since which there has been held a secret Negotiation. In fine, Cercan in Artois was the place appointed for the Treaty. The Cardinal of Lorain, the Constable of Montmorency, and the Marshal of St. Andre, were Plenipotentiaries for the King; the Duke of Alva, and the Prince of Orange for philip the Second; the Duke and Duchess of Orleans were the Mediators. The principal Articles were, the Marriage of the Princess Elizabeth of France with Don Carlos the Infanta of Spain, and his Majesty's Sister with the Monsieur of Savoy.  
The King, during the Treaty, continued upon the Frontiers, where he received the first news of the Death of Queen Mary of England. His Majesty forthwith dispatched the Earl of Randan to Queen Elizabeth, to congratulate with her Majesty her Assumption to the Crown; she received him honourably, her affairs were in so ill a posture at that time, she was not a little satisfied, that so great a Prince was pleased to pay his first respects to her. The Court discoursed she was well read in the interest of the Court of France, and the merit of those that had the honour to compose it. But for none she seemed to express so great a value, as the Duke of Nemours; she was pleased to speak with that Honour of this Prince, that the Ambassador upon his return, took the Liberty to declare, he thought no Person more valuable in her esteem, than the Duke. And did not question upon his addresses, the Queen might do him the Honour to entertain a Passion for him. The King the same Evening communicated it to the Prince, where he commanded the Count de Randan, to give him the Relation; to confirm the Duke in the respect the Queen had for him: which he was pleased to conclude with his advice, not to neglect the favourable opportunity that seemed to court him to so much happiness. The Duke received it at first, as a piece of raillery, till his Majesty was pleased to undeceive him. If, Sir, (says the Duke) in obedience to your Majesty's commands, and for your service, I shall embark myself upon so extravagant a design, as to presume a Princess (whom I have never yet had the honour to know) should admit me to her Royal Bed, I hope your Majesty will be pleased not to divulge the vanity of the attempt, till the success may justify me to the Public. The King was pleased to give him his Royal word, that he would depose it in the knowledge of no other Breast, but the Constable's, concluding with the Duke, that Secrecy might facilitate the design: The Count advised the Duke to take a Journey for England, which he refused, and dispatched Monsieur Lignerolle, a sprightly Gentleman, his Favourite, to sound the Queen's inclinations, and to endeavour to fix some obligation upon her. In the interim he takes a Journey for Brussels, to give a visit to the Duke of Savoy, who was there with the King of Spain. The death of Queen Mary gave several difficulties to the Treaty, which about the end of November broke up, and his Majesty returned to Paris.  
At last there broke forth a Beauty in the Court which drew all its Eyes upon her, and I cannot without injustice rank her amongst the indifferent, that could purchase such admiration in a place that was so richly stored. She was of the Family of the Viscount de Chartres, and one of the greatest Heiresses of France. She had the misfortune to bury her Father in her infancy, by which unhappy accident, she was left to the Guardianship of Madam de Chartres, her Mother. She was a Lady of those great Accomplishments, that Fortune, Virtue, and Merit seemed to have conspired to complete her fair model. After her Husband's death, she had for some years made her recess from Court. During her retirement, she was not wanting to give her Daughter an Education suitable to her Quality, in which she did not so much labour to improve her Person as her better part, which she endeavoured to embellish with Virtue, which renders a Lady truly noble. The generality of Mothers imagine it sufficient to forbear to discourse of the vanity of Love; left their Children should be invited to stray out of the paths of Virtue. Madam de Chartres was of a contrary opinion. She was pleased to paint out love to her Daughter in all its shapes, that she might be the better able to discern that part of her which might be the most dangerous. She informs her of the little Sincerity and Candour there is in Man. Their Devices, their Infidelity, and the Domestic Discontents Marriage often plunges those into, that alter their condition. On the other side she declares the Happiness and Tranquillity that attends a Virtuous Wife; and what Luster and Esteem Piety in a person of Birth and Beauty may purchase her. And concludes in acquainting her with the difficulty to preserve it; which cannot be better secured than by a diffidence in ourselves, and a serious application to those things that can best contribute to our happiness, which is to love our Husbands, and to merit a return.  
This Lady was at that time one of the greatest Matches of France; and notwithstanding she was but in her greener years, she wanted not her choice of Proposals. Madam de Chartres, who was an ambitious Lady, scarce thought the noblest worthy her consideration. She having now arrived to the sixteenth year of her Age, she brought her to Court. The first that paid his respects to her, upon her arrival, was the Viscount, who was not a little surprised, and you cannot blame him, at the Beauty of the fair Lady. The delicacy of her Mien, (in which York and Lancaster seemed to have contended which of the two should be the most prodigal of his Charms) was the Subject of his admiration.  
The Day following, the young Lady went to a famous Italian to purchase a Set of Jewels. This Gentleman came along with the Queen from Florence; and he had raised himself to that prodigious wealth by his Industry, that his House appeared rather to be the Palace of a Prince, than the Being of a Merchant. When she was there, in comes the Prince of Cleve: He was so transported at the sight of this young Lady, that he could not dissemble his surprise. Madam de Chartres could not forbear to answer the Prince's discomposure with a blush; after she had a little composed herself, she pays her civility to the Prince, suitable to the Character she apprehended he might bear. The Prince beheld her with admiration; but he was not able to judge who this Lady should be, having never had the honour to see her before. He perceived by her Person, and the numerous Retinue that waited on her, that she must be of eminent Quality. Her youth persuaded him she might be a Maid, but seeing no Mother with her, and the Italian giving her the Title of Madam, he knew not what to think. She seemed to receive his Addresses with a disorder more than usual with young Ladies, who take no small vanity in the impression their Beauty may happily make upon a stranger. The Prince's applications to her, gave her some impatience to retire; which she suddenly did: Monsieur de Cleve was pleased, notwithstanding her absence, to solace himself, with the hopes to have the happiness to retrieve her again, when he should know who she was. But upon the question put to the Italian, he could receive no satisfaction: He was notwithstanding so strangely captivated with her Beauty, and that Grace and sweetness that attended it, that from that moment he entertained a passion for her that was not ordinary. In the Evening he went to kiss the Hands of his Majesty's Sister.  
The Princess was a Lady of great value, for the interest she had in the King, which was so powerful with him, that his Majesty, upon the Peace, was pleased to restore Piedmont to the Duke of Savoy for her sake. And notwithstanding she had a disposition to marry, yet her Ambition would never stoop to any thing below a Sovereign; which was the reason she refused the King of Navarre, when he was Duke of Vendome. The Interview, at Nice, between Francis the first, and Paul the third, gave birth to her inclinations for the Savoyard; she was a person of great Ingenuity, and a great Judge of the Ingenious; so that her Apartment was the Theatre of the Virtuoso's and the Court was pleased to spend some hours there for its Divertisement.  
The Prince of Cleve was of the number of the Visitants: He was so swelled with the admiration of young Madam de Chartres, that he could discourse upon no other Subject. He made a public Narrative of his adventure, and could not forbear to be lavish of his praises of the Lady (though incognita.) Madam— was pleased to tell him, that she believed there was no such Creature in being; for if there were she must needs be known. Madam Dampier, one of the Princess' Ladies of Honour, and an Intimate of Madam de Chartres, took the liberty to whisper her Highness in the Ear, that it might be young Madam de Chartres, whom the Prince had seen: Madam— turning to the Prince, told him, if he would afford her his Company the day following, she would endeavour to give him a sight of the fair Lady he seemed to have so great a passion for. The next day the young Lady came; she had so obliging a reception from both Queens, that it sufficiently demonstrated the value they had for her; neither were there wanting to attend it, both the admiration, and the praise of the whole Court: She received their Grace and Favour with so sweet a modesty, 'twas hard to distinguish whether she seemed to take notice of them or value them most. This young Lady was pleased to put herself amongst Madam's Train. The Princess, after she had given a fair Character of her person, could not forbear to acquaint her with the impressions it had made upon the Prince of Cleve; she had no sooner concluded, but enters the Prince. Come hither (says Madam) behold I have made good my word to you, and satisfy me, if in presenting Madam de Chartres to you, I have not given you a sight of the fair Lady you are in quest of; I expect your thanks for showing you a Lesson by which you may learn the more to admire it.  
The Prince was overjoyed when he found the Lady, for whom he had so great a passion, was of a Quality adequate with her Person. He made his Addresses to her, and humbly begged she would vouchsafe to remember he was the first that laid his Heart at her Feet, and before he had the happiness to be known to her, he had an honour and respect for her suitable to her merit.  
The Chevalier of Guise, and the Prince, two bosom Friends, took their leave of Madam together. They were no sooner out but they began a fresh to launce forth into the admiration of this fair Lady. At last, having wasted their stock of praise, they were forced to take up. The whole day following they gave themselves the loose Rein again: This fresh beauty continued a long subject for the Courts discourse. The Queen was pleased to rank herself amongst the number of her admirers, which she sufficiently evidenced by the kindness she was pleased to show her.  
The Dauphin-Queen made her her Favourite, laying her Commands upon Madam de Chartres, her Mother, that she should often make her visits to her: And the Princesses, the King's Daughters, to declare the Honour they had for her, there was not any Divertisement they thought worthy their Royal presence, in which they made her not a sharer. In fine, she had purchased all the Hearts of the Court, except that of Madam the Valentinois: not that this young Lady gave her any Jealousy, too long an Experience had confirmed her, that she was not to be supplanted. She had so great an inveteracy against the Viscount de Chartres, that she wished she could entail it upon him by a Marriage with one of her Daughters. She had already possessed the Queen, that she could not look kindly upon a person that bore his Name, nor any for whom he had a kindness.  
The Prince became a passionate admirer of Madam de Chartres, and pursued his suit with all the Zeal imaginable; but he feared the haughtiness of Madam de Chartres, her Mother, would never dispense with her Daughter's marriage with a Gentleman that was not the head of his Family. This House was yet so noble, that the Count d' Eu, who was its Capital, had the honour to marry with a Lady that was nearly related to the Blood Royal. So that this seemed rather the timidity of Love, than any just subject for his Jealousy: He had several Rivals: The Chevalier de Guise, whose Birth, Merit, and the Luster the Royal Favour gave him, rendered him the most considerable. This Prince's heart became her Prisoner also at the first sight. These two had discovered each others passion. The distance pretensions of this nature create in Rivals, had interrupted their usual Conversation: Their friendship began to grow i'll, and they had scarce the power to disguise their several Resentments: The happiness the Prince of Cleve had to be her first admirer, appeared to be no ill presage; it seemed to give him some advantage over the rest: The Duke was strongly leagued with the Duchess of Valentinois; she was a mortla Enemy to the Viscount, and this was a sufficient reason to divert the Duke of Nevers consent to the marriage of his Son with a Niece of his.  
Madam de Chartres, who had applied herself with so much zeal to infuse Virtue into her Daughter, was not wanting to contrive it here, where it was so necessary, and where there were so many dangerous examples. Ambition and Gallantry were the soul of this Court; they had equally diffused themselves amongst both Sexes. There were so many several Interests, and different Cabals, in which the Women bore a part, that Affairs seemed to mix with Love, and Love with business. No man must be impartial or indifferent: Their thoughts were either taken up how to rise, to please, to serve, or to offend: They knew not what it was to be dull or lazy: They were either diverted with Pleasures or Intrigues: The Ladies studied how they might rivet themselves into the favour of the Queen, the Dauphin Queen, the Queen of Navarre, Madam the King's Sister, or the Duchess of Valentinois; their Inclinations, their Deportment, and their Humours made their Applications different. Those, who had taken leave of their youth, to embrace an austerer retirement, made their addresses to her Majesty; those that had not yet divested themselves of their airy sprightfulness, to the Dauphin-Queen. The Queen of Navarre wanted not her Favourites also, she was young, and had a power over the King her Husband, whose interest was embarked in the same bottom with the Constables, which gave him a Vogue. The beauty of Madam, the King's Sister, was a Loadstone that had not lost its virtue; she attracted also on her side her number of Admirers. The Duchess of Valentinois received none both those she thought worthy her regard; few were welcome to her, and only such, with whom she could converse with freedom and confidence, and who sympathized with her humour; she took a vanity to see her Court could in its Luster rival with the Queens: The different Cabals, had their several emulations and envy; neither were the Ladies that composed them exempted from their jealousies either for their Love or Favour. The interest of greatness, and the ambition to rise, sometimes vouchsafed to interfere with concerns of little importance. There were some motions in this Court without disorder, which rendered it graceful, though dangerous to youth. Madam de Chartres was sensible of the peril, and made it her care to find out an expedient to divert her Daughter from it. She desired her, not as a Mother, but a Friend, that she would impart to her all the little Gallantries she could meet withal, promising her in return to afford her her conduct to carry her through all those difficulties which imbarrass youth.  
The Chevalier of Guise had so far divulged his affection for this Lady, that none could pretend to be ignorant of it; but he finds the way to compass her was not so even, but there were some Rubs he might unlickily stumble at: He was sensible that the narrowness of his Fortune, which was not able to support the honour of his quality, could not render him so agreeable to this Lady, as the Persons that were considerable; and he was farther conscious to himself, that his Friends would never consent to this Match, when they considered, that the marriage of younger Brothers must needs debate great Families. The Cardinal of Lorain soon took an occasion to undeceive him; he was pleased to express his resentment, and that with no little heat neither: He would rather have been consented to any other alliance than that with the Viscount; and he did so far publish his antipathy against it, that Madam de Chartres was sensibly offended at it. She made it her care to convince the Cardinal that it was not her intention. The Viscount followed her example, but seemed more to resent the Cardinal's carriage, being sensible of the cause.  
The Prince of Cleve was not backward to make known his passion to the World, as well as the Chevalier de Guise had done before him. The Duke of Nevers received the news of this address, not without some tokens that discovered how unwelcome it was to him. He thought to remind his Son but of his error, would oblige him to alter his inclination; but he was mistaken, his Son had fixed so strong a resolution upon this Match, no admonitions could make any impression on him: He condemns the design, and was so far transported with passion at it, that his disorder at last reached the knowledge of the Court, and amongst the rest that of Madam de Chartres; she doubted not but that the Duke of Nevers would not think this Marriage sufficiently advantageous for his Son; but on the other side she could not forbear to wonder that the Houses of Cleve and Guise should rather seem to fear than covet her alliance. The indignation she conceived at this affront, put her upon a resolution to find out a person that might exalt her Daughter above those that thought her so much below them. After she had consulted her thoughts, she fixes upon the Prince Dauphin, Son to the Duke of Montpensier. This was a Gentleman that held one of the primest Ranks in the Court. Madam de Chartres was a Lady of parts; she was assisted by the Viscount, who was a person of great abilities, and her Daughter a Lady considerable. She managed her design with that dexterity and success, and Monsieur had so far embraced the motion, she seemed almost to have surmounted all its difficulties.  
The Viscount, knowing the power the Dauphin Queen had over Monsieur de Anvil, thought it not amiss to employ the interest of that Princess to engage him to serve Mademoiselle d' Chartres, both with his Majesty and the Prince of Montpensier, whose intimate friend he was. Madam de Chartres imparts it to her Majesty; she was pleased to receive it with a great deal of content and satisfaction, when she understood it would contribute towards the advancement of a person she had so great a kindness for. She assured the Viscount, that notwithstanding she was sensible it might disoblige the Cardinal her Uncle, she was yet resolved to make good her Royal Promise. Upon this just provocation, that she observed, the Cardinal seemed daily to be more inclinable to the interest of the Queen than hers.  
Persons, that are truly honourable, think themselves happy in any opportunity that can enable them to serve their Friends. The Viscount had no sooner taken his leave, but she immediately dispatches Monsieur Castelart, a Favourite of Monsieur de Anvil, and who was privy to the passion he had for her, to signify to him, that she expected him that night at Court. Castelart received her commands with joy and respect. This Gentleman was of a good Family in the Dauphin; but had a Soul and Spirit too great for his Birth: He was well received by all the Grandees of the Court; and the intimacy that was between the Families of Montmorency and the Anvil, had its Birth from him. He was a person well accomplished, and graceful in his Actions: In Music and Poetry he did not the least excel: He had a humour so sweet and debonair, and it had so far endeared him in the esteem of Monsieur de Anvil, that he made him the Confident of his Amours, between the Dauphin-Queen and him. This Confidence recommended him to this Princess; and here it was, by his often visits, that she took up that unfortunate passion for him, that in the end robbed her both of her reason and her life.  
Monsieur de Anvil failed not to obey her Majesty's Commands; he thought himself happy that Madam le Dauphin had vouchsafed to impose the thing upon him he so much coveted. He gave her Majesty his word to serve her in it. Madam de Valentinois, having discovered the design, was not wanting to throw all the Rubs imaginable in the way. She had so prepossessed the King, that when Monsieur de Anvil came to speak to him in it, he was pleased to let him understand how little he approved of it. He commands him to signify as much to the Prince of Montpensier. You may easily judge how poor Madam de Chartres resented this sudden Rupture, whose unfortunate success gave so great an advantage to her Enemies, and so much prejudice to her Daughter.  
The Dauphin Queen was pleased to declare to Madam de Chartres the discontent she had that she could not serve her. You see Madam, (says the Queen) that my Interest is but small. I stand upon so ill terms with the Queen and Madam Valentinois, that it is no wonder that either they or their Dependants endeavour to disappoint all my desires. I have made it my endeavours to please them: 'Tis true, they hate me not for my own sake, but my Mothers; she has formerly given them some jealousy and disquiet: The King had his passions before he fixed them on the Duchess of Valentinois; and in the first years of his Marriage, when he had no Issue, and notwithstanding he loved the Duchess, he was almost resolved to be divorced from the Queen, to make room for the Queen my Mother. Madam de Valentinois, who was jealous of a Lady whom he had formerly loved, whose Wit and Beauty were able to lessen her favour, joins her interest with that of the Constable, who never wished it (as well as she) that his Majesty should marry with the Sister of the Duke of Guise. They possessed his Majesty deceased with their Sentiments; and notwithstanding that he mortally hated the Duchess of Valentinois, and loved the Queen, yet he laboured with them in the prevention of the Divorce. But to divert all his thoughts of my Mother, they married her into Scotland: They did it as being nearest a Conclusion; by which means they disappointed the King of England, who the most coveted it. This precipitation of theirs had like to have made a Rupture between the two Crowns: Henry the Eighth was unsatisfied that he was disappointed of the Queen my Mother, or some other French Princess they had propounded to him: He has been heard to say, that the Worth and Beauty of this Lady was so firmly riveted in his Royal heart, the fairest of the Sex must despair ever to remove it thence. 'Tis true, the Queen my Mother was a great, but an unfortunate, Beauty; and that which rendered it the more remarkable, was, That the Widow of the Duke of Longuevile, had been the ambition of three Crowns; but her unhappy Fate had appointed her the meanest Lot. She had placed her in a Kingdom where she conversed with nothing but misery and trouble: They are pleased to say that I resemble her, but I fear in nothing but her unhappy destiny; for what good fortune has prepared for me; I have not faith to believe I shall enjoy. Mademoiselle de Charters was pleased to reply to the Queen, that these sad sentiments were ill grounded, that she must not two long dwell upon them, but that she ought to hope that it would one day answer its appearances.  
No man durst farther pursue the thoughts of Madam de Chartres, either fearing to incur his Majesty's displeasure, or despairing of success in the Affair a Prince of the Blood has miscarried in. The death of the Duke of Nevers his Father, which immediately followed, gave him an entire liberty to gratify his own inclinations; for as soon as he could with modesty dispense with his appearance in public, he was resolved to resign up all his thoughts towards the accomplishment of this Marriage. He thought himself happy that he could make his Proposals, in a season that had given opportunities of disincouragement to others, and some assurance to himself. But that which discomposed his Joy, was, that he feared that his Person had not Merit enough to recommend him to her; and he was resolved to prefer her happiness before his own.  
The Chevalier of Guise had given him some jealousy; but when he considered that it was rather grounded upon the Merit of that Prince, than any Action of Mademoiselle de Chartres, he resolved to endeavour to discover, if he were so happy but to know whether she was pleased to allow the passion he had for her: He had not the happiness to see her but in the Queen's Apartment, or some public place; so that he found it difficult to have the liberty of a free conversation. At last he found out the means; he discovered to her his design, and the passion that obliged him first to take it up. He pressed her to let him have the happiness to know her Sentiments of him; assuring her, that those he had for her were of that nature, they would render him eternally miserable, if she was resolved wholly to resign up her obedience to her Mothers Will.  
The young Lady had a generous Soul, she was sensibly touched with the passion of the Prince of Cleve: This acknowledgement aded so great a sweetness to her Words and Answers, that it gave him hopes, and he began to flatter himself with the success he so much wished for.  
She gave an account of it to her Mother, Madam de Chartres was pleased to tell her, that there was that Grandeur and Worth in that Prince, and he demonstrated that prudence and discretion in all his actions, that in case she had an inclination for him, she should not want her consent. Mademoiselle de Chartres answered her Mother, that she was of the number of the admirers of his eminent qualities, that she could marry him with less reluctancy than another, but confessed the inclination she had for him was not singular.  
The day following the Prince signified his intentions to Madam de Chartres, she was pleased to consent, and told him she did not doubt but that she gave her Daughter a Husband that would love her when she bestowed her upon him: the Articles were concluded, the King acquainted, and the Match made public.  
The Prince of Cleve thought himself happy, but not content; it troubled him to see that the sentiments of Mademoiselle de Chartres were no other than the common returns due to civility and respect: He had not (as it is usual with the enamoured) the vanity to flatter himself, that she might have reserved the more obliging for a better season. He only considers the terms upon which he stands with her, and thinks they may justly dispense with the liberty to discover them, without prejudice to her modesty. Within few days he finds an opportunity to acquaint her with his resentment. Is it possible (says the Prince) I may be once so happy as to be yours; at present I cannot presume to think myself so fortunate; you are pleased to treat me with a sort of kindness, it neither gives me satisfaction nor content: I cannot discover those convincing passions of impatience, disquiet, or disorder, to confirm a Lover's staggering Faith: You seem to be as insensible of my Love, as you would vouchsafe his, whose Affection's only grounded upon the advantages of your Fortune, not you Person. You will think it some injustice (replies Mademoiselle de Chartres) should I chide you now; I know not what further proofs you can desire to receive, or me to give, than those I have already done. Methinks you should believe as well as I, my modesty ought to allow no greater. I own it (says the Prince) that you are pleased to give me some little Symptoms with which I could rest satisfied, would greater but ensue: But in lieu of those, you are pleased to interpose a coyness, which prompts you to this cruelty: I have not the happiness to make any impression, either upon your Inclination or your Heart; and my Company seems to be indifferently divided between your trouble and content. You ought not to question it, (replies Mademoiselle de Chartres) those often blushes I cannot hide from you, aught to be a sufficient Evidence of the value I have set upon it. As for your blushes, Madam, (says the Prince) they surprise me not, they are but modesties bashful discoverers, not the hearts; but I assure you, I shall presume to take no other advantage by them than what I justly may.  
The young Lady was nonplussed, she understood not the distinctions the Prince had made. Monsieur de Cleve, on the otherside, perceived too well how far she was estranged from any sentiment to his satisfaction. His passion was so unhappy, it could make no alteration in her.  
The Chevalier of Guise returned from a Journey some few days before the Wedding; he, having been made sensible of those insuperable difficulties that attended his design upon Mademoiselle de Chartres, resolved to flatter himself no longer with the vanity of any success in it; yet at the same time he could not forbear to be sensibly touched to see her in another's Arms. His regret was so far from extinguishing his passion, it rather inflamed it more. Mademoiselle de Chartres was not ignorant of the respect this Prince had for her; he could not forbear at his return to let her know she was the unhappy subject of his torment, though he knew she was a person of that worth and honour, she could not consent to make him miserable without some pity for him, which he believed she could scarce avoid, though he was conscious to himself, her compassion could prompt him no other thoughts, but that he was so. She could not conceal from Madam de Chartres her Mother, the trouble this Prince's passion gave her: Madam de Chartres admired (and that justly too) the virtue of her Daughter, for never Lady had either a greater or a more natural; but her admiration did not exceed her wonder, that the passion of the Prince of Cleve could make no deeper an impression in her, than others seemed to do. This made Madam de Chartres the more zealous to endear her Husband to her, that she might make her sensible what returns she ought to make the affection he had for her, even when he knew her not; and to the passion he had since declared, in preferring her before the whole number of her Sex, and that when no other durst harbour a thought for her.  
This Marriage was solemnised at the Lovure; at night his Majesty and the two Queens, attended with the whole Court, were pleased to take a Treat from Madam de Chartres. I need not tell you, its splendour and magnificence was proportioned to the honour of their Royal Guests. The Chevalier of Guise durst as little venture to distinguish himself from the rest, as not to afford his assistance at the Ceremony. But, alas, he could so little disguise his trouble and disorder, it fell under the notice of all the Company.  
Monsieur de Cleve discovered, that Mademoiselle de Chartres had not changed her humour with her name. He was sensible the quality of a Husband had given him the greater privilege, but not the greater place in his Lady's heart. This obliged him (though a Husband) to treat her as a Servant, for he still seemed to wish for something beyond the bare enjoyment of her: And though he seemed to live perfectly contented, yet he could not think himself entirely happy with her. The passion he had for her was so violent and troublesome, it disturbed his joy; though he was yet happy in this, that his jealousy had no share in his disquiet. Never was Husband so far from taking, nor Wife so far from giving it. Notwithstanding she visited the Courts of both the Queens, and that of Madam: where, and at her Brother-in-law's, the Duke of Nevers, whose House was the general Rendezvous, she was exposed to the admiration of all the brisk and noble Youth of the Town: She had a Mien that created her so great a respect, and which seemed so much a stranger to all manner of Courtship, that the Marshal of St. Andre, who had a passion for her, (notwithstanding he was the most confident, and indeed the best propped with his Majesty's Grace and Favour) durst not presume to show it farther than by his services. Many others lay under the same unhappiness; for Madam de Chartres had added to her Daughter's discretion, so exact a conduct in all her Actions and Deportment, that she convinced the Court, that that young Lady had a Soul so virtuous, it would allow of no ill tincture.  
The Duchess of Lorain, as she was pleased to employ her interest for the conclusion of this peace, she was not wanting to contribute her endeavours for the advantage of her Son. There was a Marriage concluded between him and Madam Claude, the King's second Daughter, and the Month of February appointed for the Nuptials.  
In the interim the Duke of Nemours stays at Brussels, wholly taken up with his great design for England, Dispatches, and Couriers pass and re-pass daily; his hopes begin more and more to swell upon him. In fine, Monsieur Lignerolles advises him, it was now time that his presence should endeavour to accomplish the thing he had so happily begun: He received the news with all the joy a young ambitious Soul was capable of, that saw himself so nigh being handed up into a Throne upon his single Merit. His Heart was so immovably fixed upon the Grandeur of this Fortune, that he would not as much as vouchsafe to allow a thought towards the difficulties that might interpose between it and him.  
He sends immediately to Paris his necessary Orders for a splendid Equipage, that he might appear in the Court of England in lustre suitable to the greatness of his design. Not long after he follows himself, that he might have the honour to be present at the Wedding of the Duke of Lorain.  
He came the day before, and as soon as he arrived, he went to pay his respects to the King, to give him an account of this Affair, and receive his Majesty's order and commands how to govern himself in it; he went also to wait upon her Majesty; Madam Cleve not being there, she had not the happiness either to see him or to know of his arrival. Report (which had been in every person's mouth, so lavish of his praises, as of one who was the mirror of the Court, both in his merit and his person) had amongst the rest reached her Ear. Madam, the Dauphin, had spoken of him at that rate, and so often to her, she had inflamed the Princess of Cleve's curiosity, even to a degree of impatience to have the honour to see him.  
She employed the Wedding-day in dressing herself to her advantage, that she might appear with the greater Luster at the Royal Ball and Banquet that was to be made that Night at the Lovure: When she came in, the Company paid their usual admiration to her person and her habit; the Ball began, and as she was dancing with Monsieur de Guise, there was a noise heard at the Door which seemed to make room for the entrance of some great person. Madam de Cleve was just disengaged from the Duke of Guise, and was casting her Eye about the noble Company, where to single out one to supply his place, when the King was pleased to oblige her to take him that came in last; she turned upon him, and beheld his person, which at first sight she knew to be Monsieur de Nemours; he was forced to walk over some Chairs before he came to her. This Prince was cast in so fair a Mould, that 'twas impossible not to be surprised with it at the first sight: The industry he had used to set himself forth, very much contributed to the gracefulness of his person; and 'twas as hard to look on Madam de Cleve without an equal admiration.  
Monsieur de Nemours was so strangely captivated with her Beauty, that upon his approaches to her, and the return she paid the respects he gave her, he could not forbear to show some tokens of his admiration; a soft murmur of praises stole through the whole Company; the King and the two Queens were all surprised, and their wonder was not small, to see two persons dance with that grace and franckness together, and yet were strangers to each other. They had no sooner done, but they were called; were they were pleased to ask them if they had not a reciprocal ambition to know each of other. Madam, for may part (says the Duke of Nemours) I am satisfied; but if Madam de Cleve finds not these fair Marks about me, as I have discovered in her, to know her by, I beseech your Majesty to do me the honour to inform her. I believe (says Madam le Dauphin) you can divine as well as he. I assure you Madam (replies Madam deCleve) who seemed to be a little di sordered, I am not so good a Prophet as you are pleased to think me. You guess well (says Madam la Dauphin) you have certainly some regard more than ordinary for the Prince, that you are not pleased to acknowledge that you can guests as well at him as he has done at you. The Queen was pleased to interrupt their disoourse for the advantage of the Ball; Monsieur de Nemours took out the Dauphin-Queen; this Princess was a perfect Beauty, and such she did appear in the Prince's Eye before his Journey into Flanders, yet for all this he could not but allow the whole night to the admiration of this Lady.  
The Chevalier of Guise that did yet adore her, sat at her Feet; there was not the least thing passed there which gave him not some disquiet. He looked upon it as ominous, that Fortune should destiny Monsieur de Nemours to have a passion for Madam de Cleve, he could scarce disguise his regret from being discovered in his looks, and was as little able to restrain his jealousy from reflections upon her Honour. He thought she might be sensibly touched with the merit of this Prince; and he could not forbear to let her know, that Monsieur de Nemours was a happy man, that could recommend himself to her knowledge by an adventure, which, with so much gracefulness and gallantry, had initiated him into her acquaintance.  
Madam de Cleve returns home swelled with the entertainment she had received at Court; and, notwithstanding 'twas late, she took the liberty to disturb her Mother, to give her the Relation of it. She was pleased to speak of Monsieur de Nemours with a Countenance, that gave Madam the Charters the same jealousy the Chevalier de Guise had entertained before.  
The day following the Ceremony of the Nuptials was performed. There she saw him with those advantages of Person and Gallantry, that they added to her former surprise.  
The day after she saw him at the Dauphin-Queens, she saw him play a set at Tennis with the King, she saw him run at the Ring, and she heard him discourse; but she observed that he so far surpassed all the rest, that he engrossed the whole Company to himself, by the gracefulness of his person and the briskness of his wit; this in a short time made no small impression in her.  
'Tis certain that Monsieur Nemours had an inclination for her equally violent with hers, which gave him that sweetness and delight that inspire desires to oblige. He endeavoured to render himself more lovely and amiable than he was used to do; insomuch, that by often interviews they did discover something in each other that was the most accomplished in the Court, so that it was hard if they should not delight infinitely in each other.  
The Duchess of Valentinois was the ambition of all parties; and the King had as great a care and fondness of her, as in the infancy of his passion: Madam de Cleve, that was in an Age which thinks Women no longer amiable than under the years of five and twenty, was not a little surprised at the kindness his Majesty was still pleased to have for the Duchess, who was a Grandmother, and now designing the Marriage of her youngest Daughter: Madam de Cleve did often discourse with her Mother of this Subject. How is it possible, (says she) Madam, that his Majesty should yet retain a passion for the Duchess; 'tis strange that he should fix his Heart upon a Lady superior to him in years, who has been the Mistress of his Father, and, (if we may presume to credit report) of others too. 'Tis true, (replies Madam de Chartres) 'twas neither the Merit, nor yet the Constancy of Madam de Valentinois, that gave birth to his Majesty's passion, nor yet conserveses it; and 'tis in this his Majesty is the less excusable; for had this Lady had Beauty, or Youth, suitable to her Birth, or had she had so much worth as to have loved no other, or that her love to his Majesty had kept within the limits of Fidelity, or her Affection had had no other regard than his Royal Person, abstracted from the interest of Grandeur and Fortune, and without employing that power but for things that were just and honourable for the King, 'tis confessed a person could not (without some injustice) have blamed the passion of this Prince. If I did believe I should not lie under the unhappy censure Women of my years undeservedly do, which take pleasure to relate the passages of the Age they dwell in. I would give you the Relation of their Amours, and several other intrigues of the Court of the deceased King, which do not a little sympathise with those practicable at present. I am far from those reflections (replied Madam de Cleve) that I am sorry, Madam, that you have not been pleased to instruct me in the present, and that you have not learned me the distinct Interests and Cabals of the Court. I am so ill read in them, that I believed there was not a day wherein the Constable was not in her Majesty's Favour. Your Opinion is infinitely remote from the truth of it, (answers Madam de Chartres) the Queen has a perfect Hatred for the Constable, and if ever she has a power, he will be sure both to know and feel it. She is sensible that he has often informed the King, that of all his Children, none resemble him more than his natural ones. I never suspected a misunderstanding here (replies Madam de Cleve) after I had been an Eye-witness of the care her Majesty took to solace him in his Confinement; the joy she was pleased to express at his enlargement; and especially after she had treated him in the familiar phrase of Gossip with the King. If you shall measure (says Madam de Chartres) things by their appearances, you will often lie under a mistake; you must know, that Hearts and Tongues keep here no correspence together.  
Give me leave to assume my story of the Duchess (says Madam de Chartres) and proceed; You must understand that she is called, The Diana of Poitiers; her Family is noble; she is descended from the ancient Dukes of Acquitain; her Grandfather was the Natural Son of Lewis the Eleventh; in fine, her whole composition is made up of greatness; her Father had unfortunately engaged in the quarrel of the Constable of Bourbon, of which you have so often heard; he was condemned to lose his Head, and in order to it was conducted to the Scaffold; his Daughter, who had a charming Beauty, and which had already kindled a Flame in the King's Breast, interposed her interest, and obtained his pardon. 'Twas brought him in the fatal moment he expected the bloody stroke; the fear and terror he lay under had so far disordered his thoughts, he was not sensible of his Majesty's Grace and favour, so that the day following put a period to his life. His Daughter appeared at Court as the King's Mistress: the Expedition for Italy, and the King's Imprisonment, gave some diversion to this passion. After his Majesty's return from Spain, and that Madam the Queen Regent went to meet him at Bayonne, she took all her Daughters with her, amongst which number was Mademoiselle de Pisseleu, afterwards Duchess of d' Estampes. The King saw her, and became her prize; she was much inferior, both in her Quality, Wit, and Beauty, to Madam de Valennois, and she had nothing but her youth to recommend her to his Majesty's favour: I have often heard her say, that she was born the same Day the Diana of Poitiers was married; but her malice, not the truth, obliged her to speak it: For, if I am not mistaken, the Duchess of Valentinois married Monsieur de Breze, Grand-President of Normandy, at the same time the King had first a passion for Madam d' Estampes. There was never a greater picque in Nature than between these two Ladies: The Duchess of Valentinois could not in her heart pardon Madam de Estampes, notwithstanding she had divested her of the Title of The King's Mistress, Madam de Estampes had an inveteracy against the Duchess, because the King still kept her company. This Prince was not always constant to his Mistresses; there was one, 'tis true, which wore the Title and the Honour of it, but the Ladies of the lesser Faction, as they style them, had the happiness sometimes to take their turns in his favour. The death of the Dauphin, who died at Tournon, and not without a suspicion of poison, gave him no small Disquiet: He had not that tenderness and affection for his second Son, our present King: He discovered not in him those inclinations to vigour and courage: He was pleased to complain to Madam Valentinois, and told her, he would endeavour to create a passion in him for her, that she might infuse into him something more noble and generous. It had the success, you see, 'tis upwards of twenty years this passion had its Birth, and yet has stood the shock of all difficulties and alterations.  
His deceased Majesty endeavoured to oppose it in its in fancy, and notwithstanding he had a kindness for the Duchess, either prompted by his jealousy, or Madam de Estampes (who was now upon the point of despair, seeing her Enemy in the Dauphin's Arms) was pleased to look upon this passion with some indignation; of which he was not wanting to give his symptoms; his Son neither regarded his Anger nor his Hatred; nothing could oblige him either to lessen the value he had for her, nor yet hide it: At last his Majesty was forced to connive; the Dauphin's stubbornness much abated of his Royal favour, which he conferred in a greater measure upon the Duke of Orleans, his third Son: He was a Prince on whom Nature had been lavish of her Grace; but he was swelled with so much heat and ambition, and of a spirit so fierce, that it wanted a Curb. He had been a Prince of great worth and honour, had his Age been so kind as to have ripened his understanding.  
The quality the Dauphin held, and the favour the King was pleased to show the Duke of Orleans, had created so great an envy between them, it almost amounted to a degree of hatred: It took its being from their infancy, and has continued to this day. The Emperor, when he came through France, gave the precedency to the Duke of Orleans, which so much incensed the Dauphin that he would have obliged the Constable to arrest him without his Majesty's Command. The Constable durst not obey; the King blamed him that he took not his Son's advice, and when he banished him the Court, his reasons for it wanted not their different Interpreters.  
The difference between these two Brothers gave fresh thoughts to the Duchess de Estampes, to endeavour to prop herself with the interest of the Duke of Orleans against the Duchess: It had its success: This Prince, without having the least passion for her, did as zealously espouse her quarrel, as the Dauphin had done the Duchess. This created two Cabals in the Court, such as you may easily imagine. These Intrigues were not limited within the management of the weaker Sex.  
The Emperor who had a great respect for the Duke of Orleans, had often offered him the Duchy of Milan; and in the Articles of the Peace that was afterwards concluded, he gave him the hopes of the seventeen Provinces, and his Daughter in marriage with them: The Dauphin neither inclined to the Match nor it; he employed the Constable, whom he ever loved, to make the King sensible of what importance it would be, to leave his Successor a Brother so powerful as the Duke of Orleans must be with the advantage of the Imperial Alliance and these Countries. The Constable yielded more easily to the Dauphin's design, in that it was opposite to that of Madam d' Estampes, who was his declared Enemy, and who so passionately desired the Duke's advancement.  
The Dauphin at that time commanded his Majesty's Army in Champagne, and had reduced that of the Empire to those extremities, he had certainly ruined it, if the Duchess d' Estampes (fearing these great advantages might retard the Peace and the honour of the Duke's Alliance with the Emperor) had not advised the Enemy to surprise Espernay, and the Castle of Rierry, which was their Magazine; they attempted it, and succeeded, by which means they preserved the Army.  
This Duchess did not long enjoy the success of her Treason: Immediately after died the Duke of Orleans at Farmoutiers of a contagious disease. He was enamoured with one of the greatest Beauties of the Court, who was pleased to entertain the flame. I shall forbear to name her, for she has since lived under so close a retirement, and has with so much prudence disguised the passion she had for him, we ought in justice to be tender of her honour. The death of her Husband and the Duke bore even date together, which gave her the freedom to show those open marks of her grief and sorrow, which otherwise she had been enforced to hide.  
The King did not long survive the Prince his Son, for he died within two years after. He recommends to the Dauphin the Cardinal of Tournon, and the Admiral d' Annebault, without the least mention of the Constable, whom he had confined to Chantilly; notwithstanding his Father's commands, he calls him home, and makes him the grand Minister of State.  
Madam d' Estampes was discarded, and received all the ill Treatment she could expect from so powerful and inveterate an Enemy. The Duchess of Valentinois was not satisfied till she had glutted herself with her revenge upon this Duchess, and the rest who had fallen under her displeasure. Her interest has been more absolute over the King since he came to the Crown, than when he was the Dauphin. These twelve years since he has reigned she has been the uncontrollable Mistress of all his Actions, she has had the disposal of all Governments and Affairs, she has obliged him to banish the Cardinal of Tournon, the Chancellor, and Villeray; all that have endeavoured to eclipse her power have perished in the attempt. The Count de Taix, Grand Master of the Artillery, who had no kindness for her, taking the liberty to reflect upon her Gallants, and particularly the Count de Brissac, of whom the King had a jealousy, she so subtly played her Cards, that he was in disgrace and divested of his imply: and what renders the thing more strange, she procured it for the Count de Brissac, who by her means had the honour to be since created a Marshal of France. The King's jealousy began to swell to that degree in him, he could no longer endure the test of it: but that which in another would have appeared more sharp and violent, was strangely corrected in him, by the great respect he had for this Lady; In so much that he durst not (if we may presume to use this saucy Dialect with a Prince) remove his Rival, but under the pretence of preferring him to the Government of Piedmont. He has lived there several years, and only returned this last Winter, under a pretext of recruiting the Troops under his command; and for other necessary supplies for the Army. The ambition to see the Duchess of Valentinois, and the fear of being forgotten, had certainly the greatest share in that Journey. The King was observed to receive him coldly; the Family of Guise, who loves her not, but yet dares not declare the cause, employed the Viscount, his mortal Enemy, to obstruct the Grant of what he designed himself by his Journey. 'Twas no hard matter to compass it; the King hated him, and his presence gave him no small disquiet; insomuch that he was forced to return, without having had the happiness to reap the fruits of his Voyage, which was only to give him an opportunity to re-kindle the Flame his passion had made in the heart of the Duchess, which he feared his absence might extinguish: His Majesty wanted no other subjects of his jealousy, but they not being known gave him no provocation to complain.  
I know not, Daughter, (says Madam de Chartres) if you may not find that I have instructed you in some things more than you are willing to know. I am so far from complaining, (replies Madam de Cleve) that did I not fear to be troublesome to you, I would desire you to enlarge upon several Circumstances which I am ignorant of.  
The passion that Monsieur de Nemours had for Madam de Cleve was so violent in its Original, that it seemed to have robbed him of all his content, and the very thoughts of those he had a kindness for; nay, even such with whom he conversed during her absence; 'twas his care to frame excuses to disengage himself from them; he could not allow himself the patience to give Ear to their Complaints, nor make returns to their reproaches. Madam la Dauphin, for whom he had inclinations not ordinarily passionate, yet he was scarce able to confine them within his Breast; Madam de Cleve had made that impression there. His impatience for England began to cool, he seemed not to pursue with much Zeal his necessary dispatches for that Journey.  
He often made his visits to the Dauphin-Queen, that he might have the happiness to pay his respects to Madam de Cleve, who was frequently there; neither was he concerned at the liberty some took to imagine (what others thought) of the passion he had for that Princess. Madam de Cleve was of that value with him, he was resolved rather to hide from her the sentiments of his heart, than expose her honour to the public. He forbore even to communicate it to the Viscount de Chartres, who was his Confident, and to whom his Bosom lay ever open. He used a Conduct so prudent, and which he managed with so much care, that the Argus's of the Court could not discover the least symptom of any kindness for this Lady, but in the Chevalier de Guise. Madam de Cleve herself had continued a stranger to them, had not the inclination she had for that Prince obliged her to keep a close Watch on all his Actions, which at last convinced her.  
She seemed not to have the same disposition to make an Overture of this adventure to her Mother, as she had already done by all the rest; she was resolved to lodge it in no other Breast but her own; but alas, she was mistaken; Madam de Chartres was as sensible of it as of her love for this Prince; the knowledge of which gave her no small disquiet. She understood the danger this poor young Lady was exposed unto, by the affection she had for a person of this Prince's Merit: Her jealousy was afterwards unhappily confirmed by a passage which suddenly ensued.  
The Marshal of St. Andre, who courted all opportunities to make his splendid Treats, humbly begged of his Majesty, that he would with the two Queens do him the honour to take a Collation at his house, which was newly finished. 'Twas thought he did it colourably, that Madam de Cleve might share in the greatness of this Entertainment, in which no man could possibly be more prodigal or profuse.  
Some few days before that which was appointed for the Supper, the Dauphin King, who had not his health, was indisposed and admitted of no visits. The Queen, his Lady, had spent the whole day with him; the Dauphin being better in the Evening, the persons of quality, who came to wait upon him, were introduced into his Bedchamber. The Queen was pleased to withdraw into another Chamber, where she found Madam de Cleve, and some other Ladies, with whom she was most familiarly pleased to converse.  
It being now late, and her Majesty not dressed, she went not to wait upon the Queen, but obliged them to excuse her; she gives order for her Jewels to be brought to her, that she might give Madam de Cleve her choice of them to wear at the Ball the Marshal was to make. In the interim in comes the Prince of Conde, his quality gave him a free entrance every where. You come (says the Queen to him) from the King my Husband, pray what news have you there? They are maintaining, Madam, (replies the Prince) a strong Argument against the Duke of Nemours, and he defends the Thesis with that heat and obstinaey, as if he himself were the subject of it. I believe he has a Mistress that may be uneasy to him at a Ball, that he thinks is so troublesome a thing to find her there. How, (says the Dauphin Queen) will Monsieur de Nemours be so unkind as to impose upon his Mistress? This Power me thinks might better suit with the authority of a Husband, than the obsequionsness of a Servant. Monsieur de Nemours (answers the Prince) finds by experience, that they are the most insupportable things in Nature to a poor Lover; for if he be so happy that his Mistress has a passion for him, he must be sure to stand the Test and Trial of her frowns for several days together. He says there's not a Lady of them all but will be so diverted with the vanity of the Habit she must appear in; she cannot be at leisure as much as to allow a thought towards him: And concludes the folly epidemical: Nay he does not rest here; he is sensible that when they are at these Balls, they have no other thoughts but to please in general: and if once they begin to set a value on their own Beauties, he fears the Servant has the least share in their admiration of it. He argues yet farther, if it be a man's unhappiness to be neglected, his torment is the greater in one of these Assemblies, where his Mistress takes no notice of them; for the more they are honoured in public, the more miserable does a man think himself that's slighted by them: They are jealous that their Beauty gives Birth to passions to their prejudice: And affirms there is no greater torment than to see her there.  
Madam de Cleve though she had given Ear to what the Prince had said, yet seemed to take no notice of it. She was sensible what interest she had in the opinion of Monsieur de Nemours; and above all the uneasieness the presence of his Mistress would give him there where he could not be; the King was dispatching him to the Duke of Ferrara.  
The Dauphin Queen could not forbear to smile, as well as the Prince who condemned the Duke's opinion. There is only one occasion (says the Prince) in which Monsieur de Nemours can dispense with her presence there, and that neither but when 'tis given by himself; and he was pleased to tell us, that the last year he gave one to your Majesty; and says, his Mistress did him the honour to come, under a pretence to wait on you. 'Tis an obligation a Mistress lays upon a Servant, when she is pleased to delight in the Divertiscments he makes her. And your Majesty must think it not a little pleasing to a Lover, that his Mistress sees him Master of a Place, the Court is pleased to do him the honour to compose, and which gives her an opportunity to be an Eye-witness of the Gallantry with which he acquits himself. Monsieur de Nemours (says the Dauphin-Queen) had reason to allow it there, where the numbers were so great of those who wear the Titles of his Mistresses, that had they not been there, the Ball had been but thin.  
The discourse the Prince of Conde used in giving her Majesty the sentiment of Monsieur de Nemours concerning Balls, diverted Madam de Cleves thoughts from that intended by the Marshal de St. Andre. She was easily convinced it was unhandsome to receive a Treat from one that loved her; and was glad of the opportunity to decline it to oblige the Prince. She accepted notwithstanding of the favour of the Dauphin-Queen; and in the Evening she showed them to her Mother; she told her she had no design to use them, and that she was sensible the Marshal de St. Andre made this splendid Entertainment, to give himself the occasion to show the honour he has for her, and questioned not but he would have the vanity to boast his happiness, that he made her a sharer in it; and I hear (says she) under that unhappy pretext he may involve me in some trouble and inconvenience.  
Madam the Chartes was pleased to oppose her Daughter's Opinion, as being singular; but discovering her obstinacy, she yielded to it; and advised her to feign herself indisposed, for she believed no other excuse would be allowed but that, which she was obliged to disguise with privacy and discretion too, lest it should reach the knowledge of the Company, and expose her to its censure. Madam de Cleve consents to pass the time away with her Mother, she had no inclination for the place, she thought not happy without the Prince's presence, who leaves the Court before the day that brought her heart to the test.  
Monsieur de Nemours returns the day after the Ball, and was informed she was not there; but not knowing whether some might not report to her the discourse he maintained in the Dauphin's Chamber, he began to question if he was so happy as at first he thought himself.  
The day after his arrival he waited upon the Queen, and as he was discoursing with Madam the Dauphin, came in Madam de Chartres, and Madam de Cleve, her Daughter, to pay their Respects to their Majesties. Madam de Cleve was in a careless dress, that she might the better palliate the indisposition she had borrowed; but she had this unhappiness, her Face did not correspond with the Counterfeit. You look so well (says Madam the Dauphin) nothing can convince my thoughts that you have been otherwise. I fear the Prince of Conde's repetition of the Argument Monsieur de Nemours held in the Dauphin's Bedchamber in prejudice of Balls, has had an ill influence upon you; you thought you should do the Marshal too great an honour in sharing in the noble Treat he gave the Court, and therefore vouchsafed us not your Company. Madam de Cleve could not forbear to blush, for she was sensible of what Madam the Dauphin guest so well at: And the more, because she was pleased to hint it to her in the Prince's presence.  
From hence her Mother judged the reason why she declined the Ball; and to prevent Monsieur de Nemours apprehension of it; was pleased to reply to the Dauphin-Queen. Madam, (says she) your Majesty does my Daughter a greater honour than she deserves. She was unfeignedly ill, but I think had I not interposed my authority, she had exposed her health to wait on your Majesties, to have had the pleasure to share in the last Night's Divertisement the Marshal was pleased to give you. Madam the Dauphin was satisfied with what Madam de Chartres told her; but Monsieur de Nemours was not a little concerned, that there was a colour for it. Notwithstanding that the blushes of Madam de Cleve deserved to justify the truth: Madam de Chartres was sensibly offended that she had given Monsieur de Nemours the vanity to believe he had prevented her appearance there; and Madam de Cleve on the other side could scarce disguise her resentment, that any should harbour that opinion of her.  
Notwithstanding that the Congress at Cirean was broken up, the Negotiations for a Peace still continued, things at last were so happily disposed, that towards the end of February they met again at Catean Cambresis. His Majesty was pleased to commission the same Plenipotentiaries he had before. The absence of the Marshal of St. Andre removed a Rival, who was to be feared, not so much for the impression his Merit could make upon the heart of this Lady, as for the guard his watchful Eye kept upon all those that made their addresses to her.  
Madam de Chartres was not willing her Daughter should understand she had discovered her passion for the Prince, to prevent her Jealousy of those things she had an intention to discourse her in, she took an occasion one day to enlarge (and passionately too) upon his Worth and Merit, but could not forbear to mix some Venom with his Praise, to make her sick with him. She told her he had so great a stock of Prudence, it would not allow him the vanity to be amorous, and that his Conversation with Ladies was only his divertisement. 'Tis thought (says she) he has a passion for the Dauphin-Queen, I meet him oftenthere; and I advise you to decline his company; for the Court, being an Eye-witness of the kindness her Majesty is pleased to show you, will be apt to give you the Title of a Confident; and you ought to be sensible what Reputation that will purchase you. If this Report continue long, my advice is farther, that you pay not such often visits to that Queen, lest you find yourself embroiled in one of the Gallantries of the Court.  
Madam de Cleve (which was a stranger to the Amours of the Dauphin-Queen and him) was surprised at the knowledge of it; and when she perceived how much she was abased in her sentiments of this Prince, she could not forbear to discover it in her Countenance; which she did not well disguise, but her Mother took notice of it. There came some Ladies to give Madam de Chartres a visit, Which interrupted the discourse, and Madam de Cleve retired into her Closet.  
I am not able to express the sorrow and regret she had at this Relation, and particularly when it reflects upon the folly that gave birth to her passion for Monsieur de Nemours. She durst not hitherto discover it to her Mother: She was sensible the kindness she had for him was the sole ambition of Monsieur de Cleve; and you cannot blame her, if she could not forbear to quarrel with her fond inclinations, that she should harbour that love for another, which was only due to the Merit of her Husband. She was sensibly touched with a Jealousy that Monsieur de Nemours did only interpose his pretence to her, to facilitate his addresses to the Dauphin-Queen; the apprehension of it encouraged her to communicate it to her Mother.  
In the morning she enters her Mother's Chamber, to execute the resolutions of the night before, but finding her indisposed, she deferred it to another opportunity. Her distemper was so inconsiderable, that it diverted not Madam de Cleve from waiting upon the Dauphin-Queen in the Afternoon. Her Majesty was retired into her Closet with two or three Ladies who had the greatest share in her Bosom. We are, Madam, (says the Queen, discovering Madam de Cleve) discoursing of Monsieur de Nemours, and equally admire the change we find in him since his return from Bruxelles. Before his journey he had an infinity of Mistresses, and he can only blame himself for it, for he was pleased to divide himself equally between those of Merit and those of none; but since his return, there is so great a Metamorphoses, he vouchsafes neither to regard the one nor other, I myself perceive it in his humour, it has lost its usual gaiety.  
Madam de Cleve returns no answer: She began to think, and not without some indignation, that they had taken up this discourse of the alteration in this Prince, only to discover, if she was not mistaken, some marks of her passion for him: This began to create in her an antipathy against the Queen, that she should impose upon her the reasons of a thing which was best known to herself. She was not able to hide her resentment from her Majesty; the Ladies retiring, she took the liberty to address herself to the Queen, saying, Madam, are you pleased to point at me, when you alone are the subject of this change in the Prince? You are unkind, (replies the Dauphin-Queen) you must be sensible I can keep nothing from you. I confess the Duke before he went to Bruxelles, might have some intention to let me know he did not hate me; but since his return, I believe he has forgotten his resolution. I declare I am impatient to know the Author of this change. I admire he should hide it from the Viscount de Chartres, who keeps the Key of his heart. Had he a Passion for a Person I bade a Power over, I might be so happy as to understand this Alteration. The Dauphin-Queen delivered it in a Dialect Madam de Cleve could have ill resented, but that she would not cloud the Debonairness of the humour she first received it in.  
Upon her return home to her Mothers, she found her in a worse condition than when she went to Court: Her Fever was so violent, that it daily increased upon her; Insomuch her Physicians judged it would be of some continuance. Madam de Cleve was so sensibly afflicted, she quitted not her Mother's Chamber. Mounsieur de Cleve paid his visits daily to Madam de Chartres, not so much for the interest he had in that Lady, or to divert his Wife's Grief and Sorrow, as to have the happiness to enjoy her company; for his Passion had abated none of its primitive Heat and Vigour.  
Mounsieur de Nemours, who had a kindness for Mounsieur de Cleve; took all occasions to demonstrate it to him, since his return from Bruxelles; during the distemper of Madam de Chartres. The Prince found several opportunities of seeing Madam de Cleve, under a pretence of her Husband's company to go abroad with him; he came not thither, but at such hours he knew him not to be there; and under an excuse of waiting for his return, he spent some hours in the withdrawing Room, where several Persons of Quality came daily to pay their Compliments of condolence to the Daughter, upon her Mother's indisposition. The affliction she lay under seemed to Mounsieur de Nemours to have made no alteration in her Beauty. He endeavoured to make her sensible of the interest he had in her Grief; but in a dialect so passionate, it convined her that Madam la Dauphin, was not the subject of his Change.  
She could scarce forbear to discover her indignation in her countenance; notwithstanding she took pleasure in his company. But when he forbore to visit her, and that she considered the Charms her Person carried with it, had given the first Flame to his Passion, she was scarce able to forbear to hate herself, upon the apprehension of it.  
Her Fever got such footing of her daily, that her Physicians began to despair of her Health, she received the fatal Tidings with a Courage worthy of her Piety and Virtue. After they had taken their last leaves of her, and the Chamber was cleared of the Company, she calls her Daughter to her.  
We must part Daughter (says Madam de Chartres) taking her by the hand. The danger that I leave you in, and the occasion you have for me, add to the regret I have to leave you. I am sensible you have a Passion for Mounsieur de Nemours, I ask you not to confirm me in it. I am no longer able to make use of your sincerity, in your future conduct. I have long since discoursed your inclination, but I have hitherto forborn to speak to you of it, that I might give you no jealousy, that I understood it. You must needs be sensible, that you are upon the point of the Precipice. There aught to be powerful endeavours used to stop you in your carrear. Reflect upon the Duty you owe your Husband, and forget not also that that's due to me. Consider you are going about to Shipwreck the Reputation you have gotten, and which I have so passionately wished you. Take up strength and courage to quit the Court; Desire your Husband to take you thence. Fear not to pursue those Paths which at first may seem hard and uneasy to you. How unpleasant soever they may appear to you in the beginning, you will find more sweetness in them in the end, than in the Vanities of the Court.  
If any other Motives, than those of Piety and Obedience, could oblige you to embrace the thing I wish; I would tell you, if any thing can disturb my happiness in a better World, it will be the consideration of your Fall. But if this mischief be inevitable, I shall welcome Death with joy, that I am not the unhappy witness of it.  
Madam de Cleve bathed her Mother's hand, which she had enclosed in her own, with a flood of Tears. Adieu (says she) my Child, let us put a Period to the discourse, that will dissolve us both into Grief and Tears: Forget not (I beseech you) the last Legacy of your Mother.  
Having concluded this short admonition; she turns herself upon her Pillow, and commanding her Daughter to call in her Women, she would not allow her the liberty to reply. Madam de Cleve left the Chamber; and you may easily conjecture in what condition too. Madam de Chartres, gave up all the thoughts of the little Remnant of her life, towards a preparation for a happier being. She spun out two days longer, in which time she would not admit her Daughter into her presence; though she was the only thing of value she left behind her.  
Poor Madam de Cleve was dissolved into trouble and tears. Her Husband never left her, and as soon as her Mother's eyes were closed, he conducts her into the Country, to remove her from a place which gave her no other objects, but of grief and sorrow. 'Twas wonderful to observe, that notwithstanding the memory of her Love and tenderness to her, aught to have had the greatest share in her discontent; the necessity of her Mother's Conduct, to arm her against this Prince's Charms, had also its part in it. She begins to see her unhappiness to be thus forlorn, in an Exigent wherein she was so little Mistress of her thoughts, and in a season she so much wanted one in whose Breast she might deposit her complaints. The respect of Monsieur de Cleve's carriage to her, obliged her to wish more than ever, that she might not be failing in any thing that might answer her love and duty. She endeavoured to repair her former error, by greater evidences of her kindness to him, than she had shown before. She could not endure he should part from her, she seemed (as it were) forcibly to fix herself upon him; that he might shelter her from the troublesome Addresses of the Duke of Nemours.  
The Duke came to give a visit to Mounsieur de Cleve in the Country, with design to pay another to his Lady; which she refused. And being sensible she could not avoid his Courtship, she had taken a resolution to prevent the occasion, and not see him.  
Mounsieur de Cleve came to Paris to complete his Train, and promised his Lady to return the next day; but he disappointed her, for he came not till the day following. I expected you all yesterday (says Madam de Cleve) And I ought to chide you for your breach of Faith. You must believe, if I were capable of any new affliction in the condition I am in, the Death of Madam de Tournon, which was brought me this very Morning, had certainly given it me. I had been less concerned, had I not had the happiness to know her; she is a subject worthy our Pity, when we consider that a young Lady of her Beauty should die so suddenly, as in two days. But it troubles me most, when I reflect upon her as the only Person in the world, that was dear to me for her merit and discretion.  
I am very sorry I have disappointed you, answers Mounsieur de Cleve; My presence was so necessary to contribute to the consolation of a poor unfortunate Gentleman, that I could not in honour leave him. As for Madam de Tournon, be not afflicted at her loss, if you regret it as of a Lady, whose prudence was deserving your value and esteem. You make me admire you, (says Madam de Cleve) for I have often heard you say, that there was not a Lady in the Court, for whom you had a greater Honour. 'Tis true, (replies Mounsieur de Cleve,) but you women are incomprehensible; and when I have seen them all, I find myself so happy in you alone, I cannot sufficiently value my own content. You are pleased to esteem me more than I deserve (says Madam de Cleve fetching a sigh,) and if I have not hitherto learned the method to endear myself, give me the Lesson Madam de Tournon has taught you. 'Tis long since that I learned it, (replies Mounsieur de Cleve) and I was sensible she had a passion for the Count de Sancerre, to whom she gave some hopes. I cannot believe (says Madam de Cleve) that Madam de Tournon, after the great antipathy she had expressed for Marriage, when she was a Widow; and the public declarations she made, never to have a thought for it, should flattter Mounsieur de Sancerre. Had she been so just (replies Mounsieur de Cleve) as to have bounded her folly there, she had not given the Court the subject of so much discourse to her disadvantage; but that which surprised it, was, at the same time she gave an equal assurance to Monsieur Estouteville. And I'll give you the relation of it.  
The End of the first Book.   

THE PRINCESS OF CLEVE.  
BOOK II.  
YOU are not a stranger to the Friendship between Sancerre and me. Yet, great as it was, when about two years since he fell in love with Madam de Tournon, he made it his business to conceal it as closely from me, as from others; and had the dexterity to keep it so private, that I never suspected any such thing. Madam Tournon affected a way of living so extremely retired, and appeared afflicted to that degree, for the death of her Husband, that it was the general opinion, there was no comforting of her after a loss she so much lamented. She scarce admitted a visit from any person, but Sancerre's Sister, nor visited any other; and at his Sister's Lodging, Sancerre fell in Love with her.  
One Evening there was to be a Play at Court; and all things being ready, the Actors waited the coming of the King and Madam de Valentinois; when News was brought, she was not well, and the King would not come: Every one guessed her indisposition was really nothing else but some quarrel with the King: and though all the Court knew how jealous he had been of the Marshal of Brisac, while he continued at Court, yet the Marshal being some days before returned for Piedmont, we could not imagine the cause of their falling out: As I was discoursing of it to Sancerre, Mounsieur d' Anvil came into the Hall, and whispered me in the Ear, that the King was so vexed and so angry it would make any one pity him: that when the jars he lately had with the Duchess of Valentinois, about the Marshal Brisac, were composed a few days ago, the King had given her a Ring, and prayed her to wear it. That as she was a dressing to come to the Play, the King missed the Ring on her Finger, and asked what was become of it. She appeared astonished she had it not, and called to her Women for it; who unluckily, or for want of instruction to the contrary, presently answered, it was four or five days since they saw it.  
'Tis precisely so long, continueth Mounsieur d' Anvil, since the Marshal Brisac left the Court, and the King makes no doubt, but as she bid him adieu, she gave him the Ring. The thought of this cut the King to the quick, and kindled afresh his late jealousy into so sudden and violent a flame, that it put him in an extraordinary passion, and made him break out into sharp expressions, and very reproachful Language against her. He is newly gone into his Lodgings extremely afflicted, but whether more with the thought of the Duchess having made a sacrifice of his Ring to the Marshal Brisac, or with fear of having displeased her by his passion, I cannot resolve you.  
Mounsieur d' Anvil had no sooner made an end of telling me the News, but I went to Sancerre to acquaint him with it. I told it him as a secret, newly entrusted with me, and charged him not to speak of it.  
The morrow betimes I went to my Sister-in-Law's, and found at her Bedside Madam de Tournon, who had no great Kindness for Madam de Valentinois, and knew well enough my Sister-in-Law had small reason to think well of her: Sancerre, when the Play was done, went to Madam de Tournon's, and gave her an account of the quarrel between the King and the Duchess, which Madam de Tournon was then come to relate to my Sister-in-Law, not knowing Sancerre had had it from me.  
Assoon as I came up to my Sister-in-Law, she told Madam de Tournon I might be trusted with the Relation she had newly made, and, without further expecting permssion from Madam de Tournon, my Sister-in-Law told me word by word, all I had told Sancerre the night before. This, you may believe, surprised me very much: I looked upon Madam de Tournon, she appeared disordered: Her disorder raised a suspicion in me: I had not told any but Sancerre the News: as we were going from the Play he had quitted me, without telling me the reason: It came into my mind I had heard him speak much in commendation of Madam de Tournon: All this together opened my Eyes, and made me easily to discern an intrigue of Gallantry between Sancerre and her, and that when he left me, he went to see her.  
I was so vexed to find he kept this Adventure from me: I let fall some expressions that made Madam de Tournon sensible how indiscreet she had been: I brought her to her Coach, and told her at parting, I envied his happiness who had given her the News of the quarrel between the King and Madam de Valentinois.  
I went presently in search of Sancerre, reproached him with his unkindness, and (without acquainting him how I made the discovery) I told him, I knew the passion he had for Madam de Tournon: He was forced to confess it, and then I told how I came to know it, and he as frankly gave me an exact account of their Adventure; adding, that though he were a younger Brother, and could not pretend to so great a Match, yet he had encouragement enough from the Lady to try his fortune. You cannot imagine the surprise I was in at his discourse: I advised him to hasten the conclusion of the Marriage, and told him he must provide for the worst, having to deal with a Woman that did so neatly impose upon the public, by acting with that artifice a part so different from what he knew she really was: He answered, the death of her Husband had really troubled her: but the inclination she had for him dissipated that trouble, and she was unwilling the world should on the sudden be witness of the Change. He added other reasons in excuse of her, which gave me light enough to see how deeply he was in Love. He assured me he would procure her consent, to let me know the passion he had for her, since she had made the first discovery towards it: nor was he worse than his word, though she was very loath to give way to an open acknowledgement: and thenceforward I was their Confident to a very high measure.  
Never did I see a Woman carry herself with a Civility so suitable to the Exigences of her Servants condition, yet I confess I wondered she still affected to appear troubled for the death of her Husband. Sancerre was so deeply in Love, and so pleased with her kind usage of him; that he durst not press the conclusion of the Marriage, for fear of making her suspect he Courted her more for interest than for Love. Yet he spoke to her of it, and she appeared willing to be married to him: With that she began to quit her solitude, and appear abroad to the World: She visited my Sister-in-Law at such hours she was sure to find some of the Court at her Lodgings. Sancerre came seldom thither: but those who were at my Sisters-in-law every Night, and saw Madam de Tournon frequently there, thought her very amiable.  
She had not long quitted her solitude, but Sancerre fancied she cooled in her passion for him. He often told me so; though I made very light of it. At last when he informed me, that instead of concluding the marriage, she put it off, I thought he had ground enough for apprehension. I answered, it was no wonder a passion two years old should be a little abated; and were it still as high as ever, possibly it was not strong enough to oblige her to marry him; yet he had not just cause of complaint, being satisfied such a Marriage would (as to the Public) be much to her prejudice, not only for that he was not a competent Match for her, but that it would reflect upon her Reputation: that all he could desire, was, she should not deceive him, by giving him false hopes. I added, that if she had not the power to marry him, or if she declared she was in Love with another, he must not be angry nor complain, but continue the esteem, and persevere to pay her the respect he had for her: I give you, said I, the Counsel I would take in the like Case; for I am so great a Friend to sincerity, that I believe should my Mistress or my wife confess to me ingeniously, another better pleased them than I, it would trouble me without making me angry: I would lay by the Person of a Lover or a Husband, to be at liberty only to advise her and to make my Complaint.  
Madam de Cleves blushed at these Words, wherein she discerned something so nearly relateing to her present condition, that very much surprised her, and put her into a disorder, out of which it was not in her power to recover herself for some time.  
Sancerre, continueth Mounsieur de Cleve, acquainted Madam de Tournon with the advice I had given him. But she took that care to satisfy him, and appeared so much offended at his suspicions, that she left him fully assured of the reality of her kindness for him. However she put off the Marriage till after his return from a Long Journey he was to take, yet she carried herself so well till his departure, and appeared so afflicted at it, that I thought as well as Sancerre she really loved him. He hath been gone about three months, and you have so wholly taken me up ever since, I scarce had the opportunity to see Madam de Tournon in his absence, and knew only that Sancerre was suddenly expected.  
Two days ago, when I came to Paris, hearing of her death; I sent to Sancerre's Lodgings, to inquire what News of him: they sent me Word he was arrived the Night before, being the very same Madam de Tournon died on: I went immediately to see him, doubting very much what condition I should find him in, but the trouble I saw him under exceeded my imagination.  
Never did I see sorrow so deep, and so Tender: Assoon as he saw me, he burst into Tears, and embracing me. I shall never see her more, says he, I shall never see her more: she is dead; I was not worthy of her, but I shall quickly follow her.  
Having said this, he held his peace: afterwards from time to time, repeating, she is gone, I shall see her no more: He fell again into Tears and Lamentations; he was like a Man distracted: He told me he had received but few Letters from her in his absence, but that he knew her so well he wondered not at it, being sufficiently assured she was always very shy of sending Letters: yet he made no doubt but she would have been married to him at his return. He took her for the most amiable and most faithful Person in the World, and thought she loved him with a great deal of tenderness, and lost her at the time he hoped to have made sure of her for his own for ever. These thoughts plunged him into deep affliction, which, I confess, moved my pity, and made me look upon him as an object worthy serious Commiseration.  
I was forced to leave him to go to the King, but promised to return in a very short time, and accordingly did so; I was never so surprised, as when at my return I found him quite another Man: He was in his Chamber with fury in his face, sometimes going, sometimes standing still, as if he had been mad. Come, come, says he to me, Come see the most desperate of Men: I am a thousand times more unfortunate than I was a while ago, and what I have newly heard of Madam de Tournon is worse than her death.  
I looked on this disorder as an effect of his grief, and could not imagine any thing could be worse than the death of a Mistress one loves, and who loves him again. I told him, while he kept within bounds, I approved his passion, and pitied his sorrow, but he was not to expect I should bemoan him any longer, if he gave himself up to despair, and would run out of his Wits. Happy had it been for me, cries he, had I long since run out of my Wits, and my life too: Madam de Tournon was false to me, and I am so unfortunate, as not to have discovered her infidelity till the morrow after her death, at a time when my heart is at once full of the most passionate Love Man is capable of, and pierced through and through with grief, the smartest that ever was felt; I retain at this moment in my fancy the impression of her Image as the model of perfection, not in my Eyes only, but in the judgement of all Mankind, when the same instant I see myself deceived, and find she deserves not my sorrow. Yet I am as much troubled at her death as if she had been true to me, and resent her infidelity as if she were Living: Had I heard of her inconstancy before she had died, anger, jealousy, and rage would have hardened my heart against a sense of the loss of her, but the misery of my condition is such, I am incapable of comfort, yet know not how to hate her.  
Judge you whether I was not surprised at Sancerres expressions. I asked him how he came to know she had been false to him. He answered, I was no sooner gone out of his Chamber, but Estouteville his intimate friend, but altogethor a stranger to his Love for Madam de Tournon, came in to see him; that as soon as he sat down he fell a crying, and begged his pardon for having concealed from him what he was now come to tell him, that he entreated his pity; that he was come to open his very heart to him, and that of all the men in the World, he was the most grieved at the death of Madam de Tournon.  
I was so surprised at his nameing her, that though I was just upon answering, I was more grieved at it than he, yet I had not the power to say so. He went on with his story, and told me he had been six Months in love with her: that he was still for making me acquainted with it, but she had expressly forbidden it, and with so strict a charge he durst not disobey her. That he had had the good fortune to please her assoon almost as he had fallen in love with her: that they had concealed their passion from all the World: that he had never been publicly at her house, that he had the pleasure to see himself effectually capable of making her lay aside her sorrow for the death of her Husband, and that just as she died he should have married her, and that their Marriage, which really was an effect of love, was to have passed in the world as a pure effect of duty and obedience: that in order to this she had prevailed with her Father to command her to marry him, to prevent the Censures of the World, and stop the Mouths of those who would have cried out at the great alteration of her Conduct, which had appeared so averse from the thoughts of a second Marriage.  
While Estouteville was speaking, continueth Sancerre, I believed all he said; his discourse seemed so probable, and the more for that about the time he said he first fell in Love with her, I first observed a change in her. But the next moment I thought him a Liar or a Madman. I was going to tell him so, but was prevailed upon by the desire I had of a fuller discovery, to question him further, and to throw in objections against what he said. I proceeded so far towards convincing myself of my misfortune, that he asked me if I knew Madam de Tournon's hand-writing. With that, he threw on my Bed four Letters of hers, and her Picture. At that very instant my Brother came in. Estouteville was so blubbered with crying, he was forced to go out to avoid being seen: telling me he would come again in the Evening, to fetch what he left with me. I sent away my Brother, pretending myself ill; so impatient was I to read those Letters, in hopes to find something there, to make me disbelieve what Estouteville had said. But alas, what found I there? what tenderness, what Oaths, what assurances of marrying him. Never had she Writ such Letters to me: Thus, adds he, am I assaulted at once with grief for her death, and vexation for her falseness: Two evils often compared, but seldom felt by the same person at once. To my shame be it spoken, the loss of her still troubles me more than her inconstancy, and I cannot find in my heart to think she deserved death for her Treachery. Were she living I should take pleasure in reproaching her, and taking my Revenge of her, by letting her know how unjust she was; But I shall never see her more, says he again, I shall never see her more. This is the greatest misfortune: O that I could restore her to life, though with the loss of my own! yet what do I wish for? were she alive again, she would be Estouteville's: How happy was I yesterday, cries he, how happy was I when the most sorrowful of Men: Yet my sorrow appeared reasonable, and it was a pleasure to think it my duty never to be comforted: To day every thing I do me thinks is unreasonable: I pay a passion she only feigned for me, that tribute of grief I thought justly due to a sincere affection. It is not in my power to hate or to love the memory of her: I am incapable of comfort, yet know not how to grieve for her. However, says he, turning short towards me, I conjure you, take care Estouteville come not in sight of me. I abhor the very name of him. I know well enough I have no cause to complain of— him, it was my fault not to tell him I loved Madam de Tournon. Had he known it, perhaps he would never have made an address to her, nor she have been false to me. He made it his business to find me out, to communicate his sorrows to me. I cannot but pity him. Ha, cries he, has he not reason to be sorry, he loved Madam de Tournon, was beloved of her, and shall never see her more; yet I find by myself I cannot choose but hate him. However, I conjure you once more, let me not see him.  
Sancerre after this fell a crying again, he was sorry for Madam de Tournon, he spoke to her, and gave her the kindest expressions imaginable: presently he hates her, he complains of her, he Reproaches and Curses her: When I observed his Condition I knew I should want some help to quiet him. I sent for his Brother, whom I had newly left with the King: I gave him the meeting in the Antichamber, to give him an account of Sancerres condition: We gave order to prevent his seeing Estouteville, and spent part of the Night in endeavouring to bring him to himself. This morning I found him more troubled than ever: I left his Brother with him and came to you.  
I am extremely surprised at the News, says Madam de Cleves, I thought Madam de Tournon incapable either of Love or Deceit. 'Tis not possible any one, replies Mounsieur de Cleve, should carry herself with greater dissimulation or cunning. Observe, that when Sancerre thought her altered as to him, she really was so; and began to love Estouteville, telling him he was the only Man could make her forget the death of her Husband, and for whose sake she quitted her Retirement, when Sancerre thought the while it proceeded from no other Cause but a Resolution to appear less afflicted than formerly: she made it matter of favour to Estouteville that she concealed their correspondence, and seemed obliged by her Father to marry him, which she pretended proceeded purely from the care of her reputation, when it was in truth a trick to put off Sancerre, without leaving him just cause of complaint: I must needs return, continueth Mounsieur de Cleve, to see my unfortunate friend, and I think you may do well to go with me to Paris: 'Tis high time for you to appear abroad, and Receive those visits you cannot well dispense with.  
Madam de Cleve's agreed to the proposal, and returned on the Morrow: she found herself more at ease as to Mounsieur de Nemours than she formerly had been: what Madam de Chartres said on her deathbed, and sorrow for the loss of her, had so suspended her thoughts of him, that she thought she should be no more troubled with them.  
The same Evening she arrived, the Queen Dauphin gave her a visit, and having told her how much she shared in her afflictions, she said, to divert her from those sad thoughts, she would inform her of all that had passed at Court in her absence, and accordingly gave her an account of several particulars. But that I have most mind to acquaint you with, adds she, is, that it is most certain Mounsieur de Nemours is passionately in Love, and that he is so far from making any the most intimate friend he has his Confident in the case, there is not one can guests who it is he is in love with: Though he be so deeply in Love it makes him neglect, if not quit the hopes of a Crown: with that she gave her an account of what concerned the matter of England: What I have told you, says she, I had from Mounsieur de Anvil, who told me this morning the King had yesterday, sent for Mounsieur de Nemours, upon Letters received from Lignerolles, who desires leave to return, as not able any longer to excuse to the Queen of England the delays of Mounsieur de Nemours, that the Queen begins to take it ill, and that though she had not made a positive promise, she had said enough to encourage the hazarding a Voyage. The King read this Letter to Mounsieur de Nemours, who, instead of speaking seriously, as he had done at first, fell a laughing and scoffing at Lignerolles' hopes; saying, all Europe would condemn his imprudence, should he undertake a Voyage for England, as pretending to Marriage with the Queen, without assurance of success.  
Besides, adds he, I could not time my business worse, than to take my journey at this juncture, when the King of Spain makes address to that Queen for Marriage. In matter of Gallantry, I confess his Catholic Majesty were no very considerable Rival, but in a Treaty of Marriage I cannot think your Majesty would advise me to stand in competition with him. I would on this occasion, replies the King, for I know he is otherwise inclined; and were he not, Queen Mary took so little pleasure in the Yoke of Spain, I cannot believe her Sister will undergo it, or suffer herself to be blinded with the Glittering of so many Crowns on one Head: If she yield not to the splendour of so many Crowns, says Mounsieur de Nemours, 'tis probable she will seek her happiness in Love: She hath for some years loved my Lord Courteney: Queen Mary too was in love with him, and would have married him, and with public consent of her Kingdom, but that she knew him more taken with the youth and beauty of her Sister Elizabeth, than ambitious of reigning. Your Majesty knows her Jealousy of them made her clap them up Prisoners, and afterwards banish my Lord Courteney and prevailed with her at last to resolve to marry with the King of Spain. Elizabeth, who now possesses the Throne of her Sister, will, I believe, shortly call home my Lord Courteney, and will rather make choice of him for her Husband, whom she hath loved, and who is really amiable, and hath been a great sufferer for her, than of a Man she hath never seen: Were Courteney alive, says the King, I should be of your mind, but I have been certainly informed some days since that he is dead at Milan, whither he was banished: But I see, adds the King as he left Mounsieur de Nemours, your marriage must be made up just as the Dauphins was, and Ambassadors must be sent to espouse the Queen of England.  
Mounsieur d' Anvil and the Vidame, who were with the King when he spoke to Nemours, are clearly of opinion, nothing could divert him from so great a design, but the passion he is so deeply engaged in. The Vidame, who knows him best of any man living, hath told Madam the Martignes, he finds such a change in Mounsieur de Nemours, he scarce knows him. And, which he most wonders at, he cannot observe he hath any private Correspondence; nor can he discover any secret haunts he hath, or that he is missing at any time, which makes the Vidame believe he holds not correspondence with the person he loves: and this is the reason he thinks himself so much mistaken in Mounsieur de Nemours, to see him in love with a Woman that does not love him again.  
What a poisonous discourse was this for Madam de Cleves! How could she choose but know herself the Person whose Name was not known? How could she but be deeply affected with gratitude and tenderness at the News she received, by a way not at all liable to suspicion, that this Prince she had so great an inclination for, concealed his passion from all the World, and slighted for love of her the hopes of a Crown: it is impossible to describe her sentiments on this occasion, and represent to the life the trouble it raised in her. Had the Queen-Dauphin eyed her more closely, she would have easily discovered she was concerned at the discourse: But as she had not the least suspicion of the truth, she proceeded without taking notice of her; Mounsieur d' Anvil, adds she, who, as I told you, acquainted me with all these particulars, thinks I know the business better than he, and hath so great an opinion of my Charms, he believes me the sole person capable to cause so extraordinary alterations in Mounsieur de Nemours.  
These last Words raised another kind of trouble in Madam de Cleve's, very different from that she was formerly in. I am of his mind, (answers she,) and 'tis very probable that no less than such a Princess as you could make him despise the Queen of England. I would confess it, did I know it, replies the Queen-Dauphin, and I should certainly know it, were it true: Passions of this Nature seldom escape the discovery of those who occasion them: They are the first that discern them. Mounsieur de Nemours never expressed for me other than slight and superficial complaisance: yet I observe so great difference between his present and former deportment towards me, I dare assure you I am not the cause of that indifference he shows for the Crown of England: But I am so taken with your company, I forget myself, and mind not the obligation I am under of seeing Madam: you know the peace is in a manner concluded, but 'tis possible it may be News to you, that the King of Spain refuses to Sign the Articles, but upon condition he shall marry that Princess, instead of the Prince Don Carlos his Son. The King was loath to consent to it, but hath done it at last, and is newly gone to carry Madam the News: I believe it will much trouble her: what pleasure can she expect from Marrying a Man of the age and humour of the King of Spain; especially she so jovial, so young, and so beautiful a Lady, who expected to Marry a young Prince, for whom unseen she had a strong inclination.  
I question whether the King will meet with the obedience he desires in her. He hath charged me to see her, because he knows she loves me, and that I have some power over her: I shall from thence make another visit (of a very different Nature,) to congratulate the King's Sister for the conclusion of her Marriage with the Prince of Savoy, who is expected in few days: Never had person of the age of this Princess so great cause to rejoice at her Marriage. The Court will be more Numerous and Glorious than ever, and in spite of all your affliction you must come and help us to let the Strangers see we are furnished with no mean Beauties.  
Having said this, the Queen-Dauphin left Madam de Cleve's, and on the morrow the Marriage of Madam was in every one's Mouth. The day after the King and Queens went to see Madam de Cleve: Mounsieur de Nemours who had waited her return with extreme impatience, and wished passionately he might speak with her in private, put off going to her, till the time all company broke up, and probably none would return thither that night. It fell out as he had wished, and he came in as the last Visiters were taking their leaves.  
The Princess was on her Bed, the weather hot, and the sight of Mounsieur de Nemours put her to a blush, that made her more amiable. He sat over against her, with a respect and fearfulness incident only to a genuine Passion, he was speechless for sometime: Madam de Cleve's was as mute as he, so that they were both silent a pretty while: At last Mounsieur de Nemours complemented her, condoleing her affliction. Madam de Cleve's very glad of discourse on that subject, spoke a good while of the loss she had had: and told him at last though time might abate the violence of her grief, she should still retain so deep an impression of it, it would alter her humour: 'Tis true, Madam, replies M. de Nemours, great troubles and violent passions, occasion great alterations in our tempers: though I was never actually sensible of it, but since my return from Flanders: Many have observed in me a very great change, and the Queen-Dauphin herself spoke to me of it yesterday. She has indeed taken notice of it, says Madam de Cleve, and I think I have heard her speak of it. I am not displeased Madam, answers Mounsieur de Nemours, that she hath perceived it, but should be very glad she were not the only Person that did so. There are Persons in the World to whom we dare give no other evidences of the passion we have for them, but by things that concern them not; yet when we dare not make it appear we love them, we are willing at least to let them see we desire not the Love of any other; we are willing to let them know we look with indifference on all other Beauties, though in the highest sphere, and that a Crown may be too dear, if to be purchased with no less a price than absence from her we adore. Ordinarily, Ladies judge of the passion had for them, by the care their Servants take to attend and to please them: but be they never so little amiable those are easy tasks to perform. There is no great difficulty in giving ourselves the pleasure to wait on them: But to avoid their company for fear of discovering to the World, and almost to themselves, the passion we have for them, that's a difficult point: the truest evidence of being really in Love, is when we become quite other men than we were, when we renounce our ambition and our pleasures, having all our Life pursued the one and the other.  
Madam de Cleve's easily understood how far she was concerned in this discourse, she thought it her duty to cut it off by an answer. Presently her mind altered, and she was of opinion it was better make as if she understood it not, and give him no cause to think she took it to herself; she thought she ought to speak, and thought she ought to be silent; this discourse did in a manner equally please and displease her. It convinced her of the truth of all the Queen-Dauphin made her think of him, she could not but look upon it as full of gallantry and respect, but withal somewhat bold and a little too plain andintelligible: The inclination she had for that Prince put her into a disorder it was not in her power to master: the darkest expressions of a Person we love move more than the clearest declarations of a person we have no inclination for. She made him no answer. Mounsieur de Nemours took notice of her silence, and perhaps would have taken it for no ill Omen. But Mounsieur de Cleve's coming in, put an end to their discourse and his visit.  
The Prince of Cleve came in to give his Lady a further account of Sancerre, but she was not very curious to know the Issue of that Adventure. Her thoughts were so taken up with what she had newly heard from Mounsieur de Nemours, she could scarce hide the distraction she was under: Assoon as she was at liberty to Muse of what was past, she saw clearly how much she had been deceived, when she thought herself indifferent as to Mounsieur de Nemours; his discourse had made as deep Impression on her as he could wish, and fully convinced her of the truth of his passion, his actions agreeing too well with his words to leave her the least shadow of doubt. She no longer flattered herself with hopes of not loving him; all her care was not to let him Know it: she knew this would prove a very hard task, having already had experience of the difficulty of it: she knew there was no way of doing it, but by avoiding the presence of that Prince: Her being in Mourning gave her occasion of living more retired than ordinary; and she took that pretence not to frequent places where she might see him: very sad and disconsolate she was, but the death of her Mother appeared to be the cause of it, and no suspicion was had of any other.  
Mounsieur de Nemours was almost distracted he could not have a sight of her, and knowing there was no finding her in Company, and that she appeared not at any Divertisements at Court, he could not prevail with himself to be there, but pretended a great love for Hunting, and made Matches for that Sport upon the days the Ladies and the rest of the Court used to meet at the Queen's Lodgings. A slight indisposition served him a long time for a pretence to keep home, and absent himself from those places he knew there were no hopes to see Madam de Cleve.  
Monsieur de Cleve was sick much about the same time. During his illness Madam de Cleve stirred not out of his Chamber: But when he grew better, and admitted Visiters, particularly Monsieur de Nemours, who under pretence of being not yet fully recovered spent there the greatest part of the day; she found it was not in her power to stay there, yet at his first coming she could not quit the Room. 'Twas so long since she had seen him, she could not quickly resolve to see him no more. Monsieur de Nemours had the address by discourses that appeared altogether general, (but she understood well enough by the relation they had to what he had privately said to her in her Chamber,) to let her know he went a Hunting only for more liberty to think of her; and that the reason he quitted Meetings at Court, was her not being there.  
At last, but with very much ado, she put in execution the resolution she had taken to quit her Husband's Chamber when Monsieur de Nemours was there, who quickly perceived she shunned him, and was very much troubled at it.  
Monsieur de Cleve did not presently take notice of his Lady's conduct in this particular, but became sensible at length she went out of his Chamber when company was there. He told her of it: she answered, she thought it not decent for her to be there every Evening in company with the youngest of the Court, that she entreated him to allow her to live more retired than she had done hitherto: that the virtue and presence of her Mother, while she lived, had given her privilege in some things she thought no longer fit to be made use of by a Woman of her age.  
Monsieur de Cleve, who naturally had a great deal of kindness and complaisance for his Wife, expressed it not on this occasion, but told her he could by no means consent she should alter her Conduct. She was upon the point of telling him, it was the general report Monsieur de Nemours was in Love with her, but she had not the power to mention his Name; besides she thought it disingenuous to disguise the truth, and make use of pretences to a Person who really had a very good opinion of her.  
A few days after, the King was at the Queen's Lodgings about the time of going to take the Ring; the discourse was of Horoscopes and Predictions: The Company was divided in opinion what credit to be given them. The Queen maintained, that after so many things foretold, and afterwards come accordingly to pass, it was not to be doubted but there was some certainty in that Science: others insisted, that of an infinite number of Predictions so very few proved true, that the truth of those few must be looked upon as a mere effect of Chance.  
I have heretofore, says the King, been very curious and inquisitive of the future; but they have told me things so false and improbable, that I am convinced they know nothing certain. Not many years since there came hither a Man famous for Astrology; every one went to see him, and I among the rest, but did not let him know who I was: I took with me Monsieur de Guise and Descars, and made them go in first: Yet the ginger addressed himself to me, as if he had judged me Master to the other two, and perhaps he knew me; but if he did, he told me a thing no way suitable to me: His Prediction was, I should be killed in Duel. He told Monsieur de Guise he should die of a Wound given him behind; and Descars, that he should have his Brains knocked out with the kick of a Horse. Monsieur de Guise was offended at the Prediction, as if it imported he would run away: Descars was not well pleased to hear he should end his days by so unfortunate an Accident. In a word, we went out all three very ill satisfied with the ginger. What may happen to Monsieur de Guise and Descars I know not, but 'tis very improbable I shall be killed in Duel: The King of Spain and I have newly made peace; and had we not done so, I question much if we should have fought, or I have sent him a Challenge, as the King my Father did to Charles the Fifth.  
When the King had given this account of the misfortune foretold should happen to him, those who before defended Astrology deserted it, and agreed there was no credit at all to be given to it. For my part, says Monsieur de Nemours aloud, I of all Men living have least cause to credit it; and turning himself towards Madam de Cleve, near whom he stood, It has been told me, says he to her very softly, I should be happy in the kindness of a Person, for whom I should have the most violent, and the most respectful Passion imaginable. Judge you, Madam, if I have cause for any Faith in Predictions.  
The Queen-Dauphin having heard what Monsieur de Nemours had said aloud, thought what he said softly had been some false Prediction told him, and asked him what it was he had said to Madam de Cleve? Had his Wit been less ready, the Question might have surprised him, but he answered without any hesitation, it had been foretold him he should be exalted to a Fortune so high he durst not pretend to. If this be it hath been foretold you, says the Queen-Dauphin, smiling and thinking of the Affair with England, I would not advise you to run down Astrology, 'tis possible you may have reasons to give in defence of it. Madam de Cleve understood the Queen-Dauphin's meaning, but knew withal that the Fortune Monsieur de Nemours spoke of, was not that of being King of England.  
It was now a long time since the death of her Mother, and Madam de Cleve must appear abroad, and make her Court as she had used. She had a sight of Monsieur de Nemours at the Queen-Dauphins, she had a sight of him at Monsieur de Cleve's, where he frequently came with other Persons of Quality of his age, that no notice might be taken of it; but wherever she saw him, it gave her trouble, and put her into some disorder which he easily perceived.  
As careful as she was to shun his looks, and speak less to him than any other, she could not prevent some sudden escapes of her passion, that gave Monsieur de Nemours cause to believe she had more than indifferent inclination for him. A Man perhaps less discerning than he could not have perceived it, but he had been already so often beloved, it was easy for him to know when one loved him. He knew the Chevalier de Guise was his Rival, and the Chevalier de Guise as clearly saw Monsieur de Nemours was his. Not one of the whole Court but the Chevalier de Guise had made the discovery; his interest rendered him more clear-sighted than the rest: The knowledge they had of one another's designs, made them cross one another in all things, and they could not forbear expressing their spite on every occasion, though it broke not out into open enmity. At the Run at the Ring, at Combats, at the Barrier, and all Divertisements the King called them to, they were always of different Parties, and their emulation was so great it could not be hid.  
Madam de Cleve could not forbear thinking frequently of the Affair with England, she believed Monsieur de Nemours would not resist the King's Advice, and the Instances of Lignerolles, it troubled her to see Lignerolles was not yet returned, and she expected him every hour with the greatest impatience: Her inclinations swayed her strongly to inform herself exactly of the state of that Affair; but the same thought that raised her Curiosity, immediately suggested to her she was obliged to conceal it, and she enquired only of the Beauty, the Wit and Humour of Queen Elizabeth. The King had one of her Pictures brought him. Madam de Cleve thought it far handsomer than she hoped to have found it, and she could not forbear saying the Picture-drawer had flattered the Queen, in drawing her so beautiful. I do not think so, says the Queen-Dauphin, that Princess is reputed extraordinary handsome, and witty; and I am sure she hath been proposed to me for an Example all my Life: she must be very lovely, if like Anne Bullen her Mother: Never had a Lady so charming a Person, or so bewitching a sweetness and louliness in her humour: I have heard say she had a singular sprightliness in her Countenance, and not like the common English Beauties. I think, says Madam Cleve, I have been told she was born in France. They that fancy so are mistaken, replies the Queen-Dauphin, and I will tell you the Story of her in a very few words  
She was of a good Family in England, Henry the 8th had been in love with her Mother and Sister; and it was suspected she might be his Daughter. She came into France with Henry the 7th's Sister, who was married to King Lewis the 12th. This Princess being youthful and gallant, was loath to leave the Court of France at the death of her Husband: Anne Bullen, whose love for the French Court was equal to her Mistresses, resolved not to quit it. The late King fell in love with her, and she was made Maid of Honour to Queen Claudia: This Queen dying, the Lady Margaret, the King's Sister, Duchess of Alencon, and since Queen of Navarr, took her into her Service, where she received some Tincture of the reformed Religion. Afterwards she returned into England, and charmed all that saw her; she sung well, and danced excellently: They made her one of Queen Katherine's Maids of Honour, and Henry the 8th fell desperately in love with her.  
Cardinal Wolsey, his Favourite and prime Minister, was ill satisfied with the Emperor, for not having favoured his pretensions to the Papacy; and to be revenged of him, resolved to unite the King his Master to the French. To effect this, he suggested to Henry the 8th that his marriage with the Emperor's Aunt was Null; and proposed for a Wife to him the Duchess of Alencon, whose Husband was lately dead. Anne Bullen had Ambition enough to look upon the Divorce of King Henry from Katherine, as a means to make way for her into the Throne: She began to give the King some Impressions of the Lutheran Persuasion, and engaged the late King here, to favour at Rome the Divorce of Henry, in hopes of his marrying the Duchess of Alencon. Cardinal wolsey, to have opportunity to treat of this Affair, prevailed with King Henry to send him into France on other business; but he was so far from giving him power to propose that Marriage, that he sent him express Order to Calais not to speak of it.  
At his return from France, Cardinal Wolsey was received with honours equal to those they would have done to the King: Never did Favourite carry on Pride and Vanity to so high a Pitch: He managed an Interview between the two Kings at Boulogne. Francis the 1st would have given the upperhand to Henry the 8th, but he would not take it: they treated one another by turns with extraordinary Magnificence, and presented each other with Habits equal to those they had caused to be made for themselves: I have heard it said, those the late King sent the King of England were of Crimson-Sattin, beset all over with Pearls and Diamonds, and a Robe of white Velvet embroidered with Gold. After some days stay at Boulogne, they went to Calais; Anne Bullen was Lodged in Henry the 8th's Court, with the Train of a Queen, and Francis the 1st made her the same Presents, and did her the same Honour, as if she had been actually so. At last, after a Passion of nine years' continuance, Henry the 8th married her, without staying for the dissolution of his first Marriage, which he had a long time demanded at Rome. The Pope hastily thundered Excommunications against him, which provoked the King so highly, that he declared himself Head of the Religion, and drew England after him into the Change ye now see.  
Anne Bullen enjoyed not her Grandeur long; for when she thought it surest by the death of Queen Katherine, one day as she was seeing, with the whole Court, a Match made by the Viscount Rochfort her Brother, to run at the Ring; the King was suddenly struck with so furious a jealousy, that he hastily left the Show, and went strait to London, having left order for arresting the Queen, the Viscount Rochfort, and several others whom he thought Lovers or Confidents of that Princess: though in appearance this jealousy of the Kings seemed to owe its Birth to that moment, the truth is, it had been inspired into him some time before by the Viscountess Rochfort, who was not able to bear with patience the great intimacy between the Queen and her Husband the Vsicount, represented it to the King as criminal and incestuous: So that he being already in love with jane Seymour, thought no more of Anne Bullen, but to get rid of her. In less than three Weeks he caused the Queen and her Brother to be tried, had them both beheaded, and married jane Seymour. He had afterwards several other Wives, whom he put away, or put to death; and among the rest the Lady Katherine Howard, whose Confident the Countess Rochfort was, and shared in her Fate, having her Head cut off with her Mistress': Thus was she punished for falsely accusing Anne Bullen; and Henry the 8th died, being grown prodigiously big and fat.  
All the Ladies present thanked the Queen-Dauphin for the account she had given them of the Court of England, and among the rest Madam de Cleve, who could not forbear ask her several Questions about Queen Elizabeth.  
The Queen-Dauphin had Pictures in little drawn for her of all the Beauties of the Court, to be sent to the Queen her Mother. One day as that of Madam de Cleve's was finishing, the Queen-Dauphin spent the Afternoon with her. Monsieur de Nemours, who let slip no opportunity of seeing Madam de Cleve, (yet without letting it appear he sought it,) failed not being there: She was that day so beautiful, it would have made him in love with her, had he not been so; yet he durst not fix his Eye upon her as her Picture was a drawing, being fearful notice might be taken of the pleasure he took to view her now and then as she sat.  
The Queen-Dauphin asked Monsieur de Cleve for a Picture in little he had of his Wife, to compare it with that which was newly drawn of her: Every one passed their Judgement of the one and the other, and Madam de Cleve ordered the Picture-drawer to mend something in the Draught of the Head-geer of that which Monsieur de Cleve had brought in. The Picture-drawer, to satisfy her, took it out of the Case; and having mended it, laid it on the Table.  
Monsieur de Nemours had long wished for a Picture of Madam de Cleve: when he saw that of her, which was Monsieur de Cleve's, he could not resist the longing desire he had to steal it from a Husband he believed she tenderly loved; and thought among so many Persons in the Room he might be as little suspected to have done it as another.  
The Queen-Dauphin was set on the Bed, and whispered to Madam de Cleve, who stood before her: Madam de Cleve, through the Curtains which were but half drawn, spied Monsieur de Nemours with his Back to the Table at the Beds-feet; and perceived him, without turning his Face, steal something slily that was on the Table: She quickly guessed it might be her Picture, and was so troubled at it, that the Queen-Dauphin perceived she heard her not, and asked her aloud what it was she looked at. At those words Monsieur de Nemours turned about, and saw Madam de Cleve's Eye still fixed upon him, and thought it not impossible but she might have seen what he had done.  
Madam de Cleve was not a little perplexed: Reason would she should ask for her Picture, yet to ask for it publicly, was to tell all the World the kindness that Prince had for her; and to ask for it privately, was to engage him to declare to her the Passion he had for her: At last she resolved it the best course to let him carry it away, without taking notice of it, and was glad to grant him a favour without knowing whether she had done it. Monsieur de Nemours having observed her disorder, and guessing at the Cause, came up and whispered to her; If you have seen what I have ventured to do, Madam, be so good to let me believe you are ignorant of it, which is all I dare beg of you: With that he withdrew, without expecting her Answer.  
The Queen-Dauphin went out a walking, attended with all the Ladies, and Monsieur de Nemours went home to lock himself in his Closet, to enjoy the pleasure he took in having a Picture of Madam de Cleve's, which filled him with joy too great and too delicate to be expressed in public: It gave him a taste of the highest sweetness Love can afford; he was in love with the most amiable Person of the Court, and saw she loved him though against her will, and easily discovered in all her Actions that trouble and disorder which Love produces in the innocence of Youth.  
That Evening great search was made for the Picture: Having found the Case it was used to be kept in, they never suspected it had been stolen, but thought it might have been fallen out by chance. Monsieur de Cleve was much troubled at the loss of it, and when they had long searched, and without finding it, he told his Wife, (but in such a manner as made it appear he did not think so,) That she had without doubt some private Lover, to whom she had given that Picture, or who had stole it; and that any other but one in love would not have been content with the Picture without the Case.  
These words, though spoken in jest, made a deep impression in Madam de Cleve; they troubled her extremely, and made her reflect with regret on the violence of her Inclination for Monsieur de Nemours: she found she was no longer Mistress of her Words, or her Countenance: She thought Lignerolles was returned, that there was no further fear of the Affair with England, nor any cause to suspect the Queen-Dauphin; that, in a word, there was not any thing to help her against the violence of her Passion; and that there was no safety to be expected, but by absenting herself from Monsieur de Nemours. But leave being requested to be obtained for her absence from Court, where her Husband resided, and a pretence wanting, she was in very great extremity, and ready to fall into that she thought the worst of misfortunes, to let Monsieur de Nemours see the inclination she had for him. She thought of all Madam de Chartres on her Deathbed had said to her, and the Advice she had given her, to undergo any difficulty, rather than engage in an Intrigue of Gallantry. She remembered what Monsieur de Cleve had said to her of an ingenuous sincerity, when he spoke of Madam de Tournon; and she thought it her duty to confess to him the inclination she had for Monsieur de Nemours. These thoughts possessed her a considerable time, at length she was astonished she could entertain any that appeared so foolish, and relapsed into her former perplexity; not knowing what course to take.  
The Peace was signed, and the Lady Elizabeth, after much resistance, resolved to obey the King her Father: The Duke of Alva had been appointed to Marry her in the Name of His Catholic Majesty, and was shortly expected. They looked every day for the Duke of Savoy, who had newly married the King's Sister; the Nuptials being appointed to be kept at the same time the Lady Elizabeth should be married to the Proxy of Spain. The King's greatest care was to Grace these Marriages with Sports and Divertisements, wherein he might make appear the Address and Magnificence of his Court. Great Proposals were made for Balletts and Comedies, but the King thought those Divertisements too private, and resolved to have such as should be more Splendid and Noble.  
That which he made choice of was, a Solemn Tournament, to which Strangers might be invited, and the People be Spectators. The Princes and young Lords approved highly the King's design, especially the Duke of Ferrara, Monsieur de Guise, and Monsieur de Nemours, who were the most excellent at these sorts of Exercises; and the King made choice of them to be with him the four Champions of the Tournament.  
Proclamation was made throughout the Kingdom, that the 15th of june, at Paris, His most Christian Majesty, and the Princes, Alphonso d'Est, Duke of Ferrara, Francis of Lorraine, Duke of Guise, and james of Savoy Duke of Nemours, would hold an open Tourney against all comers: The first Combat on Horseback in the Lists, doubly Armed, to break four Lances, and one for the Ladies: The second Combat with Swords; one to one, or two to two, as the Masters of the Camp should order: The third Combat on Foot; three Pushes of Pike, and six Hits with the Sword: The Champions to furnish Lances, Pikes, and Swords, at the Assailants choice: Whoever managed not his Horse in the Career, to be put out of the Lists: That there should be four Masters of Camp, to give Orders; the Assailants who should break most Lances, and perform best, to carry the Prize; the value whereof to be at the discretion of the Judges: That all the Assailants, as well French as Strangers, should be obliged openly, to lay Hand on one, or more, (at their choice) of the Shields that should hang at a Pillar at the end of the Lists, where an Officer of Arms should be ready to receive them, and Enrol them according to their Quality, and the Shields they had handled: That the Assailants should be bound to cause their Shields, and Arms, to be brought by a Gentleman, and hung up at the Pillar three days before the beginning of the Tourney, on pain of not being received without the special leave of the Defendants.  
A great List was made, reaching from the Chat aude Tournells, cross S. Anthony's Street to the King's Stables. There were on both sides Scaffolds, and Theatres, with covered Galleries very pleasing to the sight, and that would hold an infinite of People. The Princes and great Lords, made it their business to provide what might be necessary, to appear there in Splendour, and to have in their Ciphers and Devises, something of Gallantry relating to the Ladies they loved.  
A few days before the Duke d' Alva arrived, the King made a Match at Tennis with Monsieur de Nemours, the Chevalier de Guise, and the Vidame de Chartres. The Queen, attended with the Ladies of the Court, and (among the rest) Madam de Cleve went to see them play: The Game being ended, as they went out of the Tennis-Court, Chastelart came up to the Queen-Dauphin, and told her he had by chance hit upon a Letter of Gallantry fallen out of Monsieur de Nemours' Pocket. This Queen, who always had a Curiosity for any thing that concerned Monsieur de Nemours, bid Chastelart give it her: He did so, and she followed the Queen her Mother-in-Law, who was going with the King to see them work at the Lists. They had not been long there, but the King sent for some Horses he had lately caused to be taken in, and though they were not throughly managed, the King would Mount one of them, and ordered his Attendants to Mount the rest: The fiery'st and highest-mettled of them fell to the King's share, and Monsieur de Nemours': Their Horses would have presently fallen fowl on one another. Monsieur de Nemours for fear of hurting the King, recoiled briskly, and ran back his Horse against a Post, with that violence it made him stagger: The Company ran in presently to Monsieur de Nemours, thinking him grievously hurt. Madam de Cleve was more sensible of it than any other, and thought him worse hurt: She was so much concerned, she never thought of hiding the apprehension and trouble it put her in; she went to him with the Queens, but with a Countenance so changed, one less concerned than the Chevalier de Guise might have easily perceived it. He quickly observed it, and minded more the condition she was in then, than that of Monsieur the Nemours'. The violence of the Iustle had so stunned the Prince, he stood a while leaning his Head on those that supported him: When he held it up, he presently spied Madam de Cleve, and discovered in her looks the pity she had of him; and looked on her in such a manner, as made her easily comprehend how sensible he was of it. Afterwards he thanked the Queens for the goodness expressed towards him, and excused the condition he had been in before them. This done, the King commanded him to go to rest.  
Madam de Cleve being recovered of the fright she had been in, reflected quickly on the Evidence she had given of it. The Chevalier de Guise presently put her out of the hopes she had no body had taken notice of it, giving her his Hand to lead her out of the Lists; I have more cause to complain, says he, Madam, than Monsieur de Nemours: Pardon me if, for a moment, I forget the profound respect I have always had for you, to let you see how I grieve at Heart for what my Eyes have but now discovered: 'Tis the first time I have taken the boldness to speak to you, and it shall be the last: Death, or an everlasting absence, will remove me from a place I can no longer live in; having now lost the sorry comfort I had, in believing all those who durst look on you were as unfortunate as I.  
Madam de Cleve answered, as if she had not understood him: She would have been offended another time at any Declaration he should have made of his affection for her, but that moment her thoughts were wholly drowned in a deep affliction for the Discovery he had made of her kindness for Monsieur de Nemours. The Chevalier de Guise was so throughly convinced of it, and so heartily troubled at it, he took a resolution never to think more of obtaining her love. But to quit an Enterprise that appeared so difficult and glorious, he must pitch on another great enough to fill the room the former had taken up in his thoughts. He had formerly entertained some thoughts of the taking of Rhodes; and when Death took him out of the World in the Flower of his Youth, when he had gained the Reputation of one of the greatest Princes of his time; the only grief he expressed for leaving the World, was, he had not been able to put in execution so noble a Resolution, the success whereof he thought infallible, through the care he had taken for it.  
When Madam de Cleve was gone out of the Lists, she went to the Queen's Lodgings, full of the thoughts of what had newly happened. Monsieur de Nemours came in presently after, in a very Magnificent Habit, and like one no way sensible of the late Accident, but in appearance more gay and jovial than ordinary: His joy for what he thought he had lately discovered, gave his Countenance an Air, made him appear handsomer, (if possible,) than formerly. The Company was surprised at his entrance, every one asked him how he did, except Madam de Cleve, who stayed near the Chimney, as if she had not seen him: The King coming out of his Closet saw him among the rest, and called him to have some discourse of his Adventure. Monsieur de Nemours passing by Madam de Cleve, said to her very low, I have this day received some marks of your pity, Madam; but they were not such as I am most worthy of. Madam de Cleve doubted before, that Monsieur de Nemours had observed the concern she was in for him; and his words sufficiently confirmed the truth of her thoughts. It troubled her extremely she had been so little Mistress of her Sentiments, as not to have been able to conceal them from the Chevalier de Guise. It added to her grief Monsieur de Nemours had discovered them, yet this grief was not so pure, but it had a mixture of pleasure.  
The Queen-Dauphin, impatiently desirous to know the Contents of the Letter Chastelart had given her, went to Madam de Cleve, Go read this Letter, says she, it is addressed to Monsieur de Nemours; and in all appearance was sent him by the Mistress for whom he hath quitted all others: If you cannot read it at present, keep it, and bring it me at Night as I go to Bed, and tell me if you know the Hand. With that, the Queen-Dauphin left Madam de Cleve, but so surprised and astonished, she could not a while stir out of her place: It put her into that impatience and trouble, she was not able to stay at the Queen's Lodgings; but went home, though long before her usual hour of retirement. Her Hand trembled as she held the Letter, her thoughts were perplexed, and extremely disordered; and the trouble she was in no less new than insupportable: As soon as she got into her Closet, she opened the Letter, and found it to this effect.  
The LETTER.  
I have loved you too well, to let you believe the change you observe in me is an effect of Lightness; I am going to tell you, your Infidelity is the cause of it; you will be surprised I charge you with unfaithfulness: you have kept it from me so cunningly, and I have been at so much pains to conceal from you my knowledge of it, you have reason enough to be astonished at the discovery. I wonder at myself I have been able so long, not to let you know something of it. Never was affliction equal to mine, I believed you had for me a violent Passion; I scrupled as little the owning that I had for you. The very time I made you a full discovery of it, I found myself deceived, that you were in love with another, and in all appearance made a Sacrifice of me to your new Mistress: I came to the knowledge of it the day you ran at the Ring, which was the cause I was not at the Sight: To hide the disorder of my mind, I feigned myself sick, and quickly became really so; my Body being too weak to support and endure the violent agitations within me: when I began to recover, I still pretended myself very ill, to furnish myself with an Excuse for not seeing, or writing to you. I was willing to have time to resolve how to deal with you; I took, and I quitted, twenty times the same resolutions: At last I thought you unworthy to be made acquainted with my grief, and resolved you should not know it. I was willing to bring down your pride, by letting you see my Passion (of itself) grow weaker and weaker: I thought it the way to lessen the value of the Sacrifice you made of me, and was loath you should have the pleasure of appearing more amiable in the Eyes of another, by showing her how deeply I loved you: I resolved my Letters to you should be cold and indifferent, that she you gave them to might perceive (or imagine at least) my Love at an end: I was unwilling she should have the pleasure to find I knew she triumphed over me, or the advantage to set off her triumph with my despair, and my reproaches: To break with you, I thought too small a punishment for you; and that it would have troubled you but little to find I loved you no longer, when you had first forsaken me. I knew it necessary you should love me, to feel the smart of not being loved, which afflicted me so sore. I was of opinion, if any thing could make you love me as you had done, it must be to let you see my affection was changed; but so to let you see it as if I would have hid it from you, and had not the power to own it to you. This resolution I adhered to, I found it difficult to take, and (when I saw you) I thought it impossible to execute. I was an hundred times ready to break out into Reproaches and Lamentations: My indisposition served me for a disguise, to hide from you the affliction and trouble I was in. By degrees I found pleasure in dissembling with you, as you did with me: But it went so much against the Grain, to tell you, or write to you, that I loved you; you quickly perceived I had no mind to let you see my affection was altered: This touched you, you complained; I endeavoured to confirm you in an opinion of my constancy, but it was in a way so strange, and so forced, it convinced you the more I had no more love for you. In a word, I did all I intended to have done: the further I fled from you, the more eagerly you sought me, so fantastical was your humour; this gave me all the pleasure a full revenge is capable to bestow: It was clear to me you loved me more than ever, and I let you see I had no love for you: you gave me cause to believe you had entirely abandoned her, for whose sake you had forsaken me; and I had some reason to think you had never spoke to her of me, but your Repentance and Discretion could not make amends for your Lightness and Inconstancy: your affection hath been divided between me and another, and you have deceived me: This is enough to take away all the pleasure of being loved by you, as I thought I deserved, and to make me persist in the Resolution I have taken never to see you more, which so much surprises you.  
Madam de Cleve read the Letter again and again, yet knew not what she read: she perceived only, Monsieur de Nemours was not so in love with her as she had thought, but loved others, who were no less deceived in him than she. What a Discovery was this for a Person of her humour, who had a violent Passion, who had newly given Evidence of it to a Man she judged unworthy of it; and to another she used ill for love of him! Never was grief so cutting as hers; she imputed the sharpness of it to that days adventures, and that if Monsieur de Nemours had not had occasion to believe she loved him, she would not have cared for his loving another: Yet she did but deceive herself, the Disease she was sick of, and thought so intolerable, was Jealousy, with all its horrible Attendants: This Letter discovered to her a piece of Gallantry Monsieur de Nemours had long been engaged in. She saw the Lady who had written the Letter, was a Person of Wit and Merit; she thought her one that deserved his love, and of more courage than herself; and envied the power she had to conceal her Passion from Monsieur de Nemours: The close of the Letter gave her cause to believe that Person thought herself loved; she was presently of opinion the discretion that Prince had made show of to her, and she had been so taken with, was perhaps but the effect of his Passion for the other, whom he feared to displease. In a word, all her thoughts were so many torments, to heighten her affliction, and occasion despair. What Reflections did she make on herself, and the Counsels her Mother had given her! How did she repent her not having persisted in her Resolution of quitting the World, though without the leave of Monsieur de Cleve; or her not having pursued the intention she had of confessing to him the inclination she had for Monsieur de Nemours? She thought she had better have discovered it to a Husband, whose goodness she was assured of, and who would have been concerned to conceal it; than to have let a Man know it who was altogether unworthy of it, who deceived her, and perhaps made a Sacrifice of her; and cared no more for her love, than to have matter thence to feed his Pride and Vanity. In a word, she thought no greater mischief could befall her, nor she have done worse, than to have given Monsieur de Nemours occasion to believe she loved him; and to have since found he was in love with another. All the comfort she had, was, to believe, that having discovered his falseness, it would perfectly cure her of the inclination she had for him.  
She never thought of the order the Queen-Dauphin had given her, to be with her at her going to Bed; but went to Bed herself, pretending she was ill: so that when Monsieur de Cleve came from the King, they told him she was asleep; but she was far enough from being so well at rest, afflicting herself all Night, and reading over the Letter she had in her Hand.  
Madam de Cleve was not the sole Person this Letter disturbed. The Vidame de Chartres, who in truth had lost it, was in no small trouble for it: He had passed that Evening at the Duke of Guise's, who had treated at Supper, his Brother-in-Law, the Duke of Ferrara, and all the young People of the Court. As Fortune would have it, they discoursed at Supper of Letters; the Vidame told them, he had about him the finest that ever was writ: They pressed him to show it, but he denied. Monsieur de Nemours insisted he had no such Letter, and that he talked vainly. The Vidame answered, he put him very hard to't, yet he would not show him the Letter, but would read part of it, which would give them cause to judge few Men received the like. Having said this, he would have taken out the Letter, but could not find it: He searched for it, but to no purpose; the Company jeered him as if he never had any such; but he was so vexed at the loss, that they forbore speaking further of it. He retired before the rest of the Company, and with great impatience went home, to search for the Letter he missed. As he was in search of it, a Page of the Queens came to tell him that the Viscountess d' Usez had thought it necessary to give him speedy intelligence, that at the Queen's Lodgings they discoursed of a Letter of Gallantry dropped out of his Pocket as he was at Tennis: That they had recited part of what was written in it; that the Queen seemed very desirous to see it; that she had sent to one of her Gentlemen for it, but he answered he had given it Chastelart.  
The Page added other Particulars which heightened the Vidame's trouble. He went presently to a Gentleman who was very intimate with Chastelart, and (though at a very unseasonable hour) made him get up out of Bed, to go ask Chastelart for the Letter, without letting him know who enquired for it, or had lost it. Chastelart fully possessed the Letter belonged to Monsieur de Nemours, and that he was in love with the Queen-Dauphin, made no doubt but he had sent in search of it, and with a malicious joy answered he had delivered it to the Queen-Dauphin. The Gentleman brought the Vidame this Answer, which added to his trouble: After long debate what course to take, he saw Monsieur de Nemours was the only Person could help him out of the trouble he was in.  
He went to his House, and entered his Chamber at peep of Day: The Prince was fast asleep, the kindness of Madam de Cleve the day before having given him such pleasing thoughts, that he rested very sweetly that Night. He was surprised to find himself awakened by the Vidame of Chartres, and asked him if it was to be revenged of him for what he had said at Supper, that he was come thus early to break his rest? The Vidame's looks gave him quickly to understand his business was very serious; I am come, says he, to trust you with the most important Affair of my Life: I know very well you are not obliged to me for the confidence, because I do it in a time I stand in need of your help; but I am satisfied withal I should have lost your esteem, had I acquainted you with what I am going to tell you, without being forced to it by absolute necessity. I have dropped the Letter I spoke of yesterday, it concerns me extremely, no one should know it was addressed to me. Several who were at the Tennis-Court yesterday, where I dropped it, have seen it. You were there, and I beg the favour you would own you have lost it. Sure, says Monsieur de Nemours, smiling, you think I have not such a thing as a Mistress in the World, that you can make me a Proposal of this Nature, as if there were not a Person living would fall out with me upon notice of my receiving Letters of that sort. I pray, Sir, says the Vidame, be serious: If you have a Mistress, (as I question not but you have, though I know her not,) you will easily justify yourself, and I will put you in an infallible way for it: If you should not justify yourself, the worst you can fear is a short falling out: My case is much worse; by this unlucky Adventure, I shall dishonour a Person who hath passionately loved me, and is one of the most Enestimable Women of the World; besides, I shall procure myself her implacable hatred to the certain ruin of my Fortune, and perhaps something more. I understand you not, answers Monsieur de Nemours; but I begin methinks to discover the reports we have had of a great Princess being concerned for you, are not without ground. They are not, replies the Vidame, but I wish they had been so; I should not have been then in the trouble you see me in. I will tell you all, to convince you what a condition I am in.  
Ever since I came to Court the Queen hath been pleased to use me with particular favour, and hath given me cause to believe she hath kindness for me: Yet so, that I never entertained any thought of her but what was full of respect. I was deeply in love with Madam de Themines; you who have seen her, may easily judge it was not strange any one should love her, if she loved him as she did me. Near two years since, the Court being at Fountainbleau, I was two or three times in discourse with the Queen when there was very little company: I thought my sense pleased her, and that she approved whatever I said. One day she fell into a Discourse of Confidence; I told her there was not a Person in the World I could entirely confide in, that I found many had repent of having done it, and that I knew several things I had never spoken of. The Queen told me, she esteemed me the better for't, that she had not found a Person in France could keep a Secret; and that nothing troubled her more, because it deprived her of the pleasure of having a Confident; than which nothing more necessary, especially for those of her Quality: She fell several times after into the like discourse, and made me acquainted with very particular Passages: At last I thought she had a mind to learn some Secret of mine, and to trust me with hers: I was so sensible of this distinguishing favour, it engaged me strictly to her, and I made my Court to her with more assiduity than ordinary. One Evening the King, and the Ladies, went on Horseback into the Forest to take the Air; the Queen went not, being a little indisposed, I stayed to wait on her, she walked down to the Pond side, and to be at more liberty, would not be handed by the Gentlemen-Ushers: Having taken a turn or two, she came to me and bid me follow her: I would speak with you, says she, and by what I shall say to you, you will find I am your Friend. She stopped there, and looked earnestly on me; You are in love, says she, and because you have made no one your Confident, you think your love is not known; but it is, and to Persons who are concerned at it: You are observed, the place where you see your Mistress is discovered, and there is a design to surprise you: I know not your Mistress, nor do I ask you who she is; but would arm you against the Plots that are laid for you. Observe, Sir, what a Snare this was from a Queen, and how hard to escape: She had a mind to know if I was in love, and not ask whom I loved, but letting me see her pure intentions of doing me a kindness, she put it out of my thoughts to suspect her of Curiosity, much less of Design.  
But against all probability, I came to a discovery of the truth, I was in love with Madam de Themines; but though she loved me, I was not so happy to have particular places to see her, or to fear a surprise. I easily saw 'twas not she the Queen spoke of: I knew well enough I had some concern of Gallantry with a Woman less handsome, and less severe than Madam de Themines, and it was not impossible the place I used to meet her might have been discovered; but that was a business I so little cared for, I could easily prevent any danger, by forbearing to see her: Thus I resolved not to confess any thing to the Queen, but assured her I had long laid aside the desire of gaining the love of Women, where I might hope for success, having found them almost all unworthy the Engagement of an honest Man; and that I was now altogether for something above them. You do not answer me truly, replies the Queen, I am assured of the contrary. The manner of my speaking to you, should oblige you to hide nothing from me. I am willing, adds she, you should be one of my Friends, but not willing (having taken you into that Number) to be ignorant how you are engaged. See whether the Place of being my Friend be too dear at the Price of making me your Confident: I give you two days to think on't, but after that time I expect your answer; and remember, if I find you deceive me, I shall never pardon you.  
Having said this, the Queen left me, without expecting my answer: You may believe she had said enough to employ my thoughts: I did not think the two days she had allowed me too long a time to come to Resolution. I saw she was willing to know if I was in love, and that she did not much desire I should be so. I considered the Consequences of the Engagement I was entering into. My Vanity was tickled with the fancy of having a particular Intrigue with a Queen, and a Queen whose Person is extremely amiable: On the other side, I loved Madam de Themines, and could not find in my Heart to break with her quite; though I committed a Petty-Treason against her, by my Engagement with the other I formerly told you of. I apprehended the danger I should expose myself to, if I deceived the Queen, and how hard it would be to do it: Yet I could not resolve to refuse what Fortune offered me, but was willing to run the hazard of any thing my ill Conduct might bring upon me: I broke with that Woman where I feared a discovery, and was in hopes to conceal the intelligence I held with Madam de Themines.  
At the two days end I entered the Chamber where the Queen was with all the Ladies about her; she said aloud, and with a Gravity that surprised me, Have you thought of the Business I gave you in Charge, and found out the truth of it? Yes, Madam, answered I, and 'tis as I told your Majesty. Come in the Evening when I am a writing, replies she, and you shall have further order. Having made a profound Reverence, I withdrew without further answer, and failed not to attend at the hour assigned: I found her in the Gallery, with her Secretary and one of her Women: As soon as she saw me, she came to me and took me to the other end of the Gallery: Well, says she, upon second thoughts, have you nothing to say to me? And my usage of you, doth it not deserve you should deal sincerely with me? My sincerity, Madam, replied I, is the cause I have nothing to say; and I swear to your Majesty, with all the respect due to your Majesty, I have no Engagement with any Woman of the Court. I will believe it, says she, because I wish it so; and I wish it, because I desire to have you entirely mine, and that it would be impossible I should be satisfied with your Friendship if you are in love: there is no trusting those that are so, there's no relying on their secrecy: the Partiality they have for their Mistresses, who still take up the first room in their thoughts, suits not with the manner I would have you engaged to me: Remember then that upon your giving me your word you are not otherwise engaged, I Choose you for my Confident: Remember I would have you entirely mine, and that you must have no Friend of either Sex, but such as I please to allow you; and that you are to quit all cares, but that of pleasing me. You shall not lose your Fortune by it, I shall take more care of it than you can yourself; and whatever I do for you I shall think it well bestowed, if you answer my expectation of you. I have made choice of you to make you acquainted with all my Griefs, and to help me out of them. You may judge they are no mean ones: I endure in appearance, with very little pain, the King's Engagement with the Duchess of Valentinois, but 'tis insupportable. She Governs the King, she deludes him, she cheats him; she slights me, she hates me, she hath debauched my Servants, they are all at her beck: The Queen, my Daughter-in-Law, is so proud of her Beauty, and the Credit of her Uncles, she pays me no respect. The Constable Montmorency is Master of the King, and his Kingdom: He hates me, and hath given proofs of his hatred I shall never forget. The Marshal St. Andre is a fiery young Favourite, who uses me no better than the rest; you would pity me, should I give you a particular account of my misfortunes: Till now I never durst trust any Man with them; I trust you, give me no cause to repent it, and let me have comfort of you. As she said these words, her Eyes reddened: I was so sensible of the goodness she had expressed for me, I was going to throw myself at her Feet. From that day she placed entire confidence in me, and did nothing without first advising with me; and I have ever since maintained a Correspondence which holds to this day.  
The End of the second Book.   

THE PRINCESS OF CLEVE.  
BOOK III.  
Busy as I was, and full of my new Engagement to the Queen, I held fair and firm with Madam de Themines, by a natural inclination it was not in my power to vanquish: Yet methoughts she cooled in her love of me; and where, had I been wise, I should have made use of the change observed in her for my Cure; it doubled my love, and I managed it so ill, that the Queen had some knowledge of it. Jealousy is natural to those of her Nation, and perhaps that Princess had a greater affection for me than she herself could imagine. At last the report of my being in love disturbed and troubled her to that height, that I thought myself an hundred times ruined in my Credit with her: But diligence, submission, and false Oaths brought me again into favour: Yet it would not have been in my power to have deceived her long, had not Madam de Themines, sore against my will, disengaged me from her. She made it appear her love for me was at an end, and I was so convinced of it, that I was forced to torment her no further, but let her alone. A short time after she writ me the Letter I have lost: by it I perceived she knew the Commerce I had with that Woman I told you of, and that her Change proceeded from thence. Thenceforward the Queen was well satisfied with me, being no longer divided as formerly: But the Sentiments I have for her being not of a nature to render me incapable of engaging elsewhere, and Love being not a thing depends on our Choice, I fell in love with Madam the Martigues, for whom I had no small inclination, when she was Villemontar's Maid of Honour to the Queen-Dauphin. I had reason to believe she did not hate me. The discretion I made show of, (she not knowing all the Reasons of it,) pleased her very well: The Queen hath no suspicion of me on that side, but has on another account which proves no less troublesome: Madam the Martigues being every day at the Queen-Dauphin's, I frequent her Lodgings oftener than ordinary: the Queen fancy's I am in love with that Princess. The quality of Madam La-Dauphine being equal to the Queens, and her beauty and youth above hers, have made the Queen jealous even to fury, and filled her with a hatred she can no longer conceal against her Daughter-in-Law: The Cardinal of Lorraine, who (I have long thought) aspires the Queen's favour, and sees me possess a place he would willingly be in, under pretence of reconciling the Queens, is become concerned in the differences between them. I make no doubt but he hath discovered the true Cause of the Queen's anger, and I believe he does me all kinds of ill Offices, without letting her see he doth it on design: This is the state of my present condition; judge you what effect the Letter I have lost may produce, which I unfortunately put into my Pocket to restore it to Madam de Themines. If the Queen see this Letter, she will know I have deceived her; and that almost the same time I deceived her by Madam de Themines, I deceived Madam de Themines by another: Judge you what she will think of me then, and whether she will ever trust my words more. If she see not the Letter, what shall I say to her? She knows it hath been given the Queen-Dauphin, she will believe Chastelart knew her Hand, and that the Letter was hers: she will imagine herself perhaps the Person, she that wrote the Letter declares herself jealous of. In a word, she hath occasion to think any thing, and there is nothing so bad but I have cause to fear from her thoughts: besides; I am heartily concerned for Madam de Martigues, the Queen-Dauphin will certainly show her this Letter, which she will believe lately writ; thus shall I be embroiled with the Person, whom of all the World I love most, no less than with the Person, whom of all the World I have most cause to fear. See now whether I have not reason to conjure you to own the Letter as yours, and to beg the favour of you to get it out of the Queen-Dauphin's Hands.  
I am very well satisfied, answers Monsieur de Nemours, you are sufficiently perplexed; and it cannot be denied but you very well deserve it. I have been charged with unfaithfulness in my Amours, and being engaged at the same time in several Gallantries; but you have so far outdone me, I durst not have imagined what you have undertaken: Could you pretend to hold fair with Madam de Themines, and keep her firm to you, being engaged to the Queen? Could you hope to engage with the Queen, and deceive her? She is an Italian, and a Queen, and consequently full of suspicions of Jealousy, and of Pride. When your good Fortune, rather than your good Conduct, had set you at liberty from the Engagements you were formerly concerned in, you entered into new; and fancied that in the midst of the Court you could be in love with Madam the Martigues and the Queen not know it: You could not have been too careful of taking from her the shame of having made the first motion: she has for you a violent Passion; you have more discretion than to tell it me, and I, than to ask you of it: Certain it is she loves you, and entrusts you; and the truth is, you are to be blamed. Is it your part, Sir, to chide me, says the Vidame, interupting him; and are not you concerned to be indulgent to faults within your Experience? I confess I am to blame, but think, I conjure you, how to get me out of this Abyss: I think you must go see the Queen-Dauphin as soon as she awakes, and ask her for the Letter as if you had lost it. I have told you already, replies Monsieur de Nemours, the thing you propose is somewhat extraordinary, and there are difficulties in it, I am (upon my own account) very loath to engage in. But if the Letter hath been seen to drop out of your Pocket, how shall I persuade them it dropped out of mine? I thought I had told you, says the Vidame, the Queen-Dauphin hath been informed you had dropped it. How, replies Monsieur de Nemours, hastily, (apprehending the ill consequence the mistake might be of to him with Madam de Cleve,) Have they told the Queen-Dauphin I dropped the Letter? Yes, says the Vidame, they have told her so: And the reason of the mistake is, there were several of the Queen's Gentlemen in a Chamber belonging to the Tennis-Court, where our Clothes were put up, and your Servants and mine went together to fetch them: Then it was the Letter was dropped, those Gentlemen gathered it up and read it aloud; some thought it was yours, others thought it mine: Chastelart, who took it, told me just now, as I asked him for it, that he had given it the Queen-Dauphin as a Letter of yours: And those who spoke of it to the Queen, have unfortunately said it was mine: You may easily do what I desire, and get me out of this trouble.  
Monsieur de Nemours had ever been a great lover of the Vidame of Chartres, and his near relation to Madam de Cleve made him love him the more; yet he could not presently resolve to run the hazard of owning that Letter: He fell into a deep study, and the Vidame guessing the cause of his meditation, I see well enough, says he, you are afraid of a Broil with you Mistress, and would make me believe it is the Queen-Dauphin; but you have so little jealousy of Monsieur d' Anvil, I cannot think it is she. However, 'tis not reasonable you should sacrifice your Repose to mine, and I will put you in a way to convince your Mistress the Letter was directed to me, and not you: See here a Billet from Madam d' Amboise, who is a Friend of Madam de Themines, and her Confident in the Amours between me and her: By this Billet Madam d' Amboise desires me to send her her Friend's Letter I have lost; the Billet is addressed to me by Name, and the Contents of it are an infallible Proof the Letter she desires is the same they have found. I am content you should take the Billet and show it your Mistress for your justification. I conjure you not to lose a moment's time, but go presently to the Queen-Dauphin's Lodgings.  
Monsieur de Nemours promised to do so, and took the Billet; yet he designed not to see the Queen-Dauphin, but thought he had business concerned him more: He made no doubt but she had toll Madam de Cleve of the Letter, and he could not endure a Person he loved so desperately, should have occasion to believe him engaged with another.  
He went to her as soon as he thought her awake, and sent her word he would not have desired the honour to see her at so unseasonable an hour, but that he had extraordinary business. Madam de Cleve was a-Bed, troubled with the sad thoughts she had had all that Night: she was extremely surprised to hear Monsieur de Nemours asked for her; that Night's trouble had made her so froward, she presently answered she was not well, and could not speak with him.  
Monsieur de Nemours was not sorry for the Repulse; he thought it no ill Omen she expressed some coldness at a time she had occasion to be jealous: He went to the Apartment of Monsieur de Cleve, and told him he came from his Ladies, and was much troubled he could not speak with her, upon business of consequence that concerned the Vidame of Chartres. He gave Monsieur de Cleve a short account of the Affair, and he took him along presently to his Lady's Chamber. Had she not been in the dark, she could hardly have concealed her trouble and astonishment, to see Monsieur de Nemours led into her Chamber, by her Husband. Monsieur de Cleve told her the business was about a Letter, wherein they wanted her help in behalf of the Vidame, that she was to consider with Monsieur de Nemours what was to be done, as for him he must go to the King who had newly sent for him.  
Monsieur de Nemours had his hearts desire, to be alone with Madam de Cleve; I am come to ask you, Madam, says he, if the Queen-Dauphin hath not spoken to you of a Letter Chastelart gave her yesterday. She said something to me of it, answers Madam de Cleve; but I do not see how my Uncle can be concerned in it, being not so much as named in it. 'Tis true, Madam, replies Monsieur de Nemours, he is not named in it; but it was addressed to him, and it highly concerns him you should get it out of the Queen-Dauphin's Hands. I cannot conceive, says Madam de Cleve, how it should concern him to have this Letter seen; and why it should be asked for as his. If you please to give me the hearing, Madam, replies Monsieur de Nemours, I will presently make you acquainted with the truth; and inform you of matters of so great importance to the Vidame, that I would not have trusted the Prince of Cleve with them, had I not needed his assistance to have the honour to see you. I suppose what you can say to me will be to small purpose, says Madam de Cleve, very unconcernedly, you were better find out the Queen-Dauphin, and without going so far about, tell her the interest you have in that Letter, for she hath been informed it belongs to you.  
Monsieur de Nemours was never better pleased, than to observe some peevishness and frowardness in Madam de Cleve's discourse; it delighted him so, he was not very hasty to justify himself: I know not, says he, Madam, what the Queen-Dauphin hath been informed, but I am not at all concerned in the Letter, it was addressed to the Vidame: I believe it, replies Madam the Cleve, but the Queen-Dauphin hath been told otherwise; and it will not appear very probable to her, a Letter of the Vidame 's should drop out of your Pocket; for that reason at least you have no cause that I know of to conceal the truth from the Queen-Dauphin: I advise you to confess it to her. I have nothing to confess to her, says he, the Letter was not addressed to me; and if there be any one I desire should believe so, 'tis not the Queen-Dauphin. But, Madam, since this business concerns the Vidame as much as his Fortune is worth, be pleased to be made acquainted with Passages in themselves worthy your Curiosity. Madam de Cleve by her silence showed her readiness to hear him, and he with all possible brevity gave her an account of what the Vidame had told him; though the Passages were astonishing, and such as deserved any one's attention, Madam de Cleve heard them with that coldness and indifferency as if she had not believed them, or at least not been any ways concerned for them: she continued in that temper till Monsieur de Nemours told her of the Billet from Madam d' Amboise to the Vidame of Chartres, which proved all he said to be true. Madam de Cleve knew that Lady was Madam de Themines Friend, and thought it probable, by what Monsieur de Nemours said, the Letter was not addressed to him. That very thought suddenly, and in spite of her, put her out of that coldness and indifferency she had till then been in. The Prince having read to her the Billet to justify himself, presented it to her, telling her she might know the Character. She could not forbear taking it, and examining the Superscription, if addressed to the Vidame, and reading it all over, that she might the better judge whether the Letter that was asked for were the same she had. Monsieur de Nemours added what he thought proper to convince her, and easily convinced her (of a truth she was very desirous to find) that he was not concerned in the Letter.  
She began then to discourse with him of the trouble and danger the Vidame was in, to blame his ill Conduct, and find means to help him. She was astonished at the Queen's proceeding, and confessed to Monsieur de Nemours she had the Letter. In a word, as soon as she believed him innocent, she spoke with freedom and quietness, of the things she before scarce vouchsafed to hear; they agreed the Letter should not be restored to the Queen-Dauphin, for fear she should show it Madam the Martigues, who knew the Hand of Madam de Themines, and was so concerned for the Vidame, she would easily guests it was addressed to him. Besides, they thought it not proper to acquaint the Queen-Dauphin with all that concerned her Mother-in-Law, the Queen. Madam de Cleve was not a little glad of the Pretence of her Uncle's concern in the case, to be Monsieur de Nemours' Confident of the Secrets he imparted to her.  
The Prince would not have confined his discourse to the Vidame's concern, but from the liberty he had to entertain her, would have taken a boldness he never yet durst, had not a Message been brought her, the Queen-Dauphin had sent for her: Monsieur de Nemours was forced to retire, and went to tell the Vidame, that after he had left him he thought it more for the purpose to address himself to Madam de Cleve his Niece, than go directly to the Queen-Dauphin. He wanted not Reasons to make him approve of what he had done, and put him in hopes of success.  
Madam de Cleve the mean time dressed herself in all haste to go to the Queen: she scarce entered the Chamber, but the Queen called her up to her, and whispered her she had looked for her two long hours, and was never so perplexed about disguising a truth as she had been that Morning. The Queen, says she, hath heard speak of the Letter I gave you yesterday, and believes it is the Vidame de Chartres let it fall. You know she may be somewhat concerned on that account: she hath been in search of the Letter, and caused Chastelart to be asked for it; he told her he had given it me: they asked me for it under pretence it was a pretty Letter the Queen had a great mind to see. I durst not tell her you had it, lest she should imagine I had given it you on your Uncle the Vidame's account; and that there might be a Correspondence between me and him. I was satisfied it was a trouble to her he saw me so often, so that I said the Letter was in the Clothes I had on yesterday, and that those who had them in keeping were gone abroad. Give me the Letter quickly, adds she, that I may send it her, and read it before I send it, to see if I know the Hand.  
Madam de Cleve found herself in a greater perplexity than she could have expected. I know not what you shall do, Madam, says she; for Monsieur de Cleve, to whom I gave it to read, hath restored it to Monsieur de Nemours, who came early this Morning to desire you to let him have it: Monsieur de Cleve had so little wit to tell him he had it, and the weakness to yield to Monsieur de Nemours' request of having it again. You put me into the greatest trouble I can be in, answers the Queen-Dauphin, and have done very ill to give Monsieur de Nemours the Letter you had received of me, and should not have parted with without my leave: what would you have me say to the Queen, and what can she imagine? She will believe, and not without reason, the Letter concerns me, and that there is some great matter between the Vidame and me: she will never be persuaded the Letter belonged to Monsieur de Nemours. I am very sorry, replies Madam de Cleve, for the trouble I have caused you, and believe it great as it is; but 'tis the fault of Monsieur de Cleve, and not mine. 'Tis your fault, says the Queen-Dauphin, in giving him the Letter: No woman but yourself makes her Husband acquainted with all she knows. I believe I did ill, Madam, answers Madam de Cleve; but let us think of repairing the Fault, not of examining it. Do not you remember, pretty near, what was in the Letter, says the Queen-Dauphin? Yes Madam, replies Madam de Cleve, I do, having read it several times over. If so, says the Queen-Dauphin, we must presently have it written in a strange Hand, and send it the Queen. She will not show it those who have seen it; and if she do, I will maintain it the same Chastelart gave me, and he dares not say otherwise.  
Madam de Cleve approved of the Expedient, and the more, because it would give her occasion of sending for Monsieur de Nemours, to have the Letter again, to be Copied word for word, and pretty near the Hand it was written in, whereby she thought the Queen would infallibly be deceived. As soon as she came home, she told her Husband the trouble the Queen-Dauphin was in, and prayed him to send for Monsieur de Nemours: He was sent for, and came presently. Madam de Cleve told him all she had informed her Husband of, and asked him for the Letter. Monsieur de Nemours answered he had restored it to the Vidame, who was so glad of it, that he sent it immediately to Madam de Themines' Friend: Madam de Cleve was now in fresh trouble; having consulted awhile, they resolved to frame a Letter by memory, they locked themselves up to do it; order was given at the Gate no person should come in; Monsieur de Nemours Attendants were all sent home; such an appearance of Confidence was no small Charm to Monsieur de Nemours, and even to Madam de Cleve: Her Husband's being by, and her Uncle being so deeply concerned in the matter, satisfied all her scruples: the sight of Monsieur de Nemours pleased her so well, it gave her a joy so pure and sincere, she never had the like: This made her so free, and so jovial, Monsieur de Nemours had never seen her so before, and was more passionately in love with her than ever: He never had a more pleasant time, which made him more lively and cheerful; and when Madam de Cleve would begin to think of the Letter and write, he instead of helping her, in good earnest did but interrupt her, and speak pleasantly to her: Madam de Cleve was gay as he, so that they were long locked up together, and two Messengers were come from the Queen-Dauphin to bid Madam de Cleve hasten, before they had finished the Letter half.  
Monsieur de Nemours was so willing to prolong time that pleased him so well, he forgot his Friend's Interest. Madam de Cleve too was so far from being tired with her Entertainment, she forgot the interest of her Uncle. At last with much ado the Letter was scarce ready by four a Clock, and so ill done, and the Character so unlike the Original, that the Queen must have taken small care to find out the truth of it, if they could have imposed on her so: But as careful as they were, and earnest to persuade her, the Letter was addressed to Monsieur de Nemours; she was not deceived, but fully convinced it belonged to the Vidame: Besides, she believed the Queen-Dauphin concerned in it, and that there was a Correspondence between them: This heightened her hatred against that Princess to that degree, that she never pardoned her, or ceased persecuting her, till she had driven her out of France.  
As for the Vidame it utterly ruined him; and whether the Cardinal of Lorraine had already hit the way to please her, or that the adventure of this Letter, having made it appear she had been deceived in the Vidame, helped her to find out other tricks he had played her, certain it is, he never after could recover her favour; their Correspondence was broke, and at length she lost him in the Conspiracy of Amboise, wherein he had a hand.  
When the Letter was sent to the Queen-Dauphin, Monsieur de Cleve, and Monsieur de Nemours went their way. Madam de Cleve being alone, and no longer supported with the joy infused by the presence of one she loved, was like one newly awaked out of a dream; she was astonished to consider the prodigious difference between her condition the night before, and that she was now in: she remembered how sharp and how cold she had appeared to Monsieur de Nemours, while she thought the Letter from Madam de Themines was addressed to him; and what a calm, what a pleasure succeeded immediately, as soon as he had persuaded her the Letter concerned him not: When she reflected how she reproached herself as Criminal, for having the day before given him only some marks of her pity, and that by her sharpness this morning she gave him cause to believe her jealous (the infallible proof of passion) she thought she was not herself: when she considered further, Monsieur de Nemours easily saw she knew him in love with her; and that notwithstanding that knowledge, she had been so far from using him the worse for it, even in her Husband's company, that on the contrary, she had never looked on him so favourably, which was the reason Monsieur de Cleve had sent for him to pass the afternoon together in private: she found she had something in her held intelligence with Monsieur de Nemours, that she deceived a Husband who of all men lest deserved it, and she was ashamed to appear to him that loved her, so little worthy his Esteem; that which troubled her most, was the thought of her condition the night past, and what piercing griefs she was under while she thought Monsieur de Nemours was in love with another; and that she was deceived in him when she fancied herself the object of his passion.  
Never till then had she been acquainted with the mortal inquietudes of jealousy and distrust; she had applied all her cares to save herself from being in love with Monsieur de Nemours, and had not begun to fear his being in love with another: though the suspicions the Letter gave her were vanished, yet they left her sensible she might be deceived, and gave her impressions of jealousy and distrust, she had till then been altogether a stranger to: she was amazed she had not yet considered how improbable it was a Man so inconstant towards Women as Monsieur de Nemours had always been, could be capable of a sincere and durable engagement; she thought it next to impossible she could ever be satisfied of the truth of his passion, But if I should, says she, what would I do? would I endure it? would I answer it? would I engage in a piece of Gallantry? would I be false to Monsieur de Cleve? would I be false to myself? would I, in a word, expose myself to the deadly sorrows, to the mortifying penitence Love is attended with? I am vanquished, I am conquered by an inclination which sways me, which drags me along in spite of my heart; my resolutions are vain; I thought yesterday all I think now, and act to day quite contrary to yesterday resolutions; I must withdraw myself from the presence of Monsieur de Nemours, I must go into the Country, how extravagant soever my journey appear; and if Monsieur de Cleve be obstinate to the contrary, or to know the reason of it, will it be any harm to him or myself to let him know it. She continued in this resolution, and stayed all that Evening at home, without going to inquire of the Queen-Dauphin, what was become of the false Letter of the Vidame.  
When Monsieur de Cleve returned home, she told him she had a desire to go into the Country, that she was not very well, and it would do her good to take the air: Monsieur de Cleve, in whose eyes she appeared so beautiful, that he could not imagine her indisposition considerable, laughed at the proposal, and answered, she forgot the Marriage of the Princess, and the Tournament were night at hand; and that she had not too much time for preparation, to appear there with magnificence equal to that of other Ladies: Her Husband's reasons altered not her mind, she entreated he would be pleased, while he went with the King to Compiegne, she might go to Colonniers, a fair House then a building, within a days journey of Paris. Monsieur de Cleve gave his consent; she went thither with design not to return quickly; the King took his Progress for Compiegne, intending a short stay there.  
Monsieur de Nemours was much grieved he had not seen Madam de Cleve since the Afternoon he had passed so pleasantly in her company, to the strengthening of his hopes; he was under that impatience to see her again, that he could not rest; so that when the King returned to Paris, he resolved to go to his Sisters the Duchess of Mercoeur's in Champagne, hard by Colonniers. He asked the Vidame to go with him; he easily consented: Monsieur de Nemours made the proposal, in hopes to see Madam de Cleve, by going with the Vidame to her house.  
Madam de Mercoeur received them with a great deal of joy, and made it her business to give them all the pleasures and divertisements of the Country: One day as they were a Hunting a Buck, Monsieur de Nemours lost himself in the Forest; and enquiring the way, he was told, he was near Colonniers. At that word, without further consideration, or knowing on what design, he galloped away full speed towards Colonniers. As he road, he came to made. Ways, and Walks which he thought led him toward the Castle: At the end of those Walks he found a Pavilion, with a large Bower on either side, one whereof opened towards a Garden of Flowers, and was separated from the Forest only by Pales, the other faced a great Walk in the Park. He entered the Pavilion, and would have spent time in observing the beauty of it, but that he saw in the Walk Monsieur and Madam de Cleve attended with a numerous Train of their Domestics: He expected not to have found Monsieur de Cleve there, whom he had left with the King; this made him think of hiding himself. He entered the Bower opening to the Flower-Garden, as having the convenience of a door opening to the Forest, at which, upon occasion, he might get out: But having observed Madam de Cleve and her Husband set under the Pavilion, and their Domestics staying behind in the Park, and having no way to come to him, without passing through the place Monsieur and Madam de Cleve were in, he could not forbear taking the pleasure of a sight of the Princess, nor resist the Curiosity of harkening to her discourse with a Husband who gave him more jealousy than any of his Rivals.  
He heard Mounsieur de Cleve say to his Laday, But why will you not return to Paris? what is it can keep you here in the Country? You have of late an inclination for solitude that amazes me, and troubles me extremely, because it occasions our separation: besides I see you are more melancholy than ordinary, and I am afraid you have some cause of grief. I am not under any trouble, says she as one very much perplexed; but there is such a bustle at Court, and such a multitude of people always at your House, it is impossible but it should tyre both Body and Soul, and I cannot but desire a place of retirement and repose. Repose, answers he, is not proper for a Person of your age; you are both at home and at Court in a condition that cannot occasion your weariness, I rather fear you have a desire of living apart from me. You would do me extreme wrong, should you think so, says she, more and more perplexed; but let me beg of you leave me here. Could you stay here, and without company, I should be very glad of it; if you could be content not to have about you that infinite of Visitants that almost never leave you to yourself. Ah! Madam, cries Monsieur de Cleve, your Countenance and your Expressions tell me plainly, you have reasons to desire to be alone, which I do not know, but I conjure you to tell me them: He pressed her long, but could not prevail with her to tell him, having long denied him in such a manner as still increased his Curiosity: she continued silent a while, with her Eyes to the Ground; and then suddenly looking upon him, Force me not, says she, to confess to you a thing I have not the power to declare, though I have often designed it: Think only 'tis not prudent a Woman of my age, and Mistress of her Conduct should remain exposed in the middle of the Court. What a Prospect have you given me, Madam, cries Monsieur de Cleve, I do not tell you what it is, for fear of giving you offence? She answered not a word, and her silence confirming the thoughts of her Husband. You tell me nothing, says he and that tells me clearly I am not mistaken. Ah! Sir, says she, falling down on her Knees, I am going to make a Confession no Woman ever made to her Husband, yet the innocence of my Intentions and Conduct give me power to do it: 'Tis true I have reasons to absent from Court, and to avoid the dangers Persons of my age are in there: I have never been guilty of giving any Mark of weakness, and I cannot fear I ever shall, if you allow me the liberty to retire from Court, or if I had still Madam de Chartres to assist me in my Conduct: As dangerous as is the course I take, I take it with joy to preserve myself worthy of you: I ask your pardon a thousand times if I have any Sentiments displease you, assure yourself my Actions never shall. Think that to do as I do requires more kindness and esteem for a Husband than ever Wife had. Dispose of me, direct me, have pity on me; and if you can, still love me.  
Monsieur de Cleve all the while she spoke leaned his Head on his Hand, almost besides himself, and never thought of making her rise up from the posture she was in. When she had done speaking, and he fixed his Eyes on her and saw her at his Feet, her Face no less drowned in tears, than admirable for beauty, he was ready to die for grief; and taking her up in his Arms, Have you pity on me, Madam, says he, for I need and deserve it; and pardon me if in the first Assault of a grief so violent as mine is, I answer not as I ought such a proceeding as yours: I think you more worthy esteem and admiration, than any Woman that ever was; and myself the most unfortunate of Men. I have been passionately in love with you from the first moment I saw you: Neither your severity, nor the enjoyment of you, was ever able to abate it in the least; it continues still at the height: It was never in my power to make you in love with me, and I see now you fear you have inclination for another: Who, Madam, is the happy Man that causes your fear? How long hath he had the good fortune to please you; what was it he did to please you; what way did he find to gain your affection? It was some comfort to me for my misfortune of failing it, to think it was impossible for any one to obtain. Another the while hath done what I have not been able, and I have at once the jealousy both of a Husband and a Lover. But 'tis impossible to retain that of a Husband, after a proceeding like yours; it is too noble and generous not to give me an entire assurance of your Virtue, it comforts me as a Lover: The confidence and sincerity you have expressed for me, are of infinite value: You esteem me sufficiently, to believe I will not abuse your Confession: You may, Madam, I will not abuse it, nor love you the less for it. You render me unfortunate, by the clearest Evidence of Fidelity that ever Woman gave a Husband: But perfect what you begun, Madam, and let me know who it is you would avoid. I beseech you do not ask me, answers she, I am resolved not to tell you; and I think it prudent not to give you his Name. Fear not, Madam, replies Monsieur de Cleve, I am too well versed in the World, not to know Men may be in love with a Woman though she have a Husband: We are to hate those that are so, but not to complain of it; and once more I conjure you to tell me who it is. 'Tis to no purpose to press me, Sir, says she, I have the power to be silent where I think it my duty not to speak: impute not to any weakness the Confession I have made to you. And I had need of more courage to declare to you that truth, than to have concealed it.  
Monsieur de Nemours heard every word of this discourse, and what Madam de Cleve had said, raised no less his jealousy than her Husband's: He was so desperately in love with her, he thought all the World was so too: True it is, he had many Rivals, yet he fancied them more; and he was wild to know who it was Madam de Cleve meant. He had often thought she had some kindness for him, but the grounds of his judgement appeared on this occasion so slight and inconsiderable, that he could not imagine she had so violent a passion for him, as to need recourse to so extraordinary a Remedy: He was so transported he scarce knew what he saw, but he could not pardon Monsieur de Cleve for not having pressed her home to tell him the Name of the Person she concealed from him.  
Yet Monsieur de Cleve used his utmost endeavours to know it, but finding it vain to urge her further, desisted from troubling her; who presently said; Methinks you ought to rest satisfied with my sincerity, pray ask me no more, and give me not cause to repent what I have done: Content yourself with the assurance I give you once more, my Sentiments have never appeared by any Action of mine, and that no address hath been made to me that could give me offence. Ah, Madam, replies Monsieur de Cleve, on the sudden, I cannot believe it: I remember the trouble you were in the day your Picture was lost; you have given, Madam, you have given away that Picture that was so dear to me, and so justly mine: You have not been able to conceal your affection, you are in love, it is known, your Virtue hath hitherto saved you from the rest. Is it possible, cries the Princess, you can imagine any diguisement in a Confession as mine is, which I was no way obliged to. Take my word, Sir, I buy at a dear rate the confidence I desire of you; I conjure you believe I never gave away my Picture: True it is I saw it taken, but would not take notice I saw it, for fear of exposing myself on that occasion to be told what none ever yet durst say to me. How know you then you are loved, says he, what evidences has he given you of his passion? Spare me the pains and the trouble, answers she, of telling you particulars I am ashamed to have observed, being such as have too much convinced me of my weakness. You have reason, Madam, replies he; I am unjust, and press you too far; refuse me when ever I ask you such Questions, yet be not offended with me for ask them.  
Just then came several of the Servants, (who had stayed in the Walks,) to acquaint Monsieur de Cleve that a Gentleman was arrived from the King, with Orders for him to be at Paris that Evening: Monsieur de Cleve was forced to go, and was not able to say anything to his Wife, but that he desired her to come to Paris on the Morrow; and conjured her to believe that though he was troubled, he had for her a tenderness and esteem, with which she had reason to be abundantly satisfied.  
When the Prince was gone, and Madam de Cleve, left alone, considered what she had done; the thought of it so frighted her, she could scarce believe the truth of it: She saw she herself had put herself out of the affection and esteem of her Husband, and plunged herself into a Pit she should never get out of. She asked herself why she had done so hazardous a thing, and perceived she had engaged in it, having scarce formed the design. The singularity of her Confession, which she conceived without Precedent, gave her a full Prospect of her danger. On the other side, when she considered this Remedy (as violent as it was) was the sole effectual one she could make use of against Monsieur de Nemours; she thought she had no cause to repent, or to believe she had ventured too far. She passed that Night under a very great incertitude, trouble, and fear: at last her Spirits were calmed; she found pleasure in having given that Evidence of Fidelity to a Husband who deserved it so well, who had so great an esteem and kindness for her, and had given fresh proof of both, in the manner of his receiving the strange Confession she had made him.  
Monsieur de Nemours was in the mean time got from the place he had heard the discourse in, into the middle of the Forest: What Madam de Cleve had said of her Picture had revived him, by letting him know he was the Person she had inclination for. The thought of this swelled him with joy, but the joy was short-lived: for when he reflected that what moved her to declare she had inclination for him, convinced him the same moment he should never receive any Evidence of it, he thought it impossible to engage a Person who made recourse to so extraordinary a Remedy; yet he could not but be very much pleased to have reduced her to such an extremity: He gloried in himself that he gained the affection of a Lady so different from the rest of her Sex. In a word, he thought himself a hundred times happy, and unhappy all together. He was benighted in the Forest, and was much puzzled to find the way to his Sisters, the Duchess of Mercoeur: He arrived there about break of day, and was very much to seek what account to give of his absence: He came off the best he could, and returned the same day with the Vidame to Paris.  
This Prince was so full of his passion, and surprised with what he had heard, that he fell into the common imprudence of speaking in general terms his particular Sentiments, and relating his own Adventures under borrowed Names. In his return he fell into discourse of Love, and the extreme pleasure of being in Love with a person deserving it. He spoke of the extravagant effects of that passion; and not able to conceal the astonishment he was in at the action of Madam de Cleve, he made the Vidame acquainted with it, without naming the person, or owning himself concerned; but he spoke with that heat and admiration, the Vidame easily suspected him one of the parties in the case, and pressed him to confess it: He told him he was well assured he had a violent passion for a Lady, though he knew not who, and that he had no reason to distrust him, who had trusted him with his life: But Monsieur de Nemours was too deeply in love to confess it, and had ever concealed his passion from the Vidame, though he loved him best of any man at Court: He answered, that a Friend of his had told him this adventure; and not only made him promise not to speak of it, but conjured him to secrecy. The Vidame assured him it should go no further, but Monsieur de Nemours repented he had told him so much.  
The mean time Monsieur de Cleve was gone to the King, but with a heart mortally afflicted: Never had Husband so violent a passion for his Wife, nor so great an Esteem, which was not diminished in the least by what she had told him, but changed into a sort different from the esteem he had formerly had of her: His thoughts were most busied about guessing who it was had the secret to please her: He thought of Monsieur de Nemours, as the most amiable of the Court, and the Chevalier de Guise, and the Marshal S. Andre, as persons who had applied themselves to please her, and still continued their endeavours; so that he was persuaded it must be one of the three.  
He arrived at the Lovure, and the King took him into his Closet, to tell him he had made choice of him to conduct Madam into Spain, and believed no man could perform it better, and that no Lady could do France more honour than Madam de Cleve. Monsieur de Cleve received the honour of the Choice as he ought, and looked on it as an occasion for his Wife's absence from Court, without giving suspicion of any change of her Conduct; but the trouble he was in, needed a speedier remedy than that Voyage (to be deferred for some Months) could afford him: He presently writ Madam de Cleve the news of what the King had said to him, and added, he expected she would not fail of returning to Paris. She came thither, according to his order; and when they saw one another, they were both extraordinary sad.  
Monsieur de Cleve spoke to her like a man of the greatest honour in the world, and best deserving the confidence she had reposed in him: It is not your Conduct, says he, gives me trouble, you have more strength and more virtue than you imagine: nor am I troubled with fears of what may happen hereafter; that which troubles me is, that I see you have that affection for another, it has not been in my power to raise in you: I know not what to answer you, says she, I am mortally ashamed when I speak to you; let me conjure you to spare this cruel discourse, order my Conduct, and let me never see any body: This is all I desire of you; but take it not ill from me, if I speak no more of a thing which makes me appear so little worthy of you, and which I think so unbecoming me: You have reason Madam, replies he, I abuse your goodness and your confidence in me, yet pity the condition you have brought me to, and think, though you have told me the substance of the matter, you conceal from me a Name that fills me with a Curiosity, which, if not satisfied, will bring me to my Grave: however, I do not desire you to tell it me, but I cannot forbear letting you know, I believe the Man I am to envy is the Marshal S. Andre, the Duke de Nemours, or the Chevalier de Guise. I will not answer you, says she, blushing; nor give you occasion to diminish, or raise your suspicions: But if you should try by watching and observing me, to discover the truth, you will put me into a trouble all the World will take notice of. A Gods-name, continues she, give me leave to pretend some Indisposition, and not to see any one. No, Madam, says he, it will quickly be discovered to be a feigned business: Besides, I would not rely on any thing but yourself, my Heart gives me that is the best course I can take; and my Reason tells me, considering the humour you are of, I cannot put a greater Restraint upon you, than by leaving you to your liberty.  
Monsieur de Cleve was not mistaken: The confidence he made appear he had in his Wife, fortified her the more against Monsieur de Nemours, and made her take more severe Resolutions than any Restraint would have brought her to: She went to the Lovure and the Queen-Dauphin's Lodgings as she used to do, but avoided the presence and sight of Monsieur de Nemours with so much care, that she robbed him of almost all the joy he had in thinking she loved him, all her Actions persuading him the contrary: He could not tell but what he had heard might have been in a dream, so little likelihood was there of the truth of it: The only thing seemed to assure him he was not mistaken, was the extreme sadness of Madam de Cleve, appearing in spite of all her care to conceal it: And peradventure, the sweetest looks, and most obliging expressions, would not have so much heightened the love of Monsieur de Nemours, as the severity of her Conduct effectually did.  
One Evening, as Monsieur and Madam de Cleve were at the Queen's Lodgings, it was said there was a report the King would name another great Lord at Court to wait on Madam into Spain. Monsieur de Cleve had his eye fixed on his Wife, when it was further said, the Chevalier de Guise, or the Marshal de S. Andre was to be the man: He observed she was not at all moved at either of those names, nor at the discourse of their going along with her; this made him believe he had no reason to fear the presence of either of them: To clear his suspicions, he went into the Queen's Closet where the King then was. Having stayed there a while, he returned to his Wife, and whispered her, he had but newly been told Monsieur de Nemours was the person designed to go along with them into Spain. Madam de Cleve was so moved at the name of Monsieur de Nemours, and the thought of being exposed to see him every day, during a very long journey, in the presence of her Husband, that she could not conceal the trouble she was in; and to cloak it with other reasons, No choice, says she, could have been made more disagreeable for you, he will share all your Honours, and methinks you are obliged to endeavour to procure another choice: Madam, answers he, 'tis not on any account of State you are unwilling Monsieur de Nemours should go with me, the trouble it gives you proceeds from another cause; I learn from that trouble in you, what I should have discovered in another Woman, by the joy she would have expressed at the news: but fear not, Madam, what I told you is not true, it was an invention of mine, to be assured of a thing I strongly believed. Having said so, he went out, being loath by his presence to increase the trouble he saw his Wife in.  
Monsieur de Nemours came in at that instant, and presently observed the condition she was in: He went up to her, and told her softly, He had that respect for her, he durst not ask her, what it was made her more thoughtful and melancholy than ordinary. The voice of Monsieur de Nemours brought her to herself again, and looking on him, without having heard what he had just then said, (so full was she of her own thoughts, and of fear her Husband might see him with her) For God's sake, says she, let me alone: Alas, Madam, answers he, I do it too much; what is it you can complain of? I dare not speak to you, I dare not so much as look upon you, I tremble when I come near you; wherein have I deserved you should speak so to me? why do you make it appear thus, I am in some measure the cause of the trouble I see you in? Madam de Cleve was very sorry she had given him occasion to declare himself more clearly than he had done before: she left him without saying a word more, and went home more troubled than ever: her Husband perceived it, and that she was afraid he should speak to her of what was passed; and following her into her Closet, Do not shun me, Madam, says he, I will not say any thing shall displease you, I beg your pardon for the surprise I put you to awhile, I am sufficiently punished by what I have learned by it; Monsieur de Nemours was the man I most feared of any: I see the danger you are in; have power over yourself for your own sake, and if you can for mine; I ask it not as your Husband, but as a man whose happiness wholly depends on you, and who hath for you a passion more violent and more tender than he whom your inclination prefers before me. Monsieur de Cleve melted at these words, he could scarce finish them: His Lady was so moved, she burst into tears, and embraced him with a tenderness and sorrow, that put him into a condition very different from hers: They continued silent a while, and parted, without having been able to say a word one to the other.  
All things were ready for the Marriage of Madam, the Duke of Alva was arrived to Espouse her: He was received with all the Ceremony and Magnificence usual on such occasions: The King sent to meet him by the way, the Prince of Conde, the Cardinals of Lorraine and Guise, the Dukes of Lorraine, Ferrara, Aumale, Bovillon, Guise and Nemours: They had a great number of Gentlemen, and many Pages in Livery: The King in Person, attended with two hundred Gentlemen his Servants, with the Constable, at the head of them, waited the Duke of Alva's coming at the first Gate of the Lovure. When the Duke of Alva was come up to the King, he would have embraced his knees; the King would not suffer it, but made him walk by his side to the Queen's Lodgings, and to Madam's, for whom the Duke of Alva brought a magnificent Present from his Master. He went thence to the Lodgings of Madam Margaret the King's Sister, to Compliment her on the part of Monsieur de Savoy, and assure her he would arrive in few days. There were great Assemblies at the Lovure, to let the Duke of Alva, and the Prince of Orange, (who accompanied him,) see the Beauties of the Court.  
Madam de Cleve durst not absent herself, for fear of displeasing her Husband, who commanded her to appear there, though very loath to do it. Yet she was the rather induced to it by the absence of Monsieur de Nemours: He was gone to meet Monsieur de Savoy, and after his arrival was obliged to be in a manner always with him, to assist him in what concerned the Ceremonies of his Marriage. This prevented her meeting him as often as she used, which gave her some satisfaction.  
The Vidame of Chartres had not forgot the discourse he had had with Monsieur de Nemours. It ran in his mind that the Adventure the Prince had told him, was his own; and he watched him so narrowly, 'tis very probable he would have found out the truth of it, had not the arrival of the Duke of Alva, and Monsieur de Savoy filled the Court with so much business, that it took away the opportunities of a discovery of that Nature: The desire he had to know the truth of it, or rather the natural disposition we have to make those we love acquainted with all we know, made him tell Madam de Martigues the extraordinary Action of that Person, who had confessed to her Husband the passion she had for another: He assured her Monsieur de Nemours was the Man had inspired so violent a passion, and conjured her to assist him in observing that Prince. Madam de Martigues was glad to hear what the Vidame told her, and the Curiosity she had always observed in the Queen-Dauphin for what concerned Monsieur de Nemours, made her the more desirous to know the bottom of the Adventure.  
A short time before the day fixed for the Ceremony of the Marriage, the Queen-Dauphin invited the King her Father-in-Law, and the Duchess of Valentinois to Supper. Madam de Cleve had been so busy a dressing herself, it was late ere she came to the Lovure: By the way she met a Gentleman, who was coming in search of her from the Queen-Dauphin. As she entered her Chamber, that Princess said aloud to her, from on her Bed, where she than was; I have looked for you with the greatest impatience. I believe it, Madam, answers she, yet perhaps I am not obliged to you for it, the cause being doubtless something else, and not your desire to see me. You are right, answers the Queen-Dauphin, yet you are obliged to me; for I will tell you an Adventure you will be very glad to know.  
Madam de Cleve kneeled at her Bed side, and (very luckily) with her Face from the light: You know, says the Queen-Dauphin, how desirous we were to find out who had caused the great change observed in Monsieur de Nemours. I believe I know the Party; you will be surprised at the Story: He is desperatrly in love with one of the handsomest Ladies of the Court, and she loves him again. You may easily imagine what grief Madam de Cleve felt at these words, which she could not apply to herself, as being of opinion no Person knew of her love for Monsieur de Nemours. I see nothing in this, Madam, answers she, that should occasion a surprise, if you consider the age and the handsomeness of Monsieur de Nemours. True, says the Queen-Dauphin, but that which will surprise you, is, to know that the Lady in love with Monsieur de Nemours hath never given him any Evidence of it; and is so afraid she shall not be able to continue Mistress of her passion, that she hath confessed it to her Husband, that he may take her from Court; and 'tis Monsieur de Nemours hath related what I say to you.  
Madam de Cleve was grieved at the beginning of this discourse, when she thought herself not concerned in the Adventure, but she was at her wits-end when she heard the conclusion of it, which too clearly made out, it related to her: She could not answer a word, but continued leaning her Head on the Bed while the Queen was speaking; which she did with that earnestness and concern, she took not any notice of the confusion Madam de Cleve was in. This Story, answers she, seems very improbable, and I would very fain know who it is hath told it you. 'Tis Madam Martigues, says the Queen-Dauphin; and she had it from the Vidame of Chartres. You know he is in love with her, he told it to her as a Secret, and he was told it by the Duke of Nemours: 'Tis true the Duke of Nemours told him not the Name of the Lady, nor would confess himself the other Party concerned; but the Vidame makes no doubt of it.  
As the Queen-Dauphin had done speaking, one came up to the Bed: Madam de Cleve had so turned herself about she could not see who it was, but was quickly satisfied of the Person, when she heard the Queen-Dauphin cry out, with no less joy than surprise, Here he is himself, and I will know of him the truth of it. Madam de Cleve needed not turn about to know it was Monsieur de Nemours, as really it was, but went hastily to the Queen-Dauphin, and told her softly, she must take heed of speaking of this Adventure which Monsieur de Nemours had told the Vidame as a Secret, and perhaps it might make make them fall out. You are too wise, says the Queen-Dauphin, laughing, and turned towards Monsieur de Nemours. He was dressed for the Court-meeting at Night, and with a Grace natural to him, I believe, Madam, says he, I may venture to think you were speaking of me as I came in; that you had a desire to ask me something, and that Madam de Cleve was against it. 'Tis true, answers the Queen-Dauphin, but I shall not be so complaisant to her on this occasion, as I am used to be. I would know of you, whether a Story I have been told be true, and whether you are not the Person in love with, and beloved by a Lady at Court, who endeavours to conceal her passion from you, and hath confessed it to her Husband.  
You cannot imagine the trouble and perplexity Madam de Cleve was in, she would have thought Death a very good exchange for it. Yet Monsieur de Nemours was in greater, if possible: The discourse of the Queen (who he had reason to believe hated him not) in presence of Madam de Cleve, in whom of all the Court she placed greatest confidence, and had the greatest share of hers in return, put him into so strange a confusion of extravagant thoughts, it was not in his power to be Master of his Countenance: The trouble he saw Madam de Cleve in by his fault, and the thought of his having given her just cause to hate him, surprised him so that he could not answer a word. Madam La Dauphin observing him mute, Look upon him, says she to Madam de Cleve; look upon him, and judge if he be not concerned in this Adventure.  
The mean time Monsieur de Nemours having considered how necessary it was to get out of so dangerous a strait, and recovered his wit and his looks; I confess, Madam, says he, no surprise or affliction could be greater than mine, at the infidelity of the Vidame of Chartres, in relating an Adventure I had in confidence imparted to him, of one of my Friends: I know how to be revenged of him, continueth he, (smiling very calmly, which raised the suspicions the Queen-Dauphin had entertained of him,) he hath made me his Confident in matters of no small importance: But I am to seek for the Reason, Madam, why you make me concerned in this Adventure: The Vidame will not say it, for I have told him the contrary. I may very well be taken to be a Man in love, but I cannot believe, Madam, you will think me of the number of those who are loved again. Monsieur de Nemours was glad to say any thing to the Queen-Dauphin, that might relate to that affection he had declared for her formerly, to divert her thoughts from the matter in hand. She understood what he said, but instead of answering, continued reazing him for the change in his looks when she began to discourse him. I was troubled, Madam, says he, on my Friends account; and to think how justly he would reproach me for telling a Secret more dear to him than his Life. Yet he imparted it but half, having kept from me the Name of the Person he loves: All I know, is, he is the most deeply in love of any Man living, and hath the most reason to complain. Think you he hath any cause of complaint, replays the Queen-Dauphin, when his passion is so well answered again? Can you believe it answered, Madam, says he; or that a Lady having a true passion could have discovered it to her Husband? Doubtless this Lady is not acquainted with Love, and hath taken small notice of the kindness had for her. My Friend cannot flatter himself with any hope, yet unfortunate as he is, he esteems himself happy at least, to make her afraid she should fall in love with him, and he would not change his condition with that of the happiest Lover in the World. Your Friend hath a passion very easy to be satisfied, says she, and I begin to think you not concerned in the Story; I am almost of the mind of Madam de Cleve, who maintains there's no truth in it. I cannot think it true, says Madam de Cleve, who had been silent all this while; and could it have been true, how should it have been known? 'Tis not probable a Woman capable of a Resolution so extraordinary, should have the weakness to speak of it; and surely her Husband would not have related it, or must have been very unworthy to have been so well dealt with, as he had been by his Lady in her unparallelled Conduct. Monsieur de Nemours perceiving the suspicions Madam de Cleve seemed to have of her Husband, did all he could to confirm them, knowing him the most formidable of his Rivals: jealousy, says he, and the desire of finding out what a wife hath, it may be, not thought fit to discover, are capable to make a Husband guilty of indiscretion.  
Madam de Cleve was at her last shifts, and not able to endure the discourse any longer; she would have said she was not well, when, by good fortune for her, the Duchess of Valentinois came in, who told the Queen-Dauphin the King was just a coming. The Queen-Dauphin went into her Closet to be dressed. Monsieur de Nemours drew up to Madam de Cleve as she followed her, I would give my Life, Madam, says he, for a moment's discourse with you; yet I have not b'ing of more importance to tell you, than that if I have said any thing to the Queen-Dauphin wherein she may seem concerned, I did it for Reasons that relate not to her. Madam de Cleve made as if she heard him not, but left him without giving him a look, and followed the King, who was newly come in. There was a great deal of company. She trod on her own Coat, and made a false step, which served her for a pretence to quit a place she had not the power to stay in; and she returned home.  
Monsieur de Cleve came to the Lovure, and was amazed not to find his Wife there; they told him of the Accident befallen her: He went presently home to inquire after her, he found her a Bed, and easily knew her hurt was not considerable. When he had been with her some time, he perceived her so excessively sad that it surprised him. What ails you, Madam, says he, methinks you are troubled with other grief than that you complain of. I am the most afflicted I possibly can be, answers she, for the use you have made of that extraordinary, or (to name it right) foolish confidence I have had in you. Did I not deserve secrecy, or had I not, did not your Interest engage you to it? Must your Curiosity of knowing a Name, (it was my duty not to tell you,) oblige you to make a Confident to assist you in the discovery? Nothing else could have made you fall into so horrible an indiscretion, the consequences of which are as bad as bad may be: This Adventure is known, and I have been just told the Story of it by them who knew not I was principally concerned in it. What say you Madam, answers he? you accuse me to have told what passed between you and me, and that the matter is known. I will not justify myself not to have spoken of it, you cannot believe I ever did; and doubtless you have applied to yourself what was related of another. Ah, Sir, says she, the World hath not an Adventure like mine; there's not another Woman capable of such a thing. The Story I have heard could not have been invented by chance, none ever imagined the like; an Action of this nature never entered any thoughts but mine: The Queen-dauphin hath just told me the Story, she had it from the Vidame of Chartres, and he from Monsieur de Nemours. Monsieur de Nemours, cries Monsieur de Cleve, like a Man transported and desperate; Doth Monsieur de Nemours know you love him, and that I know it? You always Harp on that String, and fix on Monsieur de Nemours before any other, replies she; I have told you I would not answer your suspicions: I am ignorant whether Monsieur de Nemours knows that I am concerned in the Adventure, and the Person you told him of; but he told the Vidame the Story, and said he had it from a Friend of his, who had not named the Lady: It cannot be but that this Friend must be one of yours, whom you trusted the Secret with, in order to discovery of what I concealed. Is there a Friend in the World, says he, to be trusted with a business of this nature? And would any Man purchase the clearing his suspicions at so dear a rate, as acquainting another with that which he would have gladly had concealed from himself? I think rather, Madam, who it is you have spoken to, 'tis more probable it came from you than me; the trouble you were in was insupportable to you, and to ease yourself of the Burden you have made use of a Confident who hath betrayed you. Destroy me not quite, says she, and be not so hard hearted to accuse me of a fault you have committed. Can you suspect me of such a thing, and because I told it you, could I tell it any other?  
The Confession Madam de Cleve had made to her Husband was so clear a proof of her sincerity, and she denied so flatly she had acquainted any with it but himself, he knew not what to think. On the other side, he was sure he had never said a word of it, it was not a matter to be guessed at; yet it was known, and it must be through one of them two: what troubled him most, was the certainty one or other was privy to the secret, and in all probability it would be divulged.  
Madam de Cleve's thoughts were much the same with her Husbands; she thought it impossible her Husband would have spoke of it, and as impossible but it must be he had spoken it; the intimation Monsieur de Nemours had given what indiscretion a Husband's curiosity might make him guilty of, appeared to hit Monsieur de Cleve so pat, she could not believe it a thing said by chance: this weighed with her so far, she was fully persuaded Monsieur de Cleve had abused her confidence: Both were so full of their own thoughts, they were silent a considerable time; and when they spoke to one another, they did but repeat what they had formerly said, and continued more altered and estranged in opinion and affection than ever they had been.  
You may easily imagine how they passed that night: Monsieur de Cleve's patience was exhausted, to see a Lady he adored in love with another: he was quite heartless; he had not the courage to resent a matter wherein his Reputation and Honour were so deeply concerned: he knew not what to think of his Wife; he was to seek what Conduct he should prescribe to her, or himself; he could discover on all hands nothing but Precipices and Abysses. After long irresolution, considering he was shortly engaged for Spain, he resolved to do nothing to increase the knowledge or suspicion of his unfortunate Estate: he went to Madam de Cleve, and told her, their business was not to find out which of them two had discovered the secret, but to endeavour to make it appear the story was a Fable, and she no way concerned in it; that it was in her power to persuade Monsieur de Nemours, and others, to that purpose, by using him with that severity and coldness she ought to express towards a man pretending to be in love with her; that such a proceeding would easily alter the opinion he had of her having inclination for him; that she was not to trouble herself for what he might have hitherto thought, for that if for the future she avoided discovering any weakness to him, his former thoughts would vanish, and that especially she must frequent the Lovure and Courtmeetings as she used to do.  
Having said this, he quitted her, without expecting her answer: she thought him much in the right, and was so angry with Monsieur de Nemours, she believed it an easy matter to put in execution her Husband's advice: but it seemed a hard task to appear at the Marriage with that calm and tranquillity, that freedom and clearness of spirit the occasion required: But having been preferred before several Princesses (ambitious of the honour) to carry the Queen-Dauphins Train, she could not put it off without occasioning much noise, and enquiry what had moved her to it: she resolved to strain herself to perform it, but spent the rest of the day in preparing for the solemnity, and thinking her own thoughts: she locked herself up in her Closet: that which grieved her most was, the cause she had to complain of Monsieur de Nemours, without an excuse to allege in his favour: she made no doubt but he had told the Vidame the story, he had confessed as much in her hearing, and spoke in that manner, she could not question but he knew she was concerned; what excuse for such an imprudence so very unsuitable to the discretion she admired him for? while he thought himself unhappy, he continued discreet; he hath fancied himself happy, (though on very uncertain grounds) and hath dismissed his discretion: he could not imagine I loved him, but he must make the World acquainted with it: he hath said all he could; I made no confession he was the man I loved, but he hath believed it, and presently declared his belief, had he been sure of it, I must have expected he would have taken the same course, and used me with no more respect than he hath now done: How was I mistaken, to think him capable to conceal any thing that flattered his vanity! Yet this is the man I thought so different from the rest, that for his sake I, who differed so much from the rest of my Sex, find myself subject to the weakness of other Women: I have lost the affection and esteem of a Husband, who should have been my happiness. All the World will shortly look on me as a Woman under a foolish and violent passion: he for whom I have it is not ignorant of it. 'Tis for avoiding these misfortunes I have hazarded my Repose, and my life. These sad Reflections ended in a torrent of tears; but as great as her grief was, she found it supportable, if she could be but satisfied in Monsieur de Nemours.  
He was not in a much better condition, he was vexed at the heart for his indiscretion, in speaking as he had done to the Vidame, and the ill consequences that attended it; he was confounded to think what trouble, perplexity, and grief he had seen Madam de Cleve in. He could not excuse himself for having said to her, about this Adventure, things though innocently gallant in themselves, yet on this occasion too gross and rude, since they made her sensible he knew she was the Lady had that violent passion, and he the Person for whom she had it. All he could have wished for, was to discourse her; but now he thought himself more obliged to avoid, than desire it. What should I say to her, cried he? should I convince her more plainly of what I have already given her too much light? shall I tell her I know she loves me, who never yet durst tell her I loved her? shall I begin to own my passion to her, that she may see my hopes have inspired me with boldness? can I entertain a thought of going near her, and giving her new trouble by enduring a sight of me? How shall I jusiifie myself? I have no Excuse, I am unworthy she should look on me, and I cannot hope she will ever do it. I have by my faults furnished her with better Exceptions against me, than any she could have found: My indiscretion hath lost me the happiness, and the glory of being beloved by the most amiable and most estimable Person in the world. Yet had I lost it without giving her trouble, it would have been some comfort. At this very moment I am more sensible of the harm I have done her, than that I have done myself in forfeiting her favour.  
He continued a long time afflicting himself thus. Still his mind hankered to speak with Madam de Cleve: He studied how to do it, he thought of writing to her; but considering the fault he had committed, and the humour she was of, he was of opinion that the best course he could take, was, to express a profound respect for her, by his affliction and silence: to let her see he durst not present himself before her, and to wait patiently what time, Chance, and the Inclination she had for him might produce in his favour. And for fear of confirming her suspicion, he resolved to forbear reproaching the Vidame for his unfaithfulness.  
The Court was so busied about the Espousals of Madam on the Morrow, and her Marriage to be the day after, that it was no hard matter for Monsieur and Madam de Cleve to conceal their sadness from public notice: The Queen-Dauphin spoke but by the by to Madam de Cleve of the discourse they had had with Monsieur de Nemours, and Monsieur de Cleve industriously shunned speaking to his Wife of what was past, so that her trouble proved less than she expected.  
The Espousals were solemnised at the Lovure, and after the Treat and the Ball, the King's Household went to lie at the Bishop's Palace according to Custom. In the Morning, the Duke d' Alva having till then gone very plain, appeared in a Habit of Cloth of Gold, mixed with fire-colour, yellow and black, all covered with Jewels, with a close Crown on his Head. The Prince of Orange richly Apparelled, with his Livery; and all the Spaniards with theirs, came to attend the Duke from the Hostel de Villeroy (where he was lodged) and marched four abreast till they came to the Palace. As soon as he arrived, they went in order to the Church: The King led Madam, with a close Crown on her Head, and her Train born up by Madamoiselles de Montpensier and Longueville: The Queen followed next, but without a Crown: Next came the Queen-Dauphin, Madam the King's Sister, Madam de Lorraine, and the Queen of Navarre, their Trains carried by Princesses.  
The Maids of Honour belonging to the Queens and Princesses, were all richly dressed in the same Colours the Queens and Princesses had on: so that it was known by the colour of their Habits whose Maids they were. They mounted the Scaffold prepared in the Church, and there the Ceremony of the Marriage was performed: They returned to Dinner at the Bishops, and went thence about five a Clock to the great Palace, where the Feast was, and the Parliament, the Sovereign Courts, and the Corporation of the City were desired to assist. The King, the Queens, the Princes and Princesses eat at the Marble Table in the great Hall of the Palace: The Duke of Alva sat by the new Queen of Spain, below the steps of the Marble Table: At the King's right hand there was a Table for Ambassadors, Arch-Bishops, and Knights of the Order; and on the other hand a Table for those of the Parliament.  
The Duke of Guise, in a Robe of Cloth of Gold Freezed, served the King as Lord Steward of his Household; the Prince of Conde as Parmetier, and the Duke of Nemours as Cupbearer. When the Officers had taken away, the Ball began, and was interrupted by Ballets, and extraordinary Machine's: than they resumed the Ball, and after Midnight the King and all the Court returned to the Lovure. As sad as Madam de Cleve was, all that saw her, and particularly Monsieur de Nemours thought her beauty incomparable: Though the bustle of the Ceremony offered him several opportunities, he durst not speak to her. But he appeared so sad, and expressed so much fear to approach her, that Madam de Cleve, looking on it as proceeding from his respect for her, began to think he was not so much to be blamed, though he had not said a word to justify himself: His Conduct was the same the following days, and wrought the same effect on Madam de Cleve.  
At last the day of the Tournament came; the Queens stood in the Galleries upon the Scaffolds prepared for them. The four Champions appeared at the end of the Lists, with a number of Horses and Liveries, the most magnificent sight ever seen in France.  
The King's Colours were Black and White, which he always wore on the account of Madam de Valentinois being a Widow. Monsieur de Ferrara and his Retinue had Red and Yellow; Monsieur de Guise Carnation and White, being the Colours of a young Lady whom he had loved when a Maid, and loved her still though he durst not make it appear. Monsieur de Nemours had Black and Yellow; why he wore them was not known, but it was no hard matter for Madam de Cleve to guests at it: she remembered she had said before him, she loved Yellow, and was sorry it suited not with her Natural Complexion; which was the reason he thought he might appear in that Colour without indiscretion, because Madam de Cleve not wearing it, there could be no suspicion he wore it on her account.  
The Champions performed with incomparable address. Though the King was the best Horseman in his Kingdom, they knew not who had the advantage. Monsieur de Nemours had a Grace in all his Actions won him the favour of Persons less interested than Madam de Cleve: she no sooner discovered him at the end of the Lists, but she felt herself under extraordinary Emotions; and every Course he made, she could scarce hide her joy when he had well finished his Career.  
In the Evening when all was almost over, and the Company ready to break up, the King, (provoked only by the ill Fate of the State), would needs break another Lance: He commanded the Count de Mantgomery (who was very dextrous at it) to appear in the Lists; the Count begged his Majesty would excuse him, alleging all the Reasons he could think of; but the King, half angry, sent him word he commanded him to do it. The Queen conjured the King not to run any more, that he had performed so well he ought to rest satisfied, and that she entreated him to come to her. He answered, it was for love of her he would have another Course, and entered the Barriere. She sent Monsieur de Savoy to pray him the second time to come back, but all to no purpose. They ran, the Lances were broken, and a Splinter of the Count of Montgomeries hit the King in the Eye, and stuck there. The King fell: His Gentlemen, and Monsieur de Montmorency, Marshal of the Camp, ran to him. They were astonished to see him so wounded, but the King was hearty; he said it was a very slight hurt, and pardoned the Count You may judge the trouble and affliction so sad an Accident occasioned, at a time wholly dedicated to Gaiety and Mirth. As soon as the King was laid in Bed, and the Surgeons had searched the Wound, it appeared very considerable. The Constable presently thought of the Prediction (that the King should be slain in Duel), and made no doubt but it would be accomplished.  
The King of Spain, then at Brussels, having news of the Accident, sent his Physician, a Man of Great Reputation; but he juged the King past hope.  
A Court so divided, and full of contrary Interests, could not but be in extraordinary disorder, and factiously busy, in such a Conjuncture: Yet all was concealed, and the whole Court seemed employed only about the recovery of the King; the Queens, Princes, and Princesses scarce stirring out of his Antichamber.  
Madam de Cleve knowing herself obliged to be there, that she should see Monsieur de Nemours there, and should not be able to conceal from her Husband the disorder that sight would put her to; and being sensible the very presence of that Prince would justify and clear him in her thoughts, and destroy the resolutions she had taken against him, she pretended herself sick. The Court was too busy to mind what she did, or to inquire whether her indisposition were real or feigned. Only her Husband knew the truth of it. That troubled her not: she continued at home, little concerned for the great Change that was shortly expected, and full of her own thoughts which she had liberty enough to give herself up to. Every one ran to Court to inquire of the King. Monsieur de Cleve came at certain hours to bring her news: he observed the same method of proceeding towards her he used to do, save only when they were alone they were a little less free, and more cold towards one another than formerly. He said not a word of what was past, and she had not the power, nor thought it convenient to resume the discourse of it.  
Monsieur de Nemours, who waited an opportunity of speaking to Madam de Cleve, was surprised and troubled he could not have a sight of her. The King was so ill, that the seventh day the Physicians gave him up. Her received the news of the certainty of his Death with extraordinary constancy, which was the more admirable, in that he lost his Life by so unfortunate an Accident, that he was to die in the Flower of his Age, happy, adored by his People, and beloved by a Mistress he was desperately in love with: The day before he died he caused Madam, his Sister, to be married to Monsieur de Savoy, without Ceremony. You may guests the condition the Duchess of Valentinois was in: The Queen would not permit her to see the King, but sent to demand of her the King's Signet, and the Jewels of the Crown, she had in her Custody. The Duchess enquired if the King were dead, and being told no; I have no Master yet then, says she, and no body can oblige me to part with what he trusted in my Hands. As soon as he expired at the Chasteau de Tournels, the Dukes of Ferrara, Guise, and Nemours, conducted the Queen-Mother, the King and Queen-Consort to the Lovure. Monsieur de Nemours led the Queen-Mother: As they began to walk, she stepped back a little, and told the Queen, her Daughter-in-Law, it was her place to go first; but it was easy to see there was more sharpness, than civility in the Compliment.  
The End of the third Book.   

THE PRINCESS OF CLEVE.  
BOOK IU.  
THE Queen-Mother was now wholly governed by the Cardinal of Lorraine: the Vidame of Chartres was quite out of favour with her; and the love he had for Madam Martigues, and for liberty, made him less sensible of her displeasure than a matter of that consequence might seem to deserve. The Cardinal, the ten days the King continued ill, had leisure to form his designs, and prevail with the Queen to take Resolutions suitable to his Projects: so that as soon as the King was dead, the Queen ordered the Constable to stay at the Tournels with the Corpse, to perform the usual Ceremonies: This kept him at distance, and out of the Scene of Action: He dispatched a Courier to the King of Navarr to hasten him to Court, to join with him in opposing the Rise of the House of Guise. The Duke of Guise was made General of the Armies, and the Cardinal of Lorraine Sur-intendant of the Finances. The Duchess of Valentinois was expelled the Court. The Cardinal of Tournon the Constable's declared Enemy, and the Chancellor Olivier declared Enemy to the Duchess of Valentinois, were both called to Court. In a word, the Court had entirely changed Face: The Duke of Guise ranked himself with the Princes of the Blood, to carry the King's Cloak at the Funeral. He and his Brothers were absolute Masters at Court, not only through the credit the Cardinal had with the Queen, but because she thought it in her power to remove them if they should give her Umbrage, and that she could not remove the Constable who was upheld by the Princes of the Blood.  
The days of mourning for the deceased King being over, the Constable came to the Lovure, but had a very cold reception from the King. He would have spoken with him in private, but the King called for Messieurs de Guise, and before them told him, he advised him to take his ease; that the Finances and the Command of the Armies were disposed of, and when he should stand in need of his Counsels, he would send for him to Court. The Queen-Mother received him more coldly than the King had done, and did not forbear to reproach him, with his having said to the late King, his Children were not like him. The King of Navarr arrived, and was no better received. The Prince of Conde, more impatient than his Brother, complained of it aloud, but all to no purpose. He was removed from Court, under pretence of being sent into Flanders to sign the Ratification of the Peace. They showed the King of Navarr a forged Letter from the King of Spain, wherein he was charged with designs to surprise some strong places belonging to that King: they told him it was high time to look about him, and prepare for defence: and, in a word, persuaded him to resolve going for Bearn. The Queen-Mother, to furnish him with a pretence, gave him in Charge the Conduct of Madam Elizabeth to Savoy, and made him take his Journey before her: so that there was not a Person left at Court to balance the Power of the House of Guise.  
Though it fell out unluckily for Monsieur de Cleve, he had not the Conducting Madam Elizabeth; yet the greatness of the Person preferred before him, took from him all cause of complaint. But the loss of the Employ grieved him not so much for depriving him of the honour he should have received by it, as for robbing him of so fair an opportunity to remove his Wife from Court, without suspicion, or the least appearance of design.  
Soon after the decease of the late King, a Resolution was taken the King should go to Rheims to be anointed. Madam de Cleve having all this while kept home, on pretence of being ill, no sooner heard this news, but she prayed her Husband to dispense with her following the Court, and to give her leave to go take the Air at Colonniers for her health. He told her he would not inquire whether she desired it on the account of her health, but he was ready to consent to what she desired; and it was no hard Task to consent to what he had already resolved. As good an Opinion as he had of his Wife's Virtue, he thought it imprudent to expose her longer to the view of a Man she was in love with.  
Monsieur de Nemours quickly knew she would not go along with the Court, and could not find in his heart to be gone without seeing her. The Night before the Court was to remove he went to her House, as late as in decency he could, that he might find her alone. Fortune favoured his Intention, as he entered the Court he met Madam Nevers, and Madam Martigues coming out, they told him they had left her alone. He went up under an agitation and trouble, paralleled only by that Madam de Cleve was in, when told Monsieur de Nemours was come to see her: the fear of his speaking to her of his passion, her apprehension she might give him too favourable an answer, the disturbance this Visit might occasion to her Husband, the difficulty of giving him an account of it, or concealing it, presented themselves to her imagination all in a moment, and put her into a perplexity that made her resolve avoiding the thing, than which peradventure she desired none more. She sent one of her Women to Monsieur de Nemours, who was in her Antichamber, to tell him she had lately been very ill, and was extremely sorry she could not receive the honour he would have done her. What a grief was this to him, not to see Madam de Cleve; and therefore not to see her, because she had no mind he should? He was to be gone on the Morrow, he could not expoct from Fortune a more favourable opportunity. He had not spoken to her since the discourse at the Queen-Dauphin's, and had reason to believe his telling the Vidame had destroyed all his hopes. In a word, he went away vexed to the very Heart.  
As soon as Madam de Cleve had recovered herself a little, out of the trouble she was in at the thoughts of Monsieur de Nemours being come to visit her, she was so far from approving the reasons that induced her to excuse herself from seeing him, that she condemned herself for having refused his Visit; and if it had not been too late, she would have had him called back.  
Madam de Nevers, and Madam the Martigues, went directly from Madam de Cleve, to the Queen-Dauphins; Monsieur de Cleve was there. The Queen-Dauphin asked them where they had been? they answered they came from Madam de Cleve, where they had spent part of the Afternoon, with a great deal of company, and left no body there but Monsieur de Nemours. These words, though harmless and indifferent in themselves, passed not as such with Monsieur de Cleve: he had reason to imagine Monsieur de Nemours might have several opportunities of speaking to Madam de Cleve, but to think he was alone with her at her Lodgings, where he might declare to her his passion, appeared that moment a thing so strange and intolerable, he was more jealous than ever. It was not in his power to stay at the Queen-Dauphin's, he went thence not knowing why, nor whether it were with design to interrupt Monsieur de Nemours: When he drew near home, he looked about to see what signs he might discover of that Prince's being still there. It was some comfort to find he was gone, and it pleased him to find he could not have been long there. He fancied, peradventure, it was not Monsieur de Nemours he had reason to be jealous of. And though he could not doubt it, yet he endeavoured to persuade himself he ought to question it. But he had been already so clearly convinced to the contrary, it was not in his power to continue long in that uncertainty he so earnestly desired. He went strait into his Wife's Chamber, and after some general discourse, he could not forbear ask her what she had done in his absence, and who had been to see her. She gave him account of both, but finding she mentioned not Monsieur de Nemours, he asked, trembling, if those were all she had seen, that she might have occasion to name Monsieur de Nemours, and he have the comfort to find she put no tricks upon him. She had not seen him, therefore she named him not. Monsieur de Cleve, with a sorrowful tone, replies, Have you not seen Monsieur de Nemours, or have you forgot him? I have not seen him indeed, says she; I was ill, and sent one of my Women to make my Excuse. You were not ill, but for him then, replies he; you admitted all other Visits, why not his as the rest? What reason have you to fear a sight of him? Why should he know by you that you are afraid to see him? Why should you make it appear to him you make use of the Power his Passion gives you over him? Durst you refuse to see him, but that you know him sensible it proceeded not from Incivility, but Rigour; And what reason have you to be rigorous to him? From a Person like you, Madam, any thing but indifference is a favour. I did not think, says she, you had any such suspicion of Monsieur de Nemours, that you could have reproached me for not admitting a Visit from him. Yet I reproach you, Madam, replies he, and have ground enough for it: Why should you not see him, if he never spoke to you of his love? But he hath declared it, Madam; 'tis not possible it could have made so deep an impression in you, had you perceived it only by his silence: It was not in your power to tell me the whole trugh, you have concealed from me the greater, and more considerable part; you have repent that little you confessed to me, you were not able to finish your Confession: I am more unhappy than I thought I was, and the unhappyest of Men. You are my Wife, I love you as my Mistress, and the same time see you in love with another; and he the most amiable in the Court: He sees you every day, and knows you are in love with him. Ha, cries he, I believed you might overcome the Passion you had for him, but sure I had lost my Reason to think it. I know not, replies she very sorrowfully, whether you did ill to judge favourably of a proceeding so extraordinary as mine; nor do I know but I might be mistaken, when I thought you would do me justice.. Never doubt it, Madam, says he; you were mistaken, you expected from me things as impossible as those I expected from you: How could you think I should do you right, or act according to reason? You had sure forgot I was desperately in love with you, and that I was your Husband. Either of these were enough to run a Man into extremities, what cannot both do when thus met in one? Ha, what do they not? My sentiments, my thoughts are uncertain and violent, I cannot master them. I no longer think myself worthy of you, nor do I think you are worthy of me. I adore you, I hate you: I offend you, I beg your pardon: I admire you, I 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I do so. In a word, I have lost both 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 and my reason; I wonder I have 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 since you spoke to me at Colonniers, and the Queen-Dauphin told you the Adventure was known. I cannot discover how it came abroad, nor what passed between Monsieur de Nemours and you on that account. You will never acquaint me with it, nor do I desire you should: I beg only you will remember you have made me the most unfortunate, the most wretched of Men.  
Monsieur de Cleve having said this, left his Wife, and departed on the morrow without seeing her; but he writ her a Letter full of trouble, civility, and kindness: she sent him an answer so moving, so full of assurance of her Conduct past and to come, that being grounded on truth, and lively expressions of the thoughts of her heart, the Letter made impression on Monsieur de Cleve, and restored, in some measure, the former tranquillity and calm of his spirits: Besides, his knowing Monsieur de Nemours was to go to the King, and could not be with Madam de Cleve, contributed not a little to his repose: whenever this Lady spoke to her Husband, the love he expressed for her, the handsomeness of his proceeding, the kindness he had for her, and what she owed him as her Husband, had that strong operation on her, capable, one would think, to deface the Ideas she had of Monsieur de Nemours; but it was but for a time, and presently after the same Ideas came fresh into her mind, and made deeper impression than ever.  
The first days after Monsieur de Nemours was gone, she was scarce sensible of his absence; at length it troubled her sore: from the hour she fell in love with him, not a day had passed but she had feared or hoped to meet him, and it was no small grief to her to think it was not in the power of Fortune to make them now meet one another.  
She went to Colonniers, and ordered to be carried thither the great Pictures she had caused to be copied out of the Originals Madam de Valentinois had bought for her fine House at Amet. All the remarkable actions of the King's Reign were represented in those Pieces: amongst the rest, was the Siege of Metz, and those who had signalised themselves were drawn there much to the Life; Monsieur de Nemours was of the number, which perhaps made her desirous of the Pictures.  
Madam de Martigues having not been able to go with the Court, promised to spend some days with Madam de Cleve at Colonniers. Though both shared the Queen's favour, yet it was without envy or strangeness to one another: they continued good friends, yet neither was the others Confident of the Darling Thoughts. Madam de Cleve knew Madam the Martigues loved the Vidame, but Madam the Martigues knew nothing of Madam de Cleve's being in love with Monsieur de Nemours, nor of his love for her, Madam the Martigues loved her the better, as being Niece to the Vidame; and Madam de Cleve loved Madam the Martigues, as being in love as she herself was, and in love with the most intimate Friend of him who had a passion for her.  
Madam de Martigues came to Colonniers as she promised, and found Madam de Cleve led a very desolate life, she affected solitude, and to pass the Evenings in the Gardens without the company of her Domestics: she frequented the Pavilion where Monsieur de Nemours had heard her, she entered the Bour that opened to the Forest: her Women, and other Servants, stayed in the other, or under the Pavilion, and came not to her unless she called them.  
Madam de Martigues having never seen Colonniers before, was surprised at the beauties of it, particularly at the pleasantness of the Pavilion. Madam de Cleve and she usually past the Evenings there: Two young Ladies (as they) both passionately in love, being at liberty, to pass the night in the finest place in the world, knew not how to make an end of discoursing one another, being extremely pleased with the Conversation, though neither made the other her Confident. Madam de Martigues could hardly have left Colonniers, but that she was to go where the Vidame was: she took her leave, and went for Chambort, where the Court then was.  
The Cardinal of Lorraine had anointed the King at Rheims, and the design was to pass the rest of the Summer at the Castle of Chambort, which was newly built. The Queen expressed great joy to see Madam de Martigues at Court, and after several Evidences of it, she enquired what news of Madam de Cleve, and what she did in the Country: Monsieur de Nemours, and Monsieur de Cleve were both with the Queen that very time. Madam Martigues had been so taken with Colonniers, she gave the Queen an account of the beauties of it, and enlarged upon the Description of the Pavilion in the Forest, and the pleasure Madam de Cleve took to walk alone there some part of the Night. Monsieur de Nemours, who knew the place well enough to understand Madam Martigues' discourse, thought it not impossible to have a sight of Madam de Cleve there, without being seen by any but herself. He asked her some questions for his better direction, and Monsieur de Cleve, who looked earnestly on Monsieur de Nemours while Madam Martigues was speaking, fancied he knew what was his design: the questions he asked confirmed him the more, so that he made no doubt but he intended to go see his Wife. Nor was he mistaken; for Monsieur de Nemours was so set upon't, that having spent the Night in considering how to execute his design, he went betimes on the morrow to ask the King leave to go to Paris, on a pretended occasion.  
Monsieur de Cleve questioned not the occasion of the Journey, but resolved to satisfy himself of his Wife's Conduct, and continue no longer under an uncertainty so troublesome: He had a desire to go the same time Monsieur de Nemours set out, and hide himself where he might discover the success of the Journey; but fearing does departure would be thought extraordinary, and Monsieur de Nemours upon notice might take other measures, he resolved to trust a Gentleman that belonged to him, whose faithfulness and wit he was fully assured of: he acquainted him with the trouble he was in, and how virtuous his Wife had been till then; and ordered him to follow Monsieur de Nemours, watch him narrowly, and see whether he went to Colonniers, and whether he entered the Garden by Night.  
The Gentleman, very capable of such a Commission, discharged it with a great deal of exactness: he followed Monsieur de Nemours to a Village within half a league of Colonniers, where Monsieur de Nemours made a halt; which the Gentleman easily guessed was for no other end, but to stay there till Night. But he thought it best for him to pass through the Village, and enter the Forest the way he thought Monsieur de Nemours must pass. He took his measures very right, for it was no sooner Night but he heard some walk, and though it were dark he easily knew Monsieur de Nemours: He saw him go round the Garden to hearken if he could discover any Person, and spy out a place convenient to pass over. There were double Pales, and very high, on purpose to prevent entrance, so that it was hard getting over; yet Monsieur de Nemours made a shift to get in, and was no sooner entered the Garden, but he quickly knew where Madam de Cleve was: He saw a great light in the Bower, the Windows all open, and slipping along by the Pales side got close to the Bower; you may imagine in what trouble and Emotion he took his station behind a Window which served him conveniently to see what Madam de Cleve was doing. He saw she was alone, but thought her beauty so admirable he could scarce master the transport it put him in. It was hot, and she had nothing on her Head and her Neck, but her Hair hanging carelessly down. She was on a Bed of Repose, with several Baskets full of Ribbons before her, out of which she made choice of some; and he observed she picked out the very Colours he wore at the Tourney. He could see her make them up into Knots for an Indian Cane, which had once been his, and he had given it his Sister: Madam de Cleve took it from her, as if she had never known it had been his: When she had tied on the Knots, with a grace and sweetness suitable to the delicacy of the Sentiments in her Heart, she took a great Wax Candle in her Hand, and went to the Table over-against the Picture of the Siege of Metz, wherein was the Portrait of Monsieur de Nemours: She sat her down, and fell a looking on that Portrait with that attention and thoughtfulness, which could proceed only from a passionate love.  
'Tis impossible to express the Sentiments of Monsieur de Nemours that moment; to see by Night, in the finest place of the World, a Person he adored; to see her and she not know it, to see her wholly taken up with things relating to him, and the passion she hid from him, was a pleasure no other Lover ever tasted, or imagined.  
He was so transported he stood gazing at her, without considering how precious his time was: having bethought himself a little, he believed it best not to speak to her till she came into the Garden, where he might do it with more safety at greater distance from her Women. Yet seeing she continued in the Bower, he resolved to enter: When about to do it, what trouble was he in? how fearful to displease her, and make her change her Countenance so full of sweetness and love, into looks full of anger and severity!  
Presently he thought he had done very unwisely (not to come see Madam de Cleve, but) to think of appearing to her: He looked on it as an extravagant boldness, to surprise, at midnight, a Person to whom he never durst declare his passion for her: He could not see how he could pretend to audience from her, but believed she might justly be offended with him, for the danger he exposed her to by the Accidents might happen. His courage quite failed him, and he was several times upon the point of returning without letting her see him: Yet pushed on with the desire he had to speak to her, and encouraged by the hopes given him by what he had newly seen, he advanced a few steps, but in such disorder, that a Scarf he wore catched at the Window and made a noise. Madam de Cleve turned about, and whether her Fancy was full of him, or that she stood in a place so directly to the light that she might know him, she thought it was he; and without the least hesitation, or once looking towards him, went into the place where her Women were. She was so disordered, that to conceal it from them, she told them she was ill: Which she did to give them employment about her, and him an opportunity of escaping unseen. Reflecting on what was past, she thought herself deceived, and that she did but fancy she had seen him: she knew he was at Chambort, and could not persuade herself he would have undertaken so hazardous a Journey. She had a mind several times to return into the Garden, to see if any one were there; and perhaps she no less desired, than feared, to find Monsieur de Nemours there: At last reason prevailed, and she thought it more prudent to continue in doubt, than to run the hazard of clearing the matter; yet she could not of a long time resolve to quit a place she thought him so near to, and it was almost day ere she returned to the Castle.  
Monsieur de Nemours stayed in the Garden while there was any light, in hopes of another sight of Madam de Cleve, though he was persuaded she knew him, and was gone out of purpose to shun him; but hearing the Doors locked, his hopes were at an end. He went to take Horse near the place where Monsieur de Cleve's Gentleman was watching him. This Gentleman followed him to the same Village, where he left him in the Evening. Monsieur de Nemours resolved to spend the rest of the Day there, and return at Night to Colonniers, to see if Madam de Cleve would have the cruelty to shun him, or not expose herself to view. He was very glad to find himself so much in her thoughts, yet it could not but trouble him to see her so bend to avoid him.  
Never was passion so tender and violent as that of this Prince: He went under the Willows along a little Brook that ran behind the House, where he hid himself, that no notice might be taken of him. He gave himself up to the transports of his Love, which were so vehement he let fall some tears; not those of pure grief, but mingled with the pleasure and charms Love only is acquainted with.  
He was now at leisure to reflect on all the Actions of Madam de Cleve, since he had been in love with her. What a modest rigour she had always used him with, though she loved him. For 'tis certain, says he, she loves me, I cannot doubt of it; the deepest engagements, the highest favours, are not so infallible Evidences of it, as those I have seen: yet she uses me as if she hated me. I hoped time would have produced in her some change in my favour, but now I must not expect it; I find her still upon her Guard against me, and herself: If she did not love me I would apply myself to please her; but I please her, she loves me, and yet hides it from me: What am I to expect? what change can I hope of my Fate? What, shall I have the love of the most amiable Person in the World, and be under that excess of passion that proceeds from the certainty of being loved by her, only to make me more sensible of being ill used? Let me see you love me, fair Princess, cries he, declare to me your Sentiments, let me once in my Life be assured of them by you; I am content you should resume your rigour, and use me ever after with the severity that so mortifies me: Look on me at least with those Eyes you looked last Night on my Picture in my sight. Can you look with so much kindness on my Picture, yet eat me so cruelly? What are you afraid of? You love me, and 'tis in vain to conceal it from me; you have, against your will, given me Evidences of it. I know my good fortune, permit me to enjoy it, and do not make me unhappy. Is't possible Madam de Cleve should love me, yet I be unhappy? How beautiful she appeared in the Night? how did I forbear throwing myself at her Feet? Had I done it, perhaps the respect I expressed for her would have kept her from shunning me: Yet peradventure she did not know me, I trouble myself more than I need: the sight of a Man at an hour so extraordinary would have frightened her. These thoughts took up his time all the Day, he wished impatiently for the Night; and as soon as it came he went for Colonniers. Monsieur de Cleve 's Gentleman, being disguised, that he might be less observed, followed him to the place he had followed him the Night before, and saw him enter the Garden again. Monsieur de Nemours quickly found Madam de Cleve had not exposed herself to a second view, the Garden-Doors being all shut, he turned him every way about to discover light, but saw none.  
Madam de Cleve apprehending he might return, kept her Chamber, fearing she might not still have the power to shun him; and unwilling to expose herself to the hazard of speaking to him in a manner so unsuitable to her Conduct hitherto.  
Monsieur de Nemours, though out of hopes of seeing her, could not resolve to quit presently a place she frequented. He passed that Night in the Garden, and had the pleasure of seeing the Objects she beheld every day. It was Sunrising ere he thought of retiring, which he did at last for fear of being discovered.  
He had not the power to go for Court, without having seen Madam de Cleve. He went to his Sisters, the Duchess of Mercoeur, at her House near Colonniers: She was extremely surprised at her Brother's arrival, but he invented so probable a Pretence for his Journey, and ordered his business so handsomely, that she made the first Proposal of visiting Madam de Cleve. This design was to be executed that very day, Monsieur de Nemours having told his Sister, he would leave her at Colonniers, and go directly thence to the King. This he did in hopes she would take her leave before his departure from Colonniers, and afford him an infallible opportunity of speaking to Madam de Cleve.  
At their arrival she was walking in the Garden: The sight of Monsieur de Nemours troubled her not a little, and silenced all doubts of her having seen him the Night before: It angered her to find him guilty of so much boldness, and impudence. He was heartily troubled to observe in her Countenance an Air of Coldness towards him. Their discourse was general, yet he had the address to show so much wit, so much complaisance, and admiration for Madam de Cleve, that he dissipated in some measure the coldness she had expressed towards him at first.  
His first fear being over, he seemed very curious to see the Pavilion in the Forest: He spoke of it as the most pleasant place in the World, and described it so particualrly, that Madam de Mercoeur told him, he must needs have been often there, to be so well acquainted with all the beauties of it. I do not think for all that, says Madam de Cleve, Monsieur de Nemours has ever been there: it has been finished but a while since. 'Tis not long since I have been there, says he, looking on her; and I cannot tell whether I have not reason to be glad you have forgot seeing me there. Madam de Mercoeur was so taken up with viewing the beauty of the Gardens, she minded not what her Brother said. Madam de Cleve blushed, and with her Eyes to the Ground, without looking on Monsieur de Nemours, I do not remember, says she, I ever saw you there; and if you were ever there, it was without my knowledge. 'Tis true, Madam, says he, I was there without order, and passed there the most cruel, as well as the most pleasant moments of my Life.  
Madam de Cleve understood very well what he said, but made him no answer: Her care was to prevent Madam de Mercoeur's going into the Bower where Monsieur de Nemours' Picture was, which she had no mind should be seen. She kept her in discourse, and the time passed away so insensibly, that Madam de Mercoeur began to talk of going homewards: But when Madam de Cleve saw Monsieur de Nemours and his Sister were not to go together, she quickly guessed what she might be exposed to, and was in the same strait she had been in at Paris, and made use of the same Expedient: The fear she had this Visit might confirm her Husband's suspicions, contributed much to the resolution she took. That Monsieur de Nemours might not continue alone with her, she told Madam de Mercoeur she would bring her as far as the edge of the Forest, and ordered her Coach to be made ready. Monsieur de Nemours turned pale as Ashes, at the rigour of Madam de Cleve. Madam de Mercoeur asked him if he were ill. He looked on Madam de Cleve, (though no body perceived it,) and convinced her by his looks, his illness was a pure effect of his despair. However, there was no reremedy but he must leave her in his Sister's company, without daring to follow her; and having told his Sister he would return to Court directly from Colonniers, there was no going back with her. He went for Paris, and thence on the morrow for Chambort.  
Monsieur de Cleve's Gentleman had observed him all this while. He followed him to Paris, and when he found Monsieur de Nemours was gone for Chambort, he took Post to get thither before him, and give account of his Journey. His Master expected his return with impatience, as if the happiness, or unhappiness of his Life depended upon it.  
As soon as he saw him, he gathered from his Countenance, and his silence, he had no good news for him: He continued some time astonished, with his Face dejected, and not able to speak to him; at last he made signs with his hand he should withdraw. Go, says he, I know what you have to say to me; but I have not the power to hear it. I cannot inform you any thing, says the Gentleman, on which to ground a sure judgement. 'Tis true, Monsieur de Nemours went two Nights successively into the Garden in the Forest, and the Day after he was at Colonniers with the Duchess of Mercoeur. 'Tis enough, replies Monsieur de Cleve, 'tis enough, making signs to him to withdraw; I need no further discovery. The Gentleman was forced to leave his Master abandoned to his despair, which was perhaps the most violent of any hath been known: few men of his courage, and so deeply in love as he, having felt the same time the grief caused by the unfaithfulness of a Mistress, and the same occasioned by being deceived by a Wife.  
His trouble was so great, it presently cast him into a Fever; and with such ill Symptoms, it was thought very dangerous. Madam de Cleve was informed of it, and came away in all haste to him. When she arrived he was worse: besides, she found him in such a strangeness and coldness for her, she was equally surprised and afflicted at it: She saw it was a pain to him to receive the services she did him in his sickness, but she imputed it to his Malady.  
When she was come to the Court at Blois, Monsieur de Nemours could not forbear expressing his joy at her being in the same place where he was: He endeavoured to see her, and went every day to Monsieur de Cleve's under pretence of enquiring after his health, but all to no purpose: she stirred not out of her Husband's Chamber, and was sorry at the heart for the condition he was in. It madded Monsieur de Nemours to see her so afflicted, as an Evidence of her kindness for Monsieur de Cleve, and a dangerous diversion for the affection she had for Monsieur de Nemours. But Monsieur de Cleve was sick to that extremity, it gave him new hopes: He saw it very probable Mad. de Cleve should be shortly at liberty to follow her inclination, and that he might expect some durable pleasure and happiness for the future. But these thoughts were too full of trouble and transport to last, and the fear of further misfortune, by being frustrated of his hopes, put them quite out of his Head.  
Monsieur de Cleve the mean time was almost given up by the Physicians. One Morning (having had a very ill Night) he said he would rest: Madam de Cleve alone continued with him in the Chamber, and instead of taking any Repose, thought him very restless. She fell on her Knees by his Bedside, and though Monsieur de Cleve had set up a resolution never to acquaint her with the violent displeasure he had conceived against her, yet the care she took of him, and her great affliction (which he could not but sometimes think real, as at other times he looked on it as an Evidence of dissimulation and perfideousness) distracted him so violently with contrary Sentiments, that it was not in his power not to give them vent.  
You shed many tears, Madam, says he, for a Death you are the cause of, and cannot give you the trouble you pretend to be in. I am no longer in a condition to reproach you, adds he, with a Voice weakened with sickness and grief; but I die with the cruel and tormenting displeasure you occasioned me: Was it necessary an Action so extraordinary as that you told me of at Colonniers should have Consequences so very unsuitable? Why would you declare to me your passion for Monsieur de Nemours, if your Virtue could hold out no longer to resist it? I loved you to that extremity, I would have been glad to have been deceived, I confess it to my shame: I have lamented my loss of that false repose you robbed me of; why did you not leave me in that quiet blindness so many Husbands live in? peradventure I had never known you had been in love with Monsieur de Nemours: I shall die, says he, but know, you have made Death welcome and pleasing to me; and having deprived me of the esteem and tenderness I had for you, you have rendered my life a trouble, I cannot but abhor it: What should I live for, continueth he, to spend my days with a Person I have loved so extremely, and as cruelly been deceived by, or to live apart from the same person, and to break out openly into violences so opposite to my humour, and the love I had for you? a love greater than it appeared to you; Madam, I hid a great part of it from you, for fear of being troublesome to you and forfeiting your Esteem by actions and expressions of it not becoming a Husband. In a word, I deserved your affection more than once; yet I die without regret, since I could not have it, nor can desire it any longer. Adieu, Madam: you will one day be sorry for a Man that loved you with a true and honest passion: You will feel the smart of your Engagements, and know the difference between being loved as I loved you, and their love, who pretending affection for you, seek only the honour of seducing you: But my death will set you at liberty, and you may without a Crime make Monsieur de Nemours happy. What matters it what happens when I am no more, must I have the weakness to trouble my head with those things?  
Madam de Cleve was so far from imagining her Husband suspected her, she understood not what he meant, and fancied only he reproached her for the Inclination she had for Monsieur de Nemours. At last, awaked on the sudden; A Crime, says she, I am a stranger to the thoughts of it; the severest Virtue could not have prescribed any Conduct but that I have followed; I never did any thing but I wished you a Witness of it: Could you have wished me a Witness, replies he, (looking on her with disdain) the Nights you spent with Monsieur de Nemours? Ah, Madam, is it you I speak of, when I speak of a Lady that hath spent Nights with a Man not her Husband! No, Sir, says she, I am not the Person you speak of; I never spent a Night, nor a moment with Monsieur de Nemours; he never saw me in private, I never endured he should do it, I never gave him the hearing, I would take all the Oaths— No more, Madam, I pray, says he, a false Oath, or a Confession, would perhaps trouble me alike. Madam de Cleve had not the power to answer, her tears and her grief took away her speech: Striving at last, Look on me, says she, at least give me the hearing; were it only my Concern, I would bear your Reproaches, but your Life is in the case: Hear me for your own sake, I am so Innocent, it is impossible but I shall convince you of the truth. Would to God you could persuade me to it, cries he, but what is't you can say? Hath not Monsieur de Nemours been at Colonniers with his Sister? Had he not spent the two Nights before with you in the Forest Garden? If that be my Crime, replies she, I can easily justify myself: I do not desire you should take my word; ask all your Domestics, and they will tell you whether I went into the Garden the Night before Monsieur de Nemours came to Colonniers; and whether the Night before, that I went not out of the Garden two hours sooner than ordinary: She told him, she thought she had seen one in the Garden, and confessed she believed it was Monsieur de Nemours. She spoke with that confidence, and truth, though improbable, is naturally so persuasive, that Monsieur de Cleve was almost convinced of her Innocence: I cannot tell, says he, whether I ought to believe you; but I find myself so near death, I would not know any thing should make me unwilling to die; you have convinced me too late, yet it will ever be a comfort to me, to go away with the thought of your being still worthy the Esteem I have had for you: Let me entreat you I may be assured of this further comfort, that my Memory shall be dear to you; and that if it had been in your power, you would have had for me the kindness you have for another. He would have gone on, but was so weak, his speech failed him. Madam de Cleve called in the Physicians, who found him at the point of death; yet he languished some days, and died at last with admirable Constancy.  
Madam de Cleve was so afflicted, she was almost beside herself. The Queen came to see her, and took her into a Covent, yet she was not sensible of it: her Sisters-in-Law brought her back to Paris, when she was not yet in a condition to give an account of her grief: But when she began to have the power to consider what a Husband she had lost, that she had been the cause of his death, and by a passion she had had for another, the horror she had for herself, and for Monsieur de Nemours, surpasses expression.  
Monsieur de Nemours at first durst pay her no other Respects but what decency required: He knew her too well to think any other would be acceptable, and found afterwards he must observe the same Conduct a very long time.  
A Servant of his told him, that Monsieur de Cleve's Gentleman, being his intimate Friend, and lamenting to him the loss of his Master, said to him, that Monsieur de Nemour's Journey to Colonniers had caused his death. Monsieur de Nemours was extermely surprised at the discourse; yet after some reflection, he could guests partly at the truth of it, and judged presently what Madam de Cleve would think of him, and what a distance it would occasion between them, if she once believed her Husband's distemper proceeded from his jealousy of him: He thought it not best to put her in mind so quickly of his Name, and stuck to that resolution, though it went against the heart of him.  
He took a journey to Paris, and could not forbear calling at her Gate to ask how she did: He was told she admitted no Visit, and had commanded they should not trouble her with an account of any that came to see her; an Order given perhaps on purpose to prvent her hearing of Monsieur de Nemours: but he was too deeply in love to live absolutely deprived of the sight of her, and resolved to find means, how difficult soever, to get out of a condition he thought so intolerable.  
Madam de Cleve afflicted herself beyond Reason; the Death of her Husband, and caused by her, a Huband dying with such tenderness for her, still ran in her mind, she could not forbear reflecting every moment on the duty she ought him, and condemning herself she had not had the affection for him he deserved, as if it had depended on her power: All the comfort she had, was to know she lamented the loss of him as his Merit required, and was resolved the rest of her life to do nothing but what, had he lived, he would have been certainly pleased with.  
She had often been thinking how he came to know Monsieur de Nemours had been at Colonniers: She could not suspect he had told him; yet if he had, she valued it little, she thought herself so perfectly cured of the passion she had had for him: but she was grieved at the heart to think him the cause of her Husband's Death, and was troubled at the thought of the fear Monsieur de Cleve had expressed at his Death she would marry him: But these griefs were drowned all together in that of the loss of her Husband, which was so great, she seemed to have no other.  
After several Months the violence of her affliction began to abate, and she fell into a state of sadness and melancholy, being seized with a pining and languishing grief: Madam the Martigues made a journey to Paris, and during her stay there visited her often; she entertained her with discourse of the Court, and the passages there; and though Madam de Cleve appeared unconcerned, yet Madam the Martigues continued that discourse, in hopes to divert her.  
She told her news of the Vidame, of Monsieur de Guise, and all others any way remarkable for their Persons or Merit. As for Monsieur de Nemours, says she, I cannot tell whether business hath not dispossessed his heart of the Gallantry he was so much addicted to: sure I am he is not gay and jovial as he used to be, and he seems not to affect the company of Ladies; he goes often to Paris, and I believe is there now. Madam de Cleve was so surprised at the name of Nemours, that she blushed: But she changed the discourse, and Madam the Martigues perceived not the concern she was in.  
The morrow Madam de Cleve being in search of business suitable to her condition, went to a Neighbour's house, who was famous for having a particular Excellency in weaving of Silks, and she designed to have some done to her fancy. Having seen several pieces of his work, she spied a Chamber-door where she thought there were more Silks, and spoke to them to open it: The Master answered he had not the Key, and that the Chamber was taken by a man who came at certain hours of the day to take the Prospect and Platform of the fair houses and Gardens to be seen from his Windows. He is, adds he, the handsomest man I ever saw, and looks not like one that works for his living; when ever he comes, I observe he looks still towards the houses and Gardens, but I can never see him work.  
Madam de Cleve heard this discourse very attentively; what Madam the Martigues had told her (that Monsieur de Nemours was now and then at Paris) she applied in her fancy to that handsome man coming so near her Lodging, and grew up into an Idea of Monsieur de Nemours, labouring for a sight of her, which gave her a confused trouble which she knew not the cause of: she went towards the Windows to see where they looked, and found they faced the Garden, and her Apartment. When she went to her Chamber, she could easily see the Window where she was told that man used to stand in for taking his Prospect. The thought that it was Monsieur de Nemours produced a great alteration in her: she presently lost that melancholy repose she had begun to enjoy, and fell into great disquiet, and disturbance of spirit: Not able to stay at home, she went to take the air in a Garden in the Suburbs, where she hoped to be alone: At her arrival she thought she was not deceived, and walked a pretty while without seeing the appearance of any one.  
Having crossed a little Wilderness, she perceived at the end of a Walk, in the further part of the Garden, a kind of Bower open on all sides, and made towards it. When she came near, she saw a man laid on the Bank who seemed sunk into deep meditation, and upon stricter view appeared to be Monsieur de Nemours: she stopped immediately, but her people who waited on her made some noise, which roused Monsieur de Nemours out of the study he was in. He to avoid the Company he thought was coming towards him, started out of his place, without so much as looking about who had made the noise, and turned away into an Alley, having made a low Reverence, which hindered him to see those he saluted.  
Had he known whom he avoided, how quickly would he have returned? But he went on along the Alley, and Madam de Cleve saw him go out at a backdoor, where his Coach waited for him. What an effect produced this sight in the heart of Madam de Cleve? What passions did it raise there? what a flame did it kindle out of the Embers of love? and with what violence it burnt? She went and sat her down in the place Monsieur de Nemours was newly risen from; her fancy immediately represented him the most amiable Person in the World, and one who had long loved her with a passion full of respect and fidelity, slighting all for her, respectful even to his torment, labouring to see her without a thought of being seen by her, quitting the Court (whose Darling he was) to come and look on the Walls where she had enclosed herself, and spend his melancholy hours in places where he had no hopes to meet her. In a word, a man who deserved love for the manner of his Engagement, and for whom she had an inclination so violent, she could not have chosen but have loved him, though he had not loved her; besides, a man of high Quality, and suitable to hers: All the obstacles from Duty or Virtue were now removed; and of their former Estate, there remained now only the passion Monsieur de Nemours had for her, and the passion she had for Monsieur de Nemours.  
These Ideas were all new (her affliction for the death of Monsieur de Cleve having so taken her up, that she had not of a long time entertained a thought of Monsieur de Nemours, but) at the sight of him they crowded into her head and her heart.  
But having taken her fill of these thoughts, when she remembered that the man she looked upon as a fit Husband for her, was the same she had loved in her late Husband's life, and had been the cause of his death, who as he was dying expressed a fear she would marry him, it so shocked the severity of her Virtue, she thought it equally criminal to marry Monsieur de Nemours, now her Husband was dead, as it was to love him while he lived. She yielded herself up to these Reflections so pernicious to her happiness, and fortified them with many Reasons that concerned her repose, and the inconveniences she foresaw would attend her Marriage with Monsieur de Nemours. At last, after two hours stay in the place where she was, she returned home, under a persuasion she was to avoid the sight of him, as a thing absolutely contrary to her duty.  
Yet this persuasion being a pure effect of her Reason and Virtue, mastered not her affection: Her heart was still for Monsieur de Nemours, inclining to him with that violence, it brought her into a condition to be pitied, having quite robbed her of her repose; never had she Nights more restless and tormenting. In the morning, the first step she made, was to see if any one were at the Window that looked towards her Apartment: she went, she saw Monsieur de Nemours, and returned with that haste, he had reason to judge she knew him. He had long wished she might take notice of his being there, since his passion had put him upon finding that way of seeing her; and when he was out of hopes of that pleasure, his course was to go muse in the Garden where she found him.  
Tired at last with a condition so unhappy and uncertain, he resolved to try some way of knowing his Fortune: What would I stay for, said he, I have known long enough she loves me; she is at liberty, and hath now no Duty to plead against me: why should I be reduced to see her, without being seen by her, and speaking to her? Is it possible Love should so absolutely take away my Reason, and my Courage, and make me differ so much from what I have been in my other Amours? 'Twas fit I should have expressed a respect for the grief she was under, but I express it too long, and give her time to Master the Inclination she had for me.  
After these Reflections, he thought of the means of seeing her; he thought he had no reason to conceal his passion any longer from the Vidame of Chartres, he resolved to tell him of it, and the design he had for his Niece.  
The Vidame was then at Paris, the Town being very full of company who came to fit their Equipage to attend the King, who was going to conduct the Queen of Spain. Monsieur de Nemours went to the Vidame's, and made an Ingenious Confession of what he had till then concealed from him, except only Madam de Cleve's inclinations for him, which he would not own he knew.  
The Vidame received all he said with a great deal of joy, and assured him, that before he knew his mind, he had often thought (since Madam de Cleve had been a Widow) she was the only Lady worthy of him. Monsieur de Nemours prayed him to help him to the speech of her, and let him know the same time how he found her disposed.  
The Vidame proposed to bring him to her house; Monsieur de Nemours thought it might offend her, who had not yet admitted any Visit. They agreed the Vidame should pray her to come to his house, on some pretence or other, and that Monsieur de Nemours should come to them by a Back-stair, that no notice might be taken of it. Madam de Cleve came, the Vidame went to receive her, and led her into a great Closet at the end of his Apartment: A while after Monsieur de Nemours came in, as by chance: Madam de Cleve was extremely surprised to see him; she blushed, and endeavoured to hide it. The Vidame spoke of other matters, and went out as if he had been to give order about something. He prayed Madam de Cleve to use no Ceremony at his house, and told her, he would return presently.  
It is impossible to express the Sentiments of Monsieur de Nemours, and Madam de Cleve, seeing themselves alone, and in a condition to speak to one another, as they had never been before. Both continued silent a while: At length, Will you pardon the Vidame, Madam, says Monsieur de Nemours, that he hath given me an opportunity of speaking to you, which you have always so cruelly denied me? I ought not to pardon him, replied she, for having forgot the condition I am in, and how much he exposes my Reputation by this proceeding. Having said so, she would have gone away; Monsieur de Nemours stayed her, and said, Fear nothing, Madam, there's no danger at all, no Body living but the Vidame knows I am here. But hear me, Madam, hear, if not out of any kindness you have for me, yet for your own sake, that you may be rid of the extravagancies I shall infallibly run into, through a passion I can no longer master.  
Madam de Cleve yielded for once to the inclination she had for Monsieur de Nemours, and looking on him with eyes full of kindness and Charms: But what is't you hope for, says she, from the Complaisance you desire of me? you will perhaps repent you have obtained it, and I shall certainly repent I have granted it: You deserve better fortune than you have hitherto had, or can have for the future, unless you seek it elsewhere. I seek it elsewhere, Madam, says he, is there any other happiness to be found but in your love? Though I never spoke of it before, Madam, yet I could not believe you ignorant of my passion, nor imagine but you knew it the truest and the most violent that ever was, or will be: what trials hath it been proof against, that you know not of? what trials have you put it to by your rigour?  
You are minded to hear me speak, and I am resolved to do it, answers Madam de Cleve, and with that sincerity and clearness you shall rarely meet with in those of my Sex; I will not tell you I have not had that inclination for you, you have had for me; perhaps, should I say it, you would not believe it: I will confess to you, I have not only been sensible of yours for me, but as sensible of it as you could wish: And were you sensible of it, Madam, yet not affected with it at all? May I presume to ask, whether it made not some impression upon you? You may judge of that by my Conduct, says she, but I would know what you thought of it? I must be in a happier condition than I am, says he, before I dare answer you; all I can tell you is, I heartily wished you had not confessed to Monsieur de Cleve what you hid from me, and that you would have concealed from him, what you made appear to me: How came you to know, replies she blushing, that I confessed any thing to Monsieur de Cleve? I knew it from yourself, Madam, says he: but that you may pardon my boldness in listening to your discourse: I appeal to your memory, whether I made ill use of what I heard, whether my hopes were raised by it in the least, or whether I had any greater boldness to speak to you.  
He began to give her an account how he heard he discourse with Monsieur de Cleve, but she interrupted him, saying, No more of that, I see how you came to be so well informed: I thought you knew it too well, when the Queen-Dauphin told me the adventure which she had learned from those you had made acquainted with it.  
Monsieur de Nemours gave her a particular relation of it: You may spare your Excuses, says she, you have my pardon long since, though you gave me no reason for it: but since I have told you what I designed to conceal from you while I lived, I will confess to you, you have inspired me with Sentiments I was altogether a stranger to till I saw you; and so far from imagining myself capable of them, that the surprise heightened the trouble that always attends them. I am the less ashamed to make you this confession, because it is made at a time I can do it without Crime, and that you have observed my Conduct was contrary to my affection.  
Can you believe, Madam, says he, throwing himself at her feet, but I shall die here in a transport of joy? I have told you nothing, says she smiling, but what you knew too well before: Ah Madam, what a difference there is between learning it by chance, and knowing it from yourself, and seeing withal you are willing I should know it: 'Tis true, replies she, I am willing you should know it, and I find pleasure in telling it you; yet I cannot tell but I may tell it you more for my own sake, than yours; for when all is done, you are not to expect any effect suitable to the confession I have made: I am resolved to follow the severest Rules my duty prescribes: You are at liberty, Madam, says he, and under no obligation of duty, or if under any (if I may be allowed to say so) 'tis in your power to make it your duty to preserve those Sentiments you have had for me: My duty, replies she, forbids me ever to think of any man, but particularly of you, for reasons unknown to you: They may be unknown to me, Madam, says he, but they cannot be good; I believe Monsieur de Cleve thought me more happy than I was, and that you had approved those extravagancies my passion put me upon without your consent: Let us talk no more of that Adventure, answers she, I cannot endure the thoughts of it, I am ashamed of it; and the consequences have been so fatal, it grieves me at the heart: 'tis but too true you were the cause of Monsieur the Cleve's death; the suspicions your inconsiderate Conduct raised in him, cost him his life, no less than if you had taken it from him with your own hands: Consider what I ought to have done, had you two come to the extremity of a Duel, and he had been killed; 'tis not the same thing in the eye of the World, but in mine there's no difference, since I know 'tis you have been the cause of his death, and on my account: Ah Madam, says he, what a shadow of duty do you raise against my happiness? shall a vain and groundless fancy hinder you to render a man happy, whom you have no unkindness for? what, have I had some ground to hope I might pass my life with you? hath my fate led me to love the most Estimable Person in the World? have I observed in her all that can make a Mistress adorable? has she had no unkindness for me? have I found in her Conduct nothing but what I would desire in my Wife? (for, Madam, you are perhaps the sole person in whom these two things have concurred, to the degree they are in you; they that marry Mistresses who have loved them, cannot but fear they may use the like Conduct towards others they have done towards them; but in you, Madam, I can fear nothing, I see nothing in you but matter of admiration) have I had a prospect of so much felicity for no other end, but to see it obstructed by you? Ah Madam, you forget you have distinguished me from the rest of men, or rather you have not distinguished me, you have deceived yourself, I have flattered myself.  
You have not flattered yourself, says she, the Reasons of my duty would perhaps not appear so strong to me, had I not made that distinction of which you seem to doubt; and 'tis it gives me a Prospect of the unfortunate Consequences of a nearer Engagement with you. I have nothing to answer, Madam, replies he, when you tell me you are afraid of unfortunate Consequences; but I confess, after all you have been pleased to say to me, I did not expect from you so cruel a Reason. It is so far from being intended any way offensive to you, answers she, I had much a do to tell it you. Alas, Madam, says he, how can you imagine me so vain, to flatter myself with any thing you shall say to me, having heard what you have already told me. I will speak to you again, answer she, with the same sincerity as before, and without those Reserves and Niceties I ought to have in my first discourse to you of this kind; but I conjure you hear me without interruption.  
I think myself obliged to give the affection you have for me the poor recompense of letting you see what my Sentiments are: This probably will be the only time of my life I shall do it in; yet I cannot without blushing confess to you, that the certainty of being no more loved by you, as I am, appears to me so dreadful a misfortune, that had I not invincible Reasons, grounded on my duty, I doubt very much whether it would be in my power to expose myself to that unhappiness. I know you are free, and that I am so, and that the condition of things is such, that the Public perhaps should have no cause to blame you or me, should we be engaged to one another for ever. But are men used to continue their affection during those long Engagements? or am I to expect a Miracle in my favour! And shall I put myself in a condition to see that passion at an end, in which I place all my felicity? Monsieur de Cleve was perhaps the only man in the World capable to preserve and maintain a passion for his Wife; it was my ill fate I was not able to reap the advantage of that happiness; and perhaps his passion had not lasted, but that he found I had none, but I should not have the same means to preserve yours: I believe you owe your constancy to the obstacles you have met with; you saw enough to engage you to encounter and overcome them, and my actions against my will, or what you learned by chance, gave you too great hopes to be discouraged.  
Ah Madam, says Monsieur de Nemours, I am not able to keep the silence you command me; you do me too much injustice, and make it appear too clearly, you are far from being prepossessed in my favour: I confess, says she, my passions may lead me, but they cannot blind me; nothing can hinder me to know you have a natural disposition to Gallantry, and all the qualities requisite to give you success; you have already been in love with several, and you will be so again: I should be no longer she you placed your happiness in, I should see you as much for another as you had been for me: this would mortally grieve me, and I am not sure I could save myself from the torment of Jealousy: I have said already too much to conceal from you, that you have made me know what Jealousy is, and that it tormented me so cruelly the night the Queen gave me Madam de Themines Letter, which it was said was addressed to you, that I have to this moment an Idea of it, makes me believe it the greatest of evils: There's not a woman, but out of vanity or inclination hath a mind to engage you; there are very few but you please; my experience would make me believe there is not any but it is in your power to please: I should think you always in love, and beloved, and I should not be often mistaken; yet in this case, what remedy for me but patience? I question much whether I should dare complain: a Lover may be reproached, but shall a Husband be so, for no other cause but that he loves one no longer? Could I use myself to bear a misfortune of this nature, should it ever be in my power to bear that of imagining I saw Monsieur de Cleve every hour accuse you of his death, and reproach me I had loved you, I had married you, and make me sensible of the difference between his kindness and yours? 'Tis impossible for me to overcome the strength of these Reasons; I must continue in the condition I am in, and the resolution I have taken never to alter it.  
Ha, do you think you can do it, Madam, cries Monsieur de Nemours, do you believe you can hold that resolution against a man that adores you, and hath the happiness to please you? 'Tis more difficult than you think, Madam, to resist that which pleases and loves us; you have done it by an unparallelled severity of virtue, but that virtue no longer opposes your affections, and I hope you will follow your inclination, though against your will: I know, says she, there's nothing more difficult than what I undertake, I mistrust my own strength in the midst of my Reasons; the duty I owe the memory of Monsieur de Cleve would be too weak, if not supported by Reasons drawn from the concern of my repose, and the interest of my repose hath need of support from Reasons grounded on my duty to his memory: yet though I distrust myself, I believe I shall never overcome my scruples, nor have I any hopes to overcome the inclination I have for you; it will make me unhappy, and I must deny myself the sight of you, how hard soever I strain for't. I conjure you by all the power I have over you, never more seek an occasion to see me: I am in a condition makes that Criminal, which were allowable another time; Decency forbids me all Commerce with you. Monsieur de Nemours threw himself at her feet, and by his words, and his tears, expressed the tenderest and liveliest passion that ever heart was affected with: Madam de Cleve was not insensible, and with eyes swelled with tears, why must it be, cries she, that I should charge you with the death of Monsieur de Cleve? why did not my first acquaintance with you begin since I have been at liberty, or why did I not know you before I was engaged? why did Fate separate us by such invincible obstacles? There is no obstacle at all, Madam, replies he, you, and you only obstruct all my happiness; you impose upon yourself a Law which neither Virtue nor Reason require you to do: 'Tis true, says she, I sacrifice much to a duty which subsists only in my imagination; have patience, and expect what time may produce; Monsieur de Cleve is but newly dead; the sad Object is so near, and so fresh, it cannot as yet but dazzle my eyesight, I see not things clearly and distinctly as before; the mean time enjoy the pleasure to know you have gained the Heart of a Person, who would never have loved any man had she not seen you: Believe the Sentiments I have for you will last for ever, and whatever becomes of me, they will still be the same. Farewell, says she, I am ashamed of this discourse; I am willing you should give the Vidame an account of it, and I pray you to do it.  
It was not in his power to stay her any longer: As she was going out, she found the Vidame in the next Room; he saw her so troubled he durst not speak to her, and led her into her Coach without saying a word to her. He came back to Monsieur de Nemours, who was so full of Joy, of Grief, of Astonishment, of Admiration, of all those affections that attend a passion full of hope, and of fear, that he had not the use of his Reason. It was a long time ere the Vidame could get from him an account of their discourse: He had it at last, and (setting Love aside) Monsieur de Chartres no less admired the Virtue, the Wit, and Merit of Madam de Cleve, than Monsieur de Nemours did: They considered what he was reasonably to hope for; and as fearful as his Love made him, he agreed with the Vidame it was impossible she should hold long in that resolution; yet they thought it necessary to obey her Orders, lest if the Public should take notice of his inclination for her, and she should declare herself, and enter into Engagements before the World, which she would afterwards stick to for fear it should be thought she loved him in her Husband's life-time.  
Monsieur de Nemours resolved to follow the King, without so much as endeavouring to have sight of Madam de Cleve, from the usual place, before he went. He prayed the Vidame to speak to her in his favour: What an infinite number of Reasons did he furnish him with to persuade her against her scruples? The Vidame thought he would never make an end, having made it late in the night before he ended his discourse.  
As for Madam de Cleve, it was a matter so new to her, to have been out of the restraint she had imposed on herself, to have endured the first Declaration of Love ever made to her, and to have declared herself to be in Love, that she scarce knew herself: she was amazed at what she had done, she repented it, she was glad of it, all her thoughts were full of trouble and passion: she examined again the Reasons of her duty which obstructed her happiness; she was sorry to find them so strong, and repented she had made them out so clear to Monsieur de Nemours, though the first moment she saw him in the Garden she presently had a thought of marrying him; but that thought had not made such impression, as the discourse had since with him; and sometimes she could not comprehend how she could be unhappy in marrying him: She could have wished with all her heart she had had no grounds for her past scruples, nor future: At other times, Reason and her Duty showed her so many things to the contrary, that carried her violently into a resolution not to marry again, nor ever to see Monsieur de Nemours; yet this was a resolution hard to be established in a Heart so moved as hers, and so newly abandoned to the Charms of Love. At last, to be at some ease, she thought it was not yet necessary to force herself to take these violent resolutions: She had in decency a long time to consider of it; yet she was fully resolved to hold no further Correspondence with Monsieur de Nemours. The Vidame came to see her, and served Monsieur de Nemours with all the wit and industry imaginable; but he could not persuade her to alter her Conduct, nor to revoke her rigorous Orders to Monsieur de Nemours not to see her. She told the Vidame her design was not to alter her condition; that she knew she should meet with some difficulty in putting it in Execution, but hoped she should be able to do it. She made him so sensible how much she was concerned at the opinion of Monsieur de Nemours having caused the death of her Husband, and how fully she was convinced it was against her duty to marry him, that the Vidame was afraid it would be very difficult to take away those impressions. He did not acquaint Monsieur de Nemours with his Apprehensions, but gave him an account of their discourse, and all the hopes a man who is beloved can reasonably have. They went away on the morrow to meet the King. The Vidame writ to Madam de Cleve, at the request of Monsieur de Nemours, to speak in his behalf: in a second Letter from the Vidame to her, Monsieur de Nemours writ a line or two with his own hand; but Madam de Cleve resolved to observe strictly the Rules she had prescribed herself, and fearing the accidents Letters are subject to, writ to the Vidame she would not receive any more Letters from him, if he continued to mention Monsieur de Nemours; and added such Asseverations, that Monsieur de Nemours made it his request to the Vidame, not to name him any more.  
The Court went to conduct the Queen of Spain as far as Poitou; Madam de Cleve continued at home: the more distant she was from Monsieur de Nemours, and every thing that might put her in mind of him, the more she remembered Monsieur de Cleve, whose memory she made it her business to honour. The Reasons for her not marrying Monsieur de Nemours, appeared very strong on the account of her Duty, but altogether invincible, when she consulted her Repose: The Opinion she had, Marriage would put an end to his Love, and the torments of Jealousy be the infallible Consequent, gave her the prospect of inevitable unhappiness if she consented to his desires: On the other side, she thought it impossible to refuse (if he were present) the most amiable Man in the World, who loved her, and whom she loved, and to refuse him in a thing that shocked neither Virtue nor Honour; she thought nothing but absence and distance could give her the power to do it; she found she stood in need of it, not only to maintain her resolution to be no further engaged, but to keep her from seeing Monsieur de Nemours: she resolved to take a long Journey to pass away the time she was obliged in decency to live retired: the large Possessions in Lands she had towards the Pyrenees, she thought the most proper place she could pick out. She set out a few days before the Court returned, and writ at parting to the Vidame, to conjure him not to think of once enquiring after her, nor writing to her.  
Monsieur de Nemours was more troubled at this Journey, than another would have been at the death of his Mistress: the thought of being deprived a long time of the sight of Madam de Cleve grieved him extremely, and the more in that it happened when he had lately enjoyed the pleasure of seeing her, and seeing her affected with his passion; his affliction increased daily. Madam de Cleve was no sooner arrived at her house near the Pyrenees, but she fell desperately ill. The news was brought to Court: Monsieur de Nemours was inconsolable, his grief proceeded to despair and extravagance: The Vidame had much ado to make him forbear showing his passion in public, and was scarce able to keep him from going in Person to inquire how she did. The kindness and near Relation between her and the Vidame, was a very good pretence to send several Courriers to her. At last they brought certain news she was out of that extremity of danger she had been in, but had still a languishing malady that took away the hopes of life.  
This gave her a sight of Death, both near and at distance, and represented to her the things of this World quite otherwise than they appear to those in health. The necessity of dying she saw herself so near to, weaned her from the World; and her malady was so lingering, it accustomed her to it, and made it habitual; yet when she was a little recovered, she found Monsieur de Nemours was not quite defaced out of her heart; but to defend herself against him, she called to her aid all the Reasons she thought she had against marrying again. After long conflict, she subdued the relics of that passion, which had been weakened by the Sentiments she had in her sickness; the thoughts of death having reproached her with the memory of Monsieur de Cleve, and being agreeable to her duty, made deep impression in her heart. She saw clearly the vanity of the passions and Engagements of the World, her weakness of Body contributed much to her Constancy; yet being sensible what power opportunity hath over the sagest resolutions, she was unwilling to hazard the breach of those she had taken, by returning into any place where she might see him she loved. Under pretence of changing the Air she retired into a Religious House, without declaring a settled resolution of quitting the Court.  
At the first news of it, Monsieur de Nemours felt the weight of her retreat, and saw the importance of it. He believed presently his hopes were at end, but omitted not any thing that might oblige her to return to Court: He prevailed with the Queen to write; he made the Vidame not only write but go to her, but all to no purpose: the Vidame saw her, but she told him she had settled her resolution. Yet he was of opinion she would not return to Court. At last Monsieur de Nemours went himself to her, under pretence of going to the Waters; she was extremely surprised and troubled at the news of his coming, she sent him word by a person of merit, whom she loved, that she desired him not to take it ill if she did not expose herself to the danger of seeing him, & destroying by his presence those sentiments she was in duty obliged to preserve: that she desired he should know she found it both against her duty and repose, to yield to the inclination she had to be his, and that therefore all things else in the world were become so indifferent to her, she had renounced them for ever, and taken her leave of the world; that her thoughts were wholly employed about the things of another life; but as to this, she desired nothing else, but to see him so disposed as she was.  
Monsieur de Nemours was like to have died in the presence of her who brought him the news: Madam de Cleves had not only absolutely forbidden her to carry any message from him, but to give her account of their discourse upon her delivering him the message from Madam de Cleve: thus was Monsieur de Nemours forced to part oppressed with the heaviest grief a man is capable of, who hath lost all hopes of ever seeing again a person he loved, not only with the most violent, but the most natural and best grounded passion that ever was. Yet he was not so discouraged, but he used all means imaginable to induce her to alter her design: At last after several years, time and absence abated his grief and extinguished his flame: Madam de Cleve lived a life that took away all appearance she would ever return to Court: One part of the year she spent in the Religious House, and the other part at her own, but retired, and employed constantly in Exercises more holy than the severest Covents can pretend to: Her life, though short, having left us a multitude of examples of inimitable Virtues.  
FINIS.   

A Catalogue of BOOKS Printed for R. Bentley, and M. Magnes.  

Folio.  
LOrd Bacon's Natural History in Ten Centuries: Whereunto is newly added, The History Natural and Experimental of Life and Death, or of the Prolongation of Life.  
The History of Lapland, wherein is showed the Original, Manners, Habits, Marriages, Conjurations of that People.  
The Triumphs of Cod's Revenge against the crying and execrable Sin of wilsul and premeditated Murder; expressed in Thirty seven Tragical Histories, digested into Six Books, which contain great variety of mournful and memorable Accidents, Moral, Amorous, and Divine. The whole Work now complete. By I. Reynolds.  
Nostradamus' his Prophecies.  
Fodinae Raegalis: or, The History of the Laws and Places of the chief Mines and Mineral Works in England, wales, and the English Pale in Ireland; as also of the Mint, and Money: With a Clavis, explaining some difficult Words relating to Mines.   

Quarto.  
Burnt Child dreads the Fire: or, An Examination of the Merits of the Papists relating to England, mostly from their own Pens; in justification of the late Act of Parlimament for preventing Dangers that may happen by Popish Recusants: and further showing, That whatsoever their Merits have been, no thanks to their Religion; and therefore ought not to be gratified in Religion, by Toleration thereof, unless we intent to enslave ourselves and our Posterity.  
Romish Doctrines not from the Beginning: or, A Reply to what S. C. or Serenus Cressy, hath objected against Dr. Pierce's Sermon, in vindication of our Church against the Novelties of Rome. By Dr. whitby.  
Falshood unmasked: or, An answer to Truth unvailed.  
An earnest Request to Mr. I. Standish.   

Plays in Quarto.  
Tartuss: or, The French Puritan. A Comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal, by their Majesty's Servants. Written in French by the famed Wit of France Monsieur Moliver, and made English by Mr. M. Medburne.   

Plays written by Madam Beane.  
The Forced Marriage: or, The Jealous Bridegroom. A Comedy, acted at the Duke's Theatre.  
Abdelazzar: or, The Moor's Revenge. A Tragedy, acted at the Duke's Theatre.  
The Town Fop: or, Sir Timothy Tawdry. A Comedy, acted at the Duke's Theatre.   

Plays written by Mr. james Howard.  
All mistaken: or, The Mad Couple. A Comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal, by their Majesty's Servants.  
The English Monsieur. A Comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal, by their Majesty's Servants.   

Plays written by Mr. Crown.  
Calisto: or, The chaste Nymph. A Masque acted at Court, by the Lady Mary, the Lady Anne, and many other Persons of the greatest Quality in England.  
The Country-Wit. A Comedy, acted at the Duke's Theatre.  
The Destruction of jerusalem by Titus Vespasian, in two Parts, acted at the Theatre Royal, by their Majesty's Servants.   

Plays written by Mr. Lee.  
The Tragedy of Nero. Acted at the Theatre Royal, by their Majesty's Servants.  
Sophonisba: or Hannibal overthrown. A Tragedy, acted at the Theatre Royal, by their Majesty's Servants.  
The Court of Augustus Caesar, or Gloriana. A Tragedy, acted at the Theatre Royal.  
The Rival Queens: or, The Death of Alexander the Great. A Tragedy, acted at the Theatre Royal.  
The Plain-Dealer. A Comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal, by their Majesty's Servants. Written by Mr. Witherly.  
The Mistaken Husband. A Comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal, by their Majesty's Servants. Part of it written by john Dryden Esq.  
Madam Fickle: or, The Witty False one. A Comedy, acted at the Duke's Theatre. Written by Mr. Durfey.  
The Fond Husband: or, The plotting Sisters. A Comedy, acted at the Duke's Theatre. Written by Mr. Durfey.  
Mithridates' King of Pontus. A Tragedy.  
The Fool turned Critic. A Comedy.  
Sertorius. A Tragedy. By Mr. Bancroft.   

In Octavo.  
Plato's Apology of Socrates.  
A Discourse of the Idolatry of the Church of Rome.  
The Natural History of the Passions.  
Covent-Garden Drollery: or a Collection of Poems, etc.  
Lipsius' of Constancy.   

Books of Devotion in Twelves.  
Moral Essays: in two Volumes. A Prospect of Humane Misery.  
The Vanity of Honour, Wealth and Pleasure, etc.  
Bishop Andrew's Devotions.  
Dr. Cole's Devotions, or Daily Prayers.   

Novels in Twelves.  
Zelinda: A Romance. Translated from the famed Monsieur Scudery. By T. D.  
The Happy Slave: Complete.  
The Unfortunate Hero.  
Count Brion: A pleasant Novel. Translated from the French, by a Person of Quality.  
The Obliging Mistress.  
The Disorders of Love, in Four Histories; full of many pleasant and true Adventures.  
Heroine Musqueteer: Complete.  
Memoires of Madam Colonna.  
Almanzor and Almanzaida. A Novel.  
The Double Cuckold. A pleasant Novel.   

Some French Books.  

L'Esprit du Christianisme; ou, Sermon per Dr. Tillotson.  
Rare-En-tout: A Comedy.  
La Bibles.  
La Psaumes.  
La Practise de Virtue Chrestien.  
Galand Escroke.  
L' Heureux Esclave; in 3 Parts.  
Princess Momferrat.  
Duble Cocu.  
Triomph de l' Amour.  
Le Cercle, ou Conversation.  
Le Delicios de la France: in 2 Vol.  
Treat Jealousy.   
FINIS.