The Princess De Montpensier

by Madame de La Fayette

Now, although they had made very little noise while crossing the bridge, the Prince de Montpensier was awake and heard it. He made one of his servants get up and go to see what it was. The servant put his head out of the window and in the darkness he could make out that the drawbridge was lowered. He told his master who then ordered him to go into the park and find out what was going on. A moment later he got up himself, being disturbed by what he thought he had heard, that is, footsteps on the bridge leading to his wife's quarters.

As he was going towards the little passage where the Comte was waiting, the Princess who was somewhat embarrassed at being alone with the Duc de Guise, asked the latter several times to come into the room. He refused to do so and as she continued to press him and as he was furiously angry he answered her so loudly that he was heard by the Prince de Montpensier, but so indistinctly that the Prince heard only a man's voice without being able to recognise it as that of the Comte.

These events would have infuriated a character more placid and less jealous than the Prince de Montpensier. He hurled himself against the door, calling for it to be opened, and cruelly surprising the Princess, the Duc de Guise and the Comte de Chabannes. This last, hearing the Prince's voice, saw immediately that it was impossible to prevent him from believing that there was someone in his wife's room, and that he was in such a state that if he found that it was the Duc de Guise he might kill him before the eyes of the Princess and that even her life might be at risk. He decided, in an act of extraordinary generosity, to sacrifice himself to save a successful rival and an ungrateful mistress.

While the Prince was battering on the door, he went to the Duc, who had no idea what to do, put him in the care of the woman who had arranged his entry by the bridge and told her to show him the way out. Scarcely had he left when the Prince having broken down the door entered the room like a man possessed. However when he saw only the Comte de Chabannes, motionless, leaning on a table with a look of infinite sadness on his face, he stopped short. The astonishment of finding his best friend alone at night in his wife's room deprived him of speech. The Princess had collapsed onto some cushions and never perhaps has fate put three people in a more unhappy position. At last the Prince made an attempt to make sense of the chaos before his eyes. He addressed the Comte in a tone of voice which still had some friendliness, "What is this I see?" he said, "Is it possible that a man I love so dearly has chosen among all other women to seduce my wife? And you, Madame," he said, turning to his wife, "Was it not enough to deprive me of your love and my honour without depriving me of the one man who could have consoled me in such circumstances? Answer me, one of you," he said to them, "And explain this affair, which I cannot believe is what it seems." The Princess was incapable of replying and the Comte opened his mouth once or twice but was unable to speak.

"You see me as a criminal," he said at last. "And unworthy of the friendship you have shown me; but the situation is not what you may think it is. I am more unhappy than you and more despairing. I do not know how to tell you more than that. My death would avenge you, and if you were to kill me now you would be doing me a favour." These words, spoken with an air of the deepest sorrow, and in a manner which declared his innocence instead of enlightening the Prince confirmed him in the view that something mysterious was going on which he did not understand. His unhappiness was increased by this uncertainty. "Kill me yourself," he said. "Or give me some explanation of your words for I can understand nothing. You owe it to my friendship, you owe it to my restraint, for anyone but me would have already taken your life to avenge such an affront."

"The appearances are wholly misleading," interrupted the Comte.

"Ah! It is too much. I must be avenged and clear things up later," said the Prince, advancing towards the Comte like a man carried away by rage. The Princess, fearing bloodshed, (which was not possible as her husband did not have a sword) placed herself between the two of them and fell fainting at her husband's feet. The Prince was even more affected by this than he was by the calmness of the Comte when he confronted him, and as if he could no longer bear the sight of those two people who had caused him such distress, he turned away and fell on his wife's bed, overcome by grief. The Comte de Chabannes, filled with remorse at having abused the friendship of which he had had so many marks, and believing that he could never atone for what he had done, left the room abruptly and passing through the Princess's apartment where he found all the doors open, he went down to the courtyard. He had a horse brought to him and rode off into the country led only by his feelings of hopelessness. The Prince de Montpensier, seeing that his wife did not recover from her faint, left her to her women and retired to his own quarters greatly disturbed.

The Duc de Guise having got out of the park, hardly knowing what he was doing being in such a state of turmoil, put several leagues between himself and Champigny, but could go no further without news of the Princess. He stopped in the forest and sent his squire to find out from the Comte de Chabannes what had happened. The squire found no trace of Chabannes but was told by others that the Princess was seriously ill. The Duc's inquietude was increased by what the squire had told him, but as he could do nothing he was constrained to go back to his uncle's in order not to raise suspicions by too long an absence.

The Duc's squire had been correct when he said that the Princess was seriously ill, for as soon as her women had put her to bed she was seized by a violent fever with horrible phantasies, so that by the second day her life was despaired of. The Prince pretended that he himself was ill so that no one should be surprised that he did not visit his wife's room. The order which he received to return to the Court, to which all the Catholic princes were being recalled in preparation for the massacre of the Huguenots, relieved him of his embarrassment. He went off to Paris without knowing what he had to hope or fear about his wife's illness. He had hardly arrived there when the assault on the Huguenots was signalised by the attack on admiral de Chatillon. Two days later came the disgraceful massacre, now so well known throughout Europe.

The poor Comte de Chabannes who had gone to hide himself away in one of the outer suburbs of Paris to abandon himself to his misery was caught up in the ruin of the Huguenots. The people to whose house he had retired, having recognised him, and having recalled that he had once been suspected of being of that persuasion, murdered him on the same night which was fatal to so many people. The next day the Prince de Montpensier, who was in that area on duty, passed along the street where the body of the Comte lay. He was at first shocked by this pitiful sight and, recalling his past friendship, was grieved; but then the memory of the offence, which he believed the Comte had committed, made him feel pleased that he had been avenged by the hand of chance.