The Prince d'Harcourt at last obtained permission to wait on the King,
after having never appeared at Court for seventeen years. He had
followed the King in all his conquests in the Low Countries and Franche-
Comte; but he had remained little at the Court since his voyage to Spain,
whither he had accompanied the daughter of Monsieur to the King, Charles
II., her husband. The Prince d'Harcourt took service with Venice, and
fought in the Morea until the Republic made peace with the Turks. He was
tall, well made; and, although he looked like a nobleman and had wit,
reminded one at the same time of a country actor. He was a great liar,
and a libertine in body and mind; a great spendthrift, a great and
impudent swindler, with a tendency to low debauchery, that cursed him all
his life. Having fluttered about a long time after his return, and found
it impossible either to live with his wife--which is not surprising--or
accommodate himself to the Court or to Paris, he set up his rest at Lyons
with wine, street-walkers, a society to match, a pack of hounds, and a
gaming-table to support his extravagance and enable him to live at the
expense of the dupes, the imbeciles, and the sons of fat tradesmen, whom
he could lure into his nets. Thus he spent many years, and seemed to
forget that there existed in the world another country besides Lyons.
At last he got tired, and returned to Paris. The King, who despised him,
let him alone, but would not see him; and it was only after two months of
begging for him by the Lorraines, that he received permission to present
himself. His wife, the Princesse d'Harcourt, was a favourite of Madame
de Maintenon. The origin of their friendship is traced to the fact that
Brancas, the father of the Princess, had been one of the lovers of Madame
de Maintenon. No claim less powerful could have induced the latter to
take into her favour a person who was so little worthy. Like all women
who know nothing but what chance has taught them, and who have long
languished in obscurity before arriving at splendour, Madame de Maintenon
was dazzled by the very name of Princess, even if assumed: as to a real
Princess, nothing equalled her in her opinion. The Princess then tried
hard to get the Prince invited to Marly, but without success. Upon this
she pretended to sulk, in hopes that Madame de Maintenon would exert all
her influence; but in this she was mistaken. The Prince accordingly by
degrees got disgusted with the Court, and retired into the provinces for
a time.
The Princesse d'Harcourt was a sort of personage whom it is good to make
known, in order better to lay bare a Court which did not scruple to
receive such as she. She had once been beautiful and gay; but though not
old, all her grace and beauty had vanished. The rose had become an ugly
thorn. At the time I speak of she was a tall, fat creature, mightily
brisk in her movements, with a complexion like milk-porridge; great,
ugly, thick lips, and hair like tow, always sticking out and hanging down
in disorder, like all the rest of her fittings out. Dirty, slatternly,
always intriguing, pretending, enterprising, quarrelling--always low as
the grass or high as the rainbow, according to the person with whom she
had to deal: she was a blonde Fury, nay more, a harpy: she had all the
effrontery of one, and the deceit and violence; all the avarice and the
audacity; moreover, all the gluttony, and all the promptitude to relieve
herself from the effects thereof; so that she drove out of their wits
those at whose house she dined; was often a victim of her confidence; and
was many a time sent to the devil by the servants of M. du Maine and M.
le Grand. She, however, was never in the least embarrassed, tucked up
her petticoats and went her way; then returned, saying she had been
unwell. People were accustomed to it.
Whenever money was to be made by scheming and bribery, she was there to
make it. At play she always cheated, and if found out stormed and raged;
but pocketed what she had won. People looked upon her as they would have
looked upon a fish-fag, and did not like to commit themselves by
quarrelling with her. At the end of every game she used to say that she
gave whatever might have been unfairly gained to those who had gained it,
and hoped that others would do likewise. For she was very devout by
profession, and thought by so doing to put her conscience in safety;
because, she used to add, in play there is always some mistake. She went
to church always, and constantly took the sacrament, very often after
having played until four o'clock in the morning.
One day, when there was a grand fete at Fontainebleau, Madame la
Marechale de Villeroy persuaded her, out of malice, to sit down and play,
instead of going to evening prayers. She resisted some time, saying that
Madame de Maintenon was going; but the Marechale laughed at her for
believing that her patron could see who was and who was not at the
chapel: so down they sat to play. When the prayers were over, Madame de
Maintenon, by the merest accident--for she scarcely ever visited any one
--went to the apartments of the Marechale de Villeroy. The door was
flung back, and she was announced. This was a thunderbolt for the
Princesse d'Harcourt. "I am ruined," cried she, unable to restrain
herself; "she will see me playing, and I ought to have been at chapel!"
Down fell the cards from her hands, and down fell she all abroad in her
chair. The Marechale laughed most heartily at so complete an adventure.
Madame de Maintenon entered slowly, and found the Princess in this state,
with five or six persons. The Marechale de Villeroy, who was full of
wit, began to say that, whilst doing her a great honour, Madame was the
cause of great disorder; and showed her the Princesse d'Harcourt in her
state of discomfiture. Madame de Maintenon smiled with majestic
kindness, and addressing the Princesse d'Harcourt, "Is this the way,"
said she; "that you go to prayers?" Thereupon the Princess flew out of
her half-faint into a sort of fury; said that this was the kind of trick
that was played off upon her; that no doubt the Marechale knew that
Madame de Maintenon was coming, and for that reason had persecuted her to
play. "Persecuted!" exclaimed the Marechale, "I thought I could not
receive you better than by proposing a game; it is true you were for a
moment troubled at missing the chapel, but your tastes carried the day.
--This, Madame, is my whole crime," continued she, addressing Madame de
Maintenon. Upon this, everybody laughed louder than before: Madame de
Maintenon, in order to stop the quarrel; commanded them both to continue
their game; and they continued accordingly, the Princesse d'Harcourt,
still grumbling, quite beside herself, blinded with fury, so as to commit
fresh mistakes every minute. So ridiculous an adventure diverted the
Court for several days; for this beautiful Princess was equally feared,
hated, and despised.
Monseigneur le Duc and Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne continually played
off pranks upon her. They put, one day, crackers all along the avenue of
the chateau at Marly, that led to the Perspective where she lodged. She
was horribly afraid of everything. The Duke and Duchess bribed two
porters to be ready to take her into the mischief. When she was right in
the middle of the avenue the crackers began to go off; and she to cry
aloud for mercy; the chairman set her down and ran for it. There she
was, then, struggling in her chair, furiously enough to upset it, and
yelling like a demon. At this the company, which had gathered at the
door of the chateau to see the fun, ran to her assistance, in order to
have the pleasure of enjoying the scene more fully. Thereupon she set to
abusing everybody right and left, commencing with Monseigneur and Madame
la Duchesse de Bourgogne. At another time M. de Bourgogne put a cracker
under her chair in the salon, where she was playing at piquet. As he was
about to set fire to this cracker, some charitable soul warned him that
it would maim her, and he desisted.
Sometimes they used to send about twenty Swiss guards, with drums, into
her chamber, who roused her from her first sleep by their horrid din.
Another time--and these scenes were always at Marly--they waited until
very late for her to go to bed and sleep. She lodged not far from the
post of the captain of the guards, who was at that time the Marechal de
Lorges. It had snowed very hard, and had frozen. Madame la Duchesse de
Bourgogne and her suite gathered snow from the terrace which is on a
level with their lodgings; and, in order to be better supplied, waked up,
to assist them, the Marechal's people, who did not let them want for
ammunition. Then, with a false key, and lights, they gently slipped into
the chamber of the Princesse d'Harcourt; and, suddenly drawing the
curtains of her bed, pelted her amain with snowballs. The filthy
creature, waking up with a start, bruised and stifled in snow, with which
even her ears were filled, with dishevelled hair, yelling at the top of
her voice, and wriggling like an eel, without knowing where to hide,
formed a spectacle that diverted people more than half an hour: so that
at last the nymph swam in her bed, from which the water flowed
everywhere, slushing all the chamber. It was enough to make one die of
laughter. On the morrow she sulked, and was more than ever laughed at
for her pains.
Her fits of sulkiness came over her either when the tricks played were
too violent, or when M. le Grand abused her. He thought, very properly,
that a person who bore the name of Lorraine should not put herself so
much on the footing of a buffoon; and, as he was a rough speaker, he
sometimes said the most abominable things to her at table; upon which the
Princess would burst out crying, and then, being enraged, would sulk.
The Duchesse de Bourgogne used then to pretend to sulk, too; but the
other did not hold out long, and came crawling back to her, crying,
begging pardon for having sulked, and praying that she might not cease to
be a source of amusement! After some time the Duchess would allow
herself to be melted, and the Princess was more villainously treated than
ever, for the Duchesse de Bourgogne had her own way in everything.
Neither the King nor Madame de Maintenon found fault with what she did,
so that the Princesse d'Harcourt had no resource; she did not even dare
to complain of those who aided in tormenting her; yet it would not have
been prudent in any one to make her an enemy.
The Princesse d'Harcourt paid her servants so badly that they concocted a
plan, and one fine day drew up on the Pont Neuf. The coachman and
footmen got down, and came and spoke to her at the door, in language she
was not used to hear. Her ladies and chambermaid got down, and went
away, leaving her to shift as she might. Upon this she set herself to
harangue the blackguards who collected, and was only too happy to find a
man, who mounted upon the seat and drove her home. Another time, Madame
de Saint-Simon, returning from Versailles, overtook her, walking in full
dress in the street, and with her train under her arms. Madame de Saint-
Simon stopped, offered her assistance, and found that she had been left
by her servants, as on the Pont Neuf. It was volume the second of that
story; and even when she came back she found her house deserted, every
one having gone away at once by agreement. She was very violent with her
servants, beat them, and changed diem every day.
Upon one occasion, she took into her service a strong and robust
chambermaid, to whom, from the first day of her arrival, she gave many
slaps and boxes on the ear. The chambermaid said nothing, but after
submitting to this treatment for five or six days, conferred with the
other servants; and one morning, while in her mistress's room, locked the
door without being perceived, said something to bring down punishment
upon her, and at the first box on the ear she received, flew upon the
Princesse d'Harcourt, gave her no end of thumps and slaps, knocked her
down, kicked her, mauled her from her head to her feet, and when she was
tired of this exercise, left her on the ground, all torn and dishevelled,
howling like a devil. The chambermaid then quitted the room, double-
locked the door on the outside, gained the staircase, and fled the house.
Every day the Princess was fighting, or mixed up in some adventures.
Her neighbours at Marly said they could not sleep for the riot she made
at night; and I remember that, after one of these scenes, everybody went
to see the room of the Duchesse de Villeroy and that of Madame d'Espinoy,
who had put their bed in the middle of their room, and who related their
night vigils to every one.
Such was this favourite of Madame de Maintenon; so insolent and so
insupportable to every one, but who had favours and preferences for those
who brought her over, and who had raised so many young men, amassed their
wealth, and made herself feared even by the Prince and minister.