The King did not long remain without some consolation for the loss of the
battle of Hochstedt (Blenheim). The Comte de Toulouse--very different in
every respect from his brother, the Duc du Maine--was wearied with
cruising in the Mediterranean, without daring to attack enemies that were
too strong for him. He had, therefore, obtained reinforcements this
year, so that he was in a state to measure his forces with any opponent.
The English fleet was under the command of Admiral Rooks. The Comte de
Toulouse wished above all things to attack. He asked permission to do
so, and, the permission being granted, he set about his enterprise. He
met the fleet of Admiral Rooks near Malaga, on the 24th of September of
this year, and fought with it from ten o'clock in the morning until eight
o'clock in the evening. The fleets, as far as the number of vessels was
concerned, were nearly equal. So furious or so obstinate a sea-fight had
not been seen for a long time. They had always the wind upon our fleet,
yet all the advantage was on the side of the Comte de Toulouse, who could
boast that he had obtained the victory, and whose vessel fought that of
Rooks, dismasted it, and pursued it all next day towards the coast of
Barbary, where the Admiral retired. The enemy lost six thousand men; the
ship of the Dutch Vice-Admiral was blown up; several others were sunk,
and some dismasted. Our fleet lost neither ship nor mast, but the
victory cost the lives of many distinguished people, in addition to those
of fifteen hundred soldiers or sailors killed or wounded.
Towards evening on the 25th, by dint of maneuvers, aided by the wind, our
fleet came up again with that of Rooks. The Comte de Toulouse was for
attacking it again on the morrow, and showed that if the attack were
successful, Gibraltar would be the first result of the victory. That
famous place, which commands the important strait of the same name, had
been allowed to fall into neglect, and was defended by a miserable
garrison of forty men. In this state it had of course easily fallen into
the hands of the enemies. But they had not yet had time to man it with a
much superior force, and Admiral Rooks once defeated, it must have
surrendered to us.
The Comte de Toulouse urged his advice with all the energy of which he
was capable, and he was supported in opinion by others of more experience
than himself. But D'O, the mentor of the fleet, against whose counsel he
had been expressly ordered by the King never to act, opposed the project
of another attack with such disdainful determination, that the Comte had
no course open but to give way. The annoyance which this caused
throughout the fleet was very great. It soon was known what would have
become of the enemy's fleet had it been attacked, and that Gibraltar
would have been found in exactly the same state as when abandoned. The
Comte de Toulouse acquired great honour in this campaign, and his stupid
teacher lost little, because he had little to lose.
M. de Mantua having surrendered his state to the King, thereby rendering
us a most important service in Italy, found himself ill at ease in his
territory, which had become the theatre of war, and had come incognito to
Paris. He had apartments provided for him in the Luxembourg, furnished
magnificently with the Crown furniture, and was very graciously received
by the King. The principal object of his journey was to marry some
French lady; and as he made no secret of this intention, more than one
plot was laid in order to provide him with a wife. M. de Vaudemont,
intent upon aggrandizing the house of Lorraine, wished. M de Mantua to
marry a member of that family, and fixed upon Mademoiselle d'Elboeuf for
his bride. The Lorraines did all in their power to induce M. de Mantua
to accept her. But M. le Prince had also his designs in this matter. He
had a daughter; whom he knew not how to get off his hands, and he thought
that in more ways than one it would be to his advantage to marry her to
the Duke of Mantua. He explained his views to the King, who gave him
permission to follow them out, and promised to serve him with all his
protection. But when the subject was broached to M. de Mantua, he
declined this match in such a respectful, yet firm, manner that M. le
Prince felt he must abandon all hope of carrying it out. The Lorraines
were not more successful in their designs. When M. de Vaudemont had
first spoken of Mademoiselle d'Elboeuf, M. de Mantua had appeared to
listen favourably. This was in Italy. Now that he was in Paris he acted
very differently. It was in vain that Mademoiselle d'Elboeuf was thrust
in his way, as though by chance, at the promenades, in the churches; her
beauty, which might have touched many others, made no impression upon
him. The fact was that M. de Mantua, even long before leaving his state,
had fixed upon a wife.
Supping one evening with the Duc de Lesdiguieres, a little before the
death of the latter, he saw a ring with a portrait in it; upon the Duke's
finger. He begged to be allowed to look at the portrait, was charmed
with it, and said he should be very happy to have such a beautiful
mistress. The Duke at this burst out laughing, and said it was the
portrait of his wife. As soon as the Duc de Lesdiguieres was dead,
de Mantua thought only of marrying the young widowed Duchess. He sought
her everywhere when he arrived in Paris, but without being able to find
her; because she was in the first year of her widowhood. He therefore
unbosomed himself to Torcy, who reported the matter to the King. The
King approved of the design of M. de Mantua, and charged the Marechal de
Duras to speak to the Duchesse de Lesdiguieres, who was his daughter.
The Duchess was equally surprised and afflicted when she learned what was
in progress. She testified to her father her repugnance to abandon
herself to the caprices and the jealousy of an old Italian 'debauche' the
horror she felt at the idea of being left alone with him in Italy; and
the reasonable fear she had of her health, with a man whose own could not
be good.
I was promptly made acquainted with this affair; for Madame de
Lesdiguieres and Madame de Saint-Simon were on the most intimate terms.
I did everything in my power to persuade Madame de Lesdirguieres to
content to the match, insisting at once on her family position, on the
reason of state, and on the pleasure of ousting Madame d'Elboeuf,--but it
was all in vain. I never saw such firmness. Pontchartrain, who came and
reasoned with her, was even less successful than I, for he excited her by
threats and menaces. M. le Prince himself supported us--having no longer
any hope for himself, and fearing, above all things, M. de Mantua's
marriage with a Lorraine--and did all he could to persuade Madame de
Lesdiguieres to give in. I renewed my efforts in the same direction, but
with no better success than before. Nevertheless, M. de Mantua,
irritated by not being able to see Madame de Lesdirguieres, resolved to
go and wait for her on a Sunday at the Minimes. He found her shut up in
a chapel, and drew near the door in order to see her as she went out. He
was not much gratified; her thick crape veil was lowered; it was with
difficulty he could get a glance at her. Resolved to succeed, he spoke
to Torcy, intimating that Madame de Lesdiguieres ought not to refuse such
a slight favour as to allow herself to be seen in a church. Torcy
communicated this to the King, who sent word to Madame de Lesdiguieres
that she must consent to the favour M. de Mantua demanded. She could not
refuse after this. M. de Mantua went accordingly, and waited for her in
the same place, where he had once already so badly seen her. He found
her, in the chapel, and drew near the door, as before. She came out, her
veil raised, passed lightly before him, made him a sliding courtesy as
she glided by, in reply to his bow, and reached her coach.
M. de Mantua was charmed; he redoubled his efforts with the King and M.
de Duras; the matter was discussed in full council, like an affair of
state--indeed it was one; and it was resolved to amuse M. de Mantua, and
yet at the same time to do everything to vanquish this resistance of
Madame de Lesdiguieres, except employing the full authority of the King,
which the King himself did not wish to exert. Everything was promised to
her on the part of the King: that it should be his Majesty who would make
the stipulations of the marriage contract; that it should be his Majesty
who would give her a dowry, and would guarantee her return to France if
she became a widow, and assure her his protection while she remained a
wife; in one word, everything was tried, and in the gentlest and most
honourable manner, to persuade her. Her mother lent us her house one
afternoon, in order that we might speak more at length and more at our
ease there to Madame de Lesdiguieres than we could at the Hotel de Duras.
We only gained a torrent of tears for our pains.
A few days after this, I was very much astonished to hear Chamillart
relate to me all that had passed at this interview. I learnt afterwards
that Madame de Lesdiguieres, fearing that if, entirely unsupported, she
persisted in her refusal, it might draw upon her the anger of the King,
had begged Chamillart to implore his Majesty not to insist upon this
marriage. M. de Mantua hearing this, turned his thoughts elsewhere; and
she was at last delivered of a pursuit which had become a painful
persecution to her. Chamillart served her so well that the affair came
to an end; and the King, flattered perhaps by the desire this young
Duchess showed to remain his subject instead of becoming a sovereign,
passed a eulogium upon her the same evening in his cabinet to his family
and to the Princesses, by whom it was spread abroad through society.
I may as well finish this matter at once. The Lorraines, who had watched
very closely the affair up to this point, took hope again directly they
heard of the resolution M. de Mantua had formed to abandon his pursuit of
Madame de Lesdiguieres. They, in their turn, were closely watched by
M. le Prince, who so excited the King against them, that Madame d'Elboeuf
received orders from him not to continue pressing her suit upon M. de
Mantua. That did not stop them. They felt that the King would not
interfere with them by an express prohibition, and sure, by past
experience, of being on better terms with him afterwards than before,
they pursued their object with obstinacy. By dint of much plotting and
scheming, and by the aid of their creatures, they contrived to overcome
the repugnance of M. de Mantua to Mademoiselle d'Elboeuf, which at bottom
could be only caprice--her beauty, her figure, and her birth taken into
account. But Mademoiselle d'Elboeuf, in her turn, was as opposed to
marriage with M. de Mantua as Madame de Lesdiguieres had been. She was,
however, brought round ere long, and then the consent of the King was the
only thing left to be obtained. The Lorraines made use of their usual
suppleness in order to gain that. They represented the impolicy of
interfering with the selection of a sovereign who was the ally of France,
and who wished to select a wife from among her subjects, and succeeded so
well, that the King determined to become neutral; that is to say, neither
to prohibit nor to sanction this match. M. le Prince was instrumental in
inducing the King to take this neutral position; and he furthermore
caused the stipulation to be made, that it should not be celebrated in
France, but at Mantua.
After parting with the King, M. de Mantua, on the 21st of September, went
to Nemours, slept there, and then set out for Italy. At the same time
Madame and Mademoiselle d'Elboeuf, with Madame de Pompadour, sister of
the former, passed through Fontainebleau without going to see a soul, and
followed their prey lest he should change his mind and escape them until
the road he was to take branched off from that they were to go by; he in
fact intending to travel by sea and they by land. On the way their fears
redoubled. Arrived at Nevers, and lodged in a hostelrie, they thought it
would not be well to commit themselves further without more certain
security: Madame de Pompadour therefore proposed to M. de Mantua not to
delay his happiness any longer, but to celebrate his marriage at once.
He defended himself as well as he could, but was at last obliged to give
in. During this indecent dispute, the Bishop was sent to. He had just
died, and the Grand Vicar, not knowing what might be the wishes of the
King upon this marriage, refused to celebrate it. The chaplain was
therefore appealed to, and he at once married Mademoiselle d'Elboeuf to
M. de Mantua in the hotel. As soon as the ceremony was over, Madame
d'Elboeuf wished to leave her daughter alone with M. de Mantua, and
although he strongly objected to this, everybody quitted the room,
leaving only the newly married couple there, and Madame de Pompadour
outside upon the step listening to what passed between them. But finding
after a while that both were very much embarrassed, and that M. de Mantua
did little but cry out for the company to return, she conferred with her
sister, and they agreed to give him his liberty. Immediately he had
obtained it, he mounted his horse, though it was not early, and did not
see them again until they reached Italy--though all went the same road as
far as Lyons. The news of this strange celebration of marriage was soon
spread abroad with all the ridicule which attached to it.
The King was very much annoyed when he learnt that his orders had been
thus disobeyed. The Lorraines plastered over the affair by representing
that they feared an affront from M. de Mantua, and indeed it did not seem
at all unlikely that M. de Mantua, forced as it were into compliance with
their wishes, might have liked nothing better than to reach Italy and
then laugh at them. Meanwhile, Madame d'Elboeuf and her daughter
embarked on board the royal galleys and started for Italy. On the way
they were fiercely chased by some African corsairs, and it is a great
pity they were not taken to finish the romance.
However, upon arriving in Italy, the marriage was again celebrated, this
time with all the forms necessary for the occasion. But Madame d'Elboeuf
had no cause to rejoice that she had succeeded in thus disposing of her
daughter. The new Duchesse de Mantua was guarded by her husband with the
utmost jealousy. She was not allowed to see anybody except her mother,
and that only for an hour each day. Her women entered her apartment only
to dress and undress her. The Duke walled up very high all the windows
of his house, and caused his wife to, be guarded by old women. She
passed her days thus in a cruel prison. This treatment, which I did not
expect, and the little consideration, not to say contempt, shown here for
M. de Mantua since his departure, consoled me much for the invincible
obstinacy of Madame de Lesdiguieres. Six months after, Madame d'Elboeuf
returned, beside herself with vexation, but too vain to show it. She
disguised the misfortune of her daughter, and appeared to be offended if
it was spoken of; but all our letters from the army showed that the news
was true. The strangest thing of all is, that the Lorraines after this
journey were as well treated by the King as if they had never undertaken
it; a fact which shows their art and ascendency.
I have dwelt too long perhaps upon this matter. It appeared to me to
merit attention by its singularity, and still more so because it is by
facts of this sort that is shown what was the composition of the Court of
the King.
About this time the Comtesse d'Auvergne finished a short life by an
illness very strange and uncommon. When she married the Comte d'Auvergne
she was a Huguenot, and he much wanted to make her turn Catholic.
A famous advocate of that time, who was named Chardon, had been a
Huguenot, and his wife also; they had made a semblance, however, of
abjuring, but made no open profession of Catholicism. Chardon was
sustained by his great reputation, and by the number of protectors he had
made for himself.
One morning he and his wife were in their coach before the Hotel-Dieu,
waiting for a reply that their lackey was a very long time in bringing
them. Madame Chardon glanced by chance upon the grand portal of Notre
Dame, and little by little fell into a profound reverie, which might be
better called reflection. Her husband, who at last perceived this, asked
her what had sent her into such deep thought, and pushed her elbow even
to draw a reply from her. She told him then what she was thinking about.
Pointing to Notre Dame, she said that it was many centuries before Luther
and Calvin that those images of saints had been sculptured over that
portal; that this proved that saints had long since been invoked; the
opposition of the reformers to this ancient opinion was a novelty; that
this novelty rendered suspicious other dogmas against the antiquity of
Catholicism that they taught; that these reflections, which she had never
before made, gave her much disquietude, and made her form the resolution
to seek to enlighten herself.
Chardon thought his wife right, and from that day they laid themselves
out to seek the truth, then to consult, then to be instructed. This
lasted a year, and then they made a new abjuration, and both ever
afterwards passed their lives in zeal and good works. Madame Chardon
converted many Huguenots. The Comte d'Auvergne took his wife to her.
The Countess was converted by her, and became a very good Catholic. When
she died she was extremely regretted by all the relatives of her husband,
although at first they had looked upon her coldly.
In the month of this September, a strange attempt at assassination
occurred. Vervins had been forced into many suits against his relatives,
and was upon the point of gaining them all, when one of his cousins-
german, who called himself the Abbe de Pre, caused him to be attacked as
he passed in his coach along the Quai de la Tournelle, before the
community of Madame de Miramion. Vervins was wounded with several sword
cuts, and also his coachman, who wished to defend him. In consequence of
the complaint Vervins made, the Abbe escaped abroad, whence he never
returned, and soon after, his crime being proved, was condemned to be
broken alive on the wheel. Vervins had long been menaced with an attack
by the Abbe. Vervins was an agreeable, well-made man, but very idle.
He had entered the army; but quitted it soon, and retired to his estates
in Picardy. There he shut himself up without any cause of disgust or of
displeasure, without being in any embarrassment, for on the contrary he
was well to do, and all his affairs were in good order, and he never
married; without motives of piety, for piety was not at all in his vein;
without being in bad health, for his health was always perfect; without a
taste for improvement, for no workmen were ever seen in his house; still
less on account of the chase, for he never went to it. Yet he stayed in
his house for several years, without intercourse with a soul, and, what
is most incomprehensible, without budging from his bed, except to allow
it to be made. He dined there, and often all alone; he transacted what
little business he had to do there, and received while there the few
people he could not refuse admission to; and each day, from the moment he
opened his eyes until he closed them again, worked at tapestry, or read a
little; he persevered until his death in this strange fashion of
existence; so uniquely singular, that I have wished to describe it.