At the beginning of October, news reached the Court, which was at
Fontainebleau, that M. de Duras was at the point of death. Upon hearing
this, Madame de Saint-Simon and Madame de Lauzun, who were both related
to M. Duras, wished to absent themselves from the Court performances that
were to take place in the palace that evening. They expressed this wish
to Madame de Bourgogne, who approved of it, but said she was afraid the
King would not do the same. He had been very angry lately because the
ladies had neglected to go full dressed to the Court performances. A few
words he had spoken made everybody take good care not to rouse his anger
on this point again. He expected so much accordingly from everybody who
attended the Court, that Madame de Bourgogne was afraid he would not
consent to dispense with the attendance of Madame de Saint-Simon and
Madame de Lauzun on this occasion. They compromised the matter,
therefore, by dressing themselves, going to the room where the
performance was held, and, under pretext of not finding places, going
away; Madame de Bourgogne agreeing to explain their absence in this way
to the King. I notice this very insignificant bagatelle to show how the
King thought only of himself, and how much he wished to be obeyed; and
that that which would not have been pardoned to the nieces of a dying
man, except at the Court, was a duty there, and one which it needed great
address to escape from, without seriously infringing the etiquette
established.
After the return of the Court from Fontainebleau this year, Puysieux came
back from Switzerland, having been sent there as ambassador. Puysieux
was a little fat man, very agreeable, pleasant, and witty, one of the
best fellows in the world, in fact. As he had much wit, and thoroughly
knew the King, he bethought himself of making the best of his position;
and as his Majesty testified much friendship for him on his return, and
declared himself satisfied with his mission in Switzerland, Puysieux
asked if what he heard was not mere compliment, and whether he could
count upon it. As the King assured him that he might do so, Puysieux
assumed a brisk air, and said that he was not so sure of that, and that
he was not pleased with his Majesty.
"And why not?" said the King.
"Why not?" replied Puysieux; "why, because although the most honest man
in your realm, you have not kept to a promise you made me more than fifty
years ago."
"What promise?" asked the King.
"What promise, Sire?" said Puysieux; "you have a good memory, you cannot
have forgotten it. Does not your Majesty remember that one day, having
the honour to play at blindman's buff with you at my grandmother's, you
put your cordon bleu on my back, the better to hide yourself; and that
when, after the game, I restored it to you, you promised to give it me
when you became master; you have long been so, thoroughly master, and
nevertheless that cordon bleu is still to come."
The King, who recollected the circumstance, here burst out laughing, and
told Puysieux he was in the right, and that a chapter should be held on
the first day of the new year expressly for the purpose of receiving him
into the order. And so in fact it was, and Puysieux received the cordon
bleu on the day the King had named. This fact is not important, but it
is amusing. It is altogether singular in connection with a prince as
serious and as imposing as Louis XIV.; and it is one of those little
Court anecdotes which are curious.
Here is another more important fact, the consequences of which are still
felt by the State. Pontchartrain, Secretary of State for the Navy, was
the plague of it, as of all those who were under his cruel dependence.
He was a man who, with some-amount of ability, was disagreeable and
pedantic to an excess; who loved evil for its own sake; who was jealous
even of his father; who was a cruel tyrant towards his wife, a woman all
docility and goodness; who was in one word a monster, whom the King kept
in office only because he feared him. An admiral was the abhorrence of
Pontchartrain, and an admiral who was an illegitimate son of the King,
he loathed. There was nothing, therefore, that he had not done during
the war to thwart the Comte de Toulouse; he laid some obstacles
everywhere in his path; he had tried to keep him out of the command of
the fleet, and failing this, had done everything to render the fleet
useless.
These were bold strokes against a person the King so much loved, but
Pontchartrain knew the weak side of the King; he knew how to balance the,
father against the master, to bring forward the admiral and set aside the
son. In this manner the Secretary of State was able to put obstacles in
the way of the Comte de Toulouse that threw him almost into despair, and
the Count could do little to defend himself. It was a well-known fact at
sea and in the ports where the ships touched, and it angered all the
fleet. Pontchartrain accordingly was abhorred there, while the Comte de
Toulouse, by his amiability and other good qualities, was adored.
At last, the annoyance he caused became so unendurable, that the Comte de
Toulouse, at the end of his cruise in the Mediterranean, returned to
Court and determined to expose the doings of Pontchartrain to the King.
The very day he had made up his mind to do this, and just before he
intended to have his interview with the King, Madame Pontchartrain,
casting aside her natural timidity and modesty, came to him, and with
tears in her eyes begged him not to bring about the ruin of her husband.
The Comte de Toulouse was softened. He admitted afterwards that he could
not resist the sweetness and sorrow of Madame de Pontchartrain, and that
all his resolutions, his weapons, fell from his hands at the thought of
the sorrow which the poor woman would undergo, after the fall of her
brutal husband, left entirely in the hands of such a furious Cyclops.
In this manner Pontchartrain was saved, but it cost dear to the State.
The fear he was in of succumbing under the glory or under the vengeance
of an admiral who was son of the King determined him to ruin the fleet
itself, so as to render it incapable of receiving the admiral again.
He determined to do this, and kept to his word, as was afterwards only
too clearly verified by the facts. The Comte de Toulouse saw no more
either ports or vessels, and from that time only very feeble squadrons
went out, and even those very seldom. Pontchartrain, had the impudence
to boast of this before my face.
When I last spoke of Madame des Ursins, I described her as living in the
midst of the Court, flattered and caressed by all, and on the highest
terms of favour with the King and Madame de Maintenon. She found her
position, indeed, so far above her hopes, that she began to waver in her
intention of returning to Spain. The age and the health of Madame de
Maintenon tempted her. She would have preferred to govern here rather
than in Spain. Flattered by the attentions paid her, she thought those
attentions, or, I may say, rather those servile adorations, would
continue for ever, and that in time she might arrive at the highest point
of power. The Archbishop of Aix and her brother divined her thoughts,
for she did not dare to avow them, and showed her in the clearest way
that those thoughts were calculated to lead her astray. They explained
to her that the only interest Madame de Maintenon had in favouring her
was on account of Spain. Madame des Ursins--once back in that country,
Madame de Maintenon looked forward to a recommencement of those relations
which had formerly existed between them, by which the government of Spain
in appearance, if not in reality, passed through her hands. They
therefore advised Madame des Ursins on no account to think of remaining
in France, at the same time suggesting that it would not be amiss to stop
there long enough to cause some inquietude to Madame de Maintenon, so as
to gain as much advantage as possible from it.
The solidity of these reasons persuaded Madame des Ursins to follow the
advice given her. She resolved to depart, but not until after a delay by
which she meant to profit to the utmost. We shall soon see what success
attended her schemes. The terms upon which I stood with her enabled me
to have knowledge of all the sentiments that had passed through her mind:
her extreme desire, upon arriving in Paris, to return to Spain; the
intoxication which seized her in consequence of the treatment she
received, and which made her balance this desire; and her final
resolution. It was not until afterwards, however, that I learnt all the
details I have just related.
It was not long before Madame de Maintenon began to feel impatient at the
long-delayed departure of Madame des Ursins. She spoke at last upon the
subject, and pressed Madame des Ursins to set out for Spain. This was
just what the other wanted. She said that as she had been driven out of
Spain like a criminal, she must go back with honour, if Madame de
Maintenon wished her to gain the confidence and esteem of the Spaniards.
That although she had been treated by the King with every consideration
and goodness, many people in Spain were, and would be, ignorant of it,
and that, therefore, her return to favour ought to be made known in as
public and convincing a manner as was her disgrace. This was said with
all that eloquence and persuasiveness for which Madame des Ursins was
remarkable. The effect of it exceeded her hopes.
The favours she obtained were prodigious. Twenty thousand livres by way
of annual pension, and thirty thousand for her journey. One of her
brothers, M. de Noirmoutiers, blind since the age of eighteen or twenty,
was made hereditary duke; another, the Abbe de la Tremoille, of exceeding
bad life, and much despised in Rome, where he lived, was made cardinal.
What a success was this! How many obstacles had to be overcome in order
to attain it! Yet this was what Madame des Ursins obtained, so anxious
was Madame de Maintenon to get rid of her and to send her to reign in
Spain, that she might reign there herself. Pleased and loaded with
favour as never subject was before, Madame des Ursins set out towards the
middle of July, and was nearly a month on the road. It may be imagined
what sort of a reception awaited her in Spain. The King and the Queen
went a day's journey out of Madrid to meet her. Here, then, we see again
at the height of power this woman, whose fall the King but a short time
since had so ardently desired, and whose separation from the King and
Queen of Spain he had applauded himself for bringing about with so much
tact. What a change in a few months!
The war continued this year, but without bringing any great success to
our arms. Villars, at Circk, outmanoeuvred Marlborough in a manner that
would have done credit to the greatest general. Marlborough, compelled
to change the plan of campaign he had determined on, returned into
Flanders, where the Marechal de Villeroy was stationed with his forces.
Nothing of importance occurred during the campaign, and the two armies
went into winter quarters at the end of October.
I cannot quit Flanders without relating another instance of the pleasant
malignity of M. de Lauzun. In marrying a daughter of the Marechal de
Lorges, he had hoped, as I have already said, to return into the
confidence of the King by means of the Marechal, and so be again
entrusted with military command. Finding these hopes frustrated, he
thought of another means of reinstating himself in favour. He determined
to go to the waters of Aix-la-Chapelle, not, as may be believed, for his
health, but in order to ingratiate himself with the important foreigners
whom he thought to find there, learn some of the enemy's plans, and come
back with an account of them to the King, who would, no doubt, reward him
for his zeal. But he was deceived in his calculation. Aix-la-Chapelle,
generally so full of foreigners of rank, was this year, owing to the war,
almost empty. M. de Lauzun found, therefore, nobody of consequence from
whom he could obtain any useful information. Before his return, he
visited the Marechal de Villeroy, who received him with all military
honours, and conducted him all over the army, pointing out to him the
enemy's post; for the two armies were then quite close to each other.
His extreme anxiety, however, to get information, and the multitude of
his questions, irritated the officers who were ordered to do the honours
to him; and, in going about, they actually, at their own risk, exposed
him often to be shot or taken. They did not know that his courage was
extreme; and were quite taken aback by his calmness, and, his evident
readiness to push on even farther than they chose to venture.
On returning to Court, M. de Lauzun was of course pressed by everybody to
relate all he knew of the position of the two armies. But he held
himself aloof from all questioners, and would not answer. On the day
after his arrival he went to pay his court to Monseigneur, who did not
like him, but who also was no friend to the Marechal de Villeroy.
Monseigneur put many questions to him upon the situation of the two
armies, and upon the reasons which had prevented them from engaging each
other. M. de Lauzun shirked reply, like a man who wished to be pressed;
did not deny that he had well inspected the position of the two armies,
but instead of answering Monseigneur, dwelt upon the beauty of our
troops, their gaiety at finding themselves so near an enemy, and their
eagerness to fight. Pushed at last to the point at which he wished to
arrive, "I will tell you, Monseigneur," said he, "since you absolutely
command me; I scanned most minutely the front of the two armies to the
right and to the left, and all the ground between them. It is true there
is no brook, and that I saw; neither are there any ravines, nor hollow
roads ascending or descending; but it is true that there were other
hindrances which I particularly remarked."
"But what hindrance could there be," said Monseigneur, "since there was
nothing between the two armies?"
M. de Lauzun allowed himself to be pressed upon this point, constantly
repeating the list of hindrances that did not exist, but keeping silent
upon the others. At last, driven into a corner, he took his snuff-box
from his pocket.
"You see," said he, to Monseigneur, "there is one thing which much
embarrasses the feet, the furze that grows upon the ground, where M. le
Marechal de Villeroy is encamped. The furze, it is true, is not mixed
with any other plant, either hard or thorny; but it is a high furze, as
high, as high, let me see, what shall I say?"--and he looked all around
to find some object of comparison--"as high, I assure you, as this
snuffbox!"
Monseigneur burst out laughing at this sally, and all the company
followed his example, in the midst of which M. de Lauzun turned on his
heel and left the room. His joke soon spread all over the Court and the
town, and in the evening was told to the King. This was all the thanks
M. de Villeroy obtained from M. de Lauzun for the honours he had paid
him; and this was M. de Lauzun's consolation for his ill-success at Aix-
la-Chapelle.
In Italy our armies were not more successful than elsewhere. From time
to time, M. de Vendome attacked some unimportant post, and, having
carried it, despatched couriers to the King, magnifying the importance
of the exploit. But the fact was, all these successes led to nothing.
On one occasion, at Cassano, M. de Vendome was so vigorously attacked by
Prince Louis of Baden that, in spite of his contempt and his audacity,
he gave himself up for lost. When danger was most imminent, instead of
remaining at his post, he retired from the field of battle to a distant
country-house, and began to consider how a retreat might be managed.
The Grand Prieur, his brother, was in command under him, and was ordered
to remain upon the field; but he was more intent upon saving his skin
than on obeying orders, and so, at the very outset of the fight, ran away
to a country-house hard by. M. de Vendome strangely enough had sat down
to eat at the country-house whither he had retired, and was in the midst
of his meal when news was brought him that, owing to the prodigies
performed by one of his officers, Le Guerchois, the fortunes of the day
had changed, and Prince Louis of Baden was retiring. M. Vendome had
great difficulty to believe this, but ordered his horse, mounted, and,
pushing on, concluded the combat gloriously. He did not fail, of course,
to claim all the honours of this victory, which in reality was a barren
one; and sent word of his triumph to the King. He dared to say that the
loss of the enemy was more than thirteen thousand; and our loss less than
three thousand--whereas, the loss was at least equal. This exploit,
nevertheless, resounded at the Court and through the town as an advantage
the most complete and the most decisive, and due entirely to the
vigilance, valour, and capacity of Vendome. Not a word was said of his
country-house, or the interrupted meal. These facts were only known
after the return of the general officers. As for the Grand Prieur, his
poltroonery had been so public, his flight so disgraceful--for he had
taken troops with him to protect the country-house in which he sought
shelter--that he could not be pardoned. The two brothers quarrelled upon
these points, and in the end the Grand Prieur was obliged to give up his
command. He retired to his house at Clichy, near Paris; but, tiring of
that place, he went to Rome, made the acquaintance there of the Marquise
de Richelieu, a wanderer like himself, and passed some time with her at
Genoa. Leaving that city, he went to Chalons-sur-Saone, which had been
fixed upon as the place of his a exile, and there gave himself up to the
debaucheries in which he usually lived. From this time until the Regency
we shall see nothing more of him. I shall only add, therefore, that he
never went sober to bed during thirty years, but was always carried
thither dead drunk: was a liar, swindler, and thief; a rogue to the
marrow of his bones, rotted with vile diseases; the most contemptible and
yet most dangerous fellow in the world.
One day-I am speaking of a time many years previous to the date of the
occurrences just related-one day there was a great hunting party at Saint
Germain. The chase was pursued so long, that the King gave up, and
returned to Saint Germain. A number of courtiers, among whom was M. de
Lauzun, who related this story to me, continued their sport; and just as
darkness was coming on, discovered that they had lost their way. After a
time, they espied a light, by which they guided their steps, and at
length reached the door of a kind of castle. They knocked, they called
aloud, they named themselves, and asked for hospitality. It was then
between ten and eleven at night, and towards the end of autumn. The door
was opened to them. The master of the house came forth. He made them
take their boots off, and warm themselves; he put their horses into his
stables; and at the same time had a supper prepared for his guests, who
stood much in need of it. They did not wait long for the meal; yet when
served it proved excellent; the wines served with it, too, were of
several kinds, and excellent likewise: as for the master of the house, he
was so polite and respectful, yet without being ceremonious or eager,
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