Chateauneuf, Secretary of State, died about this time. He had asked that
his son, La Vrilliere, might be allowed to succeed him, and was much
vexed that the King refused this favour. The news of Chateauneuf's death
was brought to La Vrilliere by a courier, at five o'clock in the morning.
He did not lose his wits at the news, but at once sent and woke up the
Princesse d'Harcourt, and begged her to come and see him instantly.
Opening his purse, he prayed her to go and see Madame de Maintenon as
soon as she got up, and propose his marriage with Mademoiselle de Mailly,
whom he would take without dowry, if the King gave him his father's
appointments. The Princesse d'Harcourt, whose habit it was to accept any
sum, from a crown upwards, willingly undertook this strange business.
She went upon her errand immediately, and then repaired to Madame de
Mailly, who without property, and burdened with a troop of children--sons
and daughters, was in no way averse to the marriage.
The King, upon getting up, was duly made acquainted with La Vrilliere's
proposal, and at once agreed to it. There was only one person opposed to
the marriage, and that was Mademoiselle de Mailly. She was not quite
twelve years of age. She burst out a-crying, and declared she was very
unhappy, that she would not mind marrying a poor man, if necessary,
provided he was a gentleman, but that to marry a paltry bourgeois, in
order to make his fortune, was odious to her. She was furious against
her mother and against Madame de Maintenon. She could not be kept quiet
or appeased, or hindered from making grimaces at La Vrilliere and all his
family, who came to see her and her mother.
They felt it; but the bargain was made, and was too good to be broken.
They thought Mademoiselle de Mailly's annoyance would pass with her
youth--but they were mistaken. Mademoiselle de Mailly always was sore at
having been made Madame de la Vrilliere, and people often observed it.
At the marriage of Monseigneur the Duc de Bourgogne, the King had offered
to augment considerably his monthly income. The young Prince, who found
it sufficient, replied with thanks, and said that if money failed him at
any time he would take the liberty, of asking the King for more. Finding
himself short just now, he was as good as his word. The King praised him
highly, and told him to ask whenever he wanted money, not through a third
person, but direct, as he had done in this instance. The King, moreover,
told the Duc de Bourgogne to play without fear, for it was of no
consequence how much such persons as he might lose. The King was pleased
with confidence, but liked not less to see himself feared; and when timid
people who spoke to him discovered themselves, and grew embarrassed in
their discourse, nothing better made their court, or advanced their
interests.
The Archbishop of Rheims presided this year over the assembly of the
clergy, which was held every five years. It took place on this occasion
at Saint Germains, although the King of England occupied the chateau. M.
de Rheims kept open table there, and had some champagne that was much
vaunted. The King of England, who drank scarcely any other wine, heard
of this and asked for some. The Archbishop sent him six bottles. Some
time after, the King of England, who had much relished the wine, sent and
asked for more. The Archbishop, more sparing of his wine than of his
money, bluntly sent word that his wine was not mad, and did not run
through the streets; and sent none. However accustomed people might be
to the rudeness of the Archbishop, this appeared so strange that it was
much spoken of: but that was all.
M. de Vendome took another public leave of the King, the Princes, and the
Princesses, in order to place himself again under the doctor's hands.
He perceived at last that he was not cured, and that it would be long
before he was; so went to Anet to try and recover his health, but without
success better than before. He brought back a face upon which his state
was still more plainly printed than at first. Madame d'Uzes, only
daughter of the Prince de Monaco, died of this disease. She was a woman
of merit--very virtuous and unhappy--who merited a better fate.
M. d'Uzes was an obscure man, who frequented the lowest society, and
suffered less from its effects than his wife, who was much pitied and
regretted. Her children perished of the same disease, and she left none
behind her.--[Syphilis. D.W.]
Soon after this the King ordered the Comtes d'Uzes and d'Albert to go to
the Conciergerie for having fought a duel against the Comtes de Rontzau,
a Dane, and Schwartzenberg, an Austrian. Uzes gave himself up, but the
Comte d'Albert did not do so for a long Time, and was broken for his
disobedience. He had been on more than good terms with Madame de
Luxembourg--the Comte de Rontzau also: hence the quarrel; the cause of
which was known by everybody, and made a great stir. Everybody knew it,
at least, except M. de Luxembourg, and said nothing, but was glad of it;
and yet in every direction he asked the reason; but, as may be imagined,
could find nobody to tell him, so that he went over and over again to M.
le Prince de Conti, his most intimate friend, praying him for information
upon the subject. M. de Conti related to me that on one occasion, coming
from Meudon, he was so solicited by M. de Luxembourg on this account,
that he was completely embarrassed, and never suffered to such an extent
in all his life. He contrived to put off M. de Luxembourg, and said
nothing, but was glad indeed to get away from him at the end of the
journey.
Le Notre died about this time, after having been eighty-eight years in
perfect health, and with all his faculties and good taste to the very
last. He was illustrious, as having been the first designer of those
beautiful gardens which adorn France, and which, indeed, have so
surpassed the gardens of Italy, that the most famous masters of that
country come here to admire and learn. Le Notre had a probity, an
exactitude, and an uprightness which made him esteemed and loved by
everybody. He never forgot his position, and was always perfectly
disinterested. He worked for private people as for the King, and with
the same application--seeking only to aid nature, and to attain the
beautiful by the shortest road. He was of a charming simplicity and
truthfulness. The Pope, upon one occasion, begged the King to lend him
Le Notre for some months. On entering the Pope's chamber, instead of
going down upon his knees, Le Notre ran to the Holy Father, clasped him
round the neck, kissed him on the two cheeks, and said--"Good morning,
Reverend Father; how well you look, and how glad I am to see you in such
good health."
The Pope, who was Clement X., Altieri, burst out laughing with all his
might. He was delighted with this odd salutation, and showed his
friendship towards the gardener in a thousand ways. Upon Le Notre's
return, the King led him into the gardens of Versailles, and showed him
what had been done in his absence. About the Colonnade he said nothing.
The King pressed him to give his opinion thereupon.
"Why, sire," said Le Notre, "what can I say? Of a mason you have made a
gardener, and he has given you a sample of his trade."
The King kept silence and everybody laughed; and it was true that this
morsel of architecture, which was anything but a fountain, and yet which
was intended to be one, was much out of place in a garden. A month
before Le Notre's death, the King, who liked to see him and to make him
talk, led him into the gardens, and on account of his great age, placed
him in a wheeled chair, by the side of his own. Upon this Le Notre said,
"Ah, my poor father, if you were living and could see a simple gardener
like me, your son, wheeled along in a chair by the side of the greatest
King in the world, nothing would be wanting to my joy!"
Le Notre was Overseer of the Public Buildings, and lodged at the
Tuileries, the garden of which (his design), together with the Palace,
being under his charge. All that he did is still much superior to
everything that has been done since, whatever care may have been taken to
imitate and follow him as closely as possible. He used to say of flower-
beds that they were only good for nurses, who, not being able to quit the
children, walked on them with their eyes, and admired them from the
second floor. He excelled, nevertheless, in flowerbeds, as in everything
concerning gardens; but he made little account of them, and he was right,
for they are the spots upon which people never walk.
The King of England (William III.) lost the Duke of Gloucester, heir-
presumptive to the crown. He was eleven years of age, and was the only
son of the Princess of Denmark, sister of the defunct Queen Mary, wife of
William. His preceptor was Doctor Burnet, Bishop of Salisbury, who was
in the secret of the invasion, and who passed into England with the
Prince of Orange at the Revolution, of which Revolution he has left a
very fraudulent history, and many other works of as little truth and good
faith. The underpreceptor was the famous Vassor, author of the "History
of Louis XIII.," which would be read with more pleasure if there were
less spite against the Catholic religion, and less passion against the
King. With those exceptions it is excellent and true. Vassor must have
been singularly well informed of the anecdotes that he relates, and which
escape almost all historians. I have found there, for instance, the Day
of the Dupes related precisely as my father has related it to me, and
several other curious things not less exact. This author has made such a
stir that it is worth while to say something about him. He was a priest
of the Oratory, and in much estimation as a man whose manners were
without reproach. After a time, however, he was found to have disclosed
a secret that had been entrusted to him, and to have acted the spy on
behalf of the Jesuits. The proofs of his treason were found upon his
table, and were so conclusive that there was nothing for him but to leave
the Oratory. He did so, and being deserted by his Jesuit employers,
threw himself into La Trappe. But he did not enter the place in a proper
spirit, and in a few days withdrew. After this he went to the Abbey of
Perseigne, hired a lodging there, and remained several months. But he
was continually at loggerheads with the monks. Their garden was separate
from his only by a thick hedge; their fowls could jump over it. He laid
the blame upon the monks, and one day caught as many of their fowls as he
could; cut off their beaks and their spurs with a cleaver, and threw them
back again over the hedge. This was cruelty so marked that I could not
refrain from relating it.
Vassor did not long remain in this retreat, but returned to Paris, and
still being unable to gain a living, passed into Holland, from rage and
hunger became a Protestant, and set himself to work to live by his pen.
His knowledge, talent, and intelligence procured him many friends, and
his reputation reached England, into which country he passed, hoping to
gain there more fortune than in Holland. Burnet received him with open
arms, and obtained for him the post of under-preceptor to the Duke of
Gloucester. It would have been difficult to have found two instructors
so opposed to the Catholics and to France, or so well suited to the King
as teachers of his successor.
Among so many things which paved the way for the greatest events, a very
strange one happened, which from its singularity merits a short recital.
For many years the Comtesse de Verrue lived at Turin, mistress, publicly,
of M. de Savoie. The Comtesse de Verrue was daughter of the Duc de
Luynes, and had been married in Piedmont, when she was only fourteen
years of age, to the Comte de Verrue, young, handsome, rich, and honest;
whose mother was lady of honour to Madame de Savoie.
M. de Savoie often met the Comtesse de Verrue, and soon found her much to
his taste. She saw this, and said so to her husband and her mother-in-
law. They praised her, but took no further notice of the matter. M. de
Savoie redoubled his attentions, and, contrary to his usual custom, gave
fetes, which the Comtesse de Verrue felt were for her. She did all she
could not to attend them, but her mother-in-law quarrelled with her, said
she wished to play the important, and that it was her vanity which gave
her these ideas. Her husband, more gentle, desired her to attend these
fetes, saying that even if M. de Savoie were really in love with her, it
would not do to fail in anything towards him. Soon after M. de Savoie
spoke to the Comtesse de Verrue. She told her husband and her mother-in-
law, and used every entreaty in order to prevail upon them to let her go
and pass some time in the country. They would not listen to her, and
seeing no other course open, she feigned to be ill, and had herself sent
to the waters of Bourbon. She wrote to her father, the Duc de Luynes, to
meet her there, and set out under the charge of the Abbe de Verrue; uncle
of her husband. As soon as the Duc de Luynes arrived at Bourbon, and
became acquainted with the danger which threatened his daughter; he
conferred with the Abbe as to the best course to adopt, and agreed with
him that the Countess should remain away from Turin some time, in order
that M. de Savoie might get cured of his passion. M. de Luynes little
thought that he had conferred with a wolf who wished to carry off his
lamb. The Abbe de Verrue, it seems, was himself violently in love with
the Countess, and directly her father had gone declared the state of his
heart. Finding himself only repulsed, the miserable old man turned his
love into hate; ill-treated the Countess, and upon her return to Turin,
lost no opportunity of injuring her in the eyes of her husband and her
mother-in-law.
The Comtesse de Verrue suffered this for some time, but at last her
virtue yielded to the bad treatment she received. She listened to M. de
Savoie, and delivered herself up to him in order to free herself from
persecution. Is not this a real romance? But it happened in our own
time, under the eyes and to the knowledge of everybody.
When the truth became known, the Verrues were in despair, although they
had only themselves to blame for what had happened. Soon the new
mistress ruled all the Court of Savoy, whose sovereign was at her feet as
before a goddess. She disposed of the favours of her lover, and was
feared and courted by the ministry. Her haughtiness made her hated; she
was poisoned; M. de Savoie gave her a subtle antidote, which fortunately
cured her, and without injury to her beauty. Her reign still lasted.
After a while she had the small-pox. M. de Savoie tended her during this
illness, as though he had been a nurse; and although her face suffered a
little by it, he loved her not the less. But he loved her after his own
fashion. He kept her shut up from view, and at last she grew so tired of
her restraint that she determined to fly. She conferred with her
brother, the Chevalier de Luynes, who served with much distinction in the
navy, and together they arranged the matter.
They seized an opportunity when M. de Savoie had gone on a tour to
Chambery, and departed furtively. Crossing our frontier, they arrived m
Paris, where the Comtesse de Verrue, who had grown very rich, took a
house, and by degrees succeeded in getting people to come and see her,
though, at first, owing to the scandal of her life, this was difficult.
In the end, her opulence gained her a large number of friends, and she
availed herself so well of her opportunities, that she became of much
importance, and influenced strongly the government. But that time goes
beyond my memoirs. She left in Turin a son and a daughter, both
recognised by M. de Savoie, after the manner of our King. He loved
passionately these, illegitimate children, and married the daughter to
the Prince de Carignan.
Mademoiselle de Conde died at Paris on October 24th, after a long
illness, from a disease in the chest, which consumed her less than the
torments she experienced without end from M. le Prince, her father, whose
continual caprices were the plague of all those over whom he could
exercise them. Almost all the children of M. le Prince were little
bigger than dwarfs, which caused M. le Prince, who was tall, to say in
pleasantry, that if his race went on always thus diminishing it would
come to nothing. People attributed the cause to a dwarf that Madame la
Princesse had had for a long time near her.
At the funeral of Mademoiselle de Conde, a very indecorous incident
happened. My mother, who was invited to take part in the ceremony, went
to the Hotel de Conde, in a coach and six horses, to join Mademoiselle
d'Enghien. When the procession was about to start the Duchesse de
Chatillon tried to take precedence of my mother. But my mother called
upon Mademoiselle d'Enghien to prevent this, or else to allow her to
return. Madame de Chatillon persisted in her attempt, saying that
relationship decided the question of precedence on these occasions, and
that she was a nearer relative to the deceased than my mother. My
mother, in a cold but haughty tone, replied that she could pardon this
mistake on account of the youth and ignorance of Madame de Chatillon; but
that in all such cases it was rank and not relationship which decided the
point. The dispute was at last put to an end by Madame de Chatillon
giving way. But when the procession started an attempt was made by her
coachman to drive before the coach of my mother, and one of the company
had to descend and decide the dispute. On the morrow M. le Prince sent
to apologise to my mother for the occurrence that had taken place, and
came himself shortly afterwards full of compliments and excuses. I never
could understand what induced Madame de Chatillon to take this fancy into
her head; but she was much ashamed of it afterwards, and made many
excuses to my mother.
I experienced, shortly after this, at Fontainebleau, one of the greatest
afflictions I had ever endured. I mean the loss of M. de La Trappe,
These Memoirs are too profane to treat slightly of a life so sublimely
holy, and of a death so glorious and precious before God. I will content
myself with saying here that praises of M. de La Trappe were so much the
more great and prolonged because the King eulogised him in public; that
he wished to see narrations of his death; and that he spoke more than
once of it to his grandsons by way of instruction. In every part of
Europe this great loss was severely felt. The Church wept for him, and
the world even rendered him justice. His death, so happy for him and so
sad for his friends, happened on the 26th of October, towards half-past
twelve, in the arms of his bishop, and in presence of his community, at
the age of nearly seventy-seven years, and after nearly forty years of
the most prodigious penance. I cannot omit, however, the most touching
and the most honourable mark of his friendship. Lying upon the ground,
on straw and ashes, in order to die like all the brethren of La Trappe,
he deigned, of his own accord, to recollect me, and charged the Abbe La
Trappe to send word to me, on his part, that as he was quite sure of my
affection for him, he reckoned that I should not doubt of his tenderness
for me. I check myself at this point; everything I could add would be
too much out of place here.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
But with a crawling baseness equal to her previous audacity
He limped audaciously
Height to which her insignificance had risen
His death, so happy for him and so sad for his friends
His habits were publicly known to be those of the Greeks
In order to say something cutting to you, says it to himself
Madame de Maintenon in returning young and poor from America
No means, therefore, of being wise among so many fools
Omissions must be repaired as soon as they are perceived
Pope excommunicated those who read the book or kept it
She lose her head, and her accomplice to be broken on the wheel
The clergy, to whom envy is not unfamiliar
The porter and the soldier were arrested and tortured
Whitehall, the largest and ugliest palace in Europe
World; so unreasoning, and so little in accord with itself