We are here since yesterday; having slept at the house of the Duc
d'Antin, called Petit-Bourg, a charming residence; the gardens,
especially, are magnificent. I did not come with the king, because
two days before leaving Versailles I caught a bad cold in my head
accompanied by a terrible cough, and I feared to disgust the king and
make the young people laugh by spitting and blowing my nose; so I came
in my own carriage with my ladies and dogs. Yesterday they hunted, but
I could not go; it used to be great pain to me to lose a hunt, but now
I do not care.
[Illustration: A Hunt at Fontainebleau]
You think my life is spent in pleasure-parties and amusements; to
undeceive you I will tell you just how my existence is regulated.
Usually I get up at nine o'clock; I go where you can guess; next,
I say my prayers and read three chapters in the Bible, one in the
Old Testament, one in the New, and a psalm; then I dress myself and
receive the visits of many of the Court people; at eleven I return to
my cabinet, where I read and write. At twelve I go to church; after
which I dine alone, which amuses me very little, for I think there is
nothing so tiresome as to be alone at table, surrounded by servants
who look at everything you put in your mouth; and besides, though I
have been here forty-three years, I have not yet accustomed myself
to the detestable cooking of this country. After my dinner, which is
usually over by a quarter to two, I return to my cabinet and rest
half an hour, and then I read and write till it is time for the king's
supper; sometimes my ladies play _ombre_ or _brelan_ beside my table.
Madame d'Orléans or the Duchesse de Berry, or sometimes my son, comes
to see me between half-past nine and ten. At a quarter to eleven we
take our places at table and wait for the king, who sometimes does not
come till half-past eleven; we sup without saying a word; then we pass
into the king's room, where we stay about the length of a Pater; the
king makes a bow and retires into his cabinet; we follow him,--though
_I_ have only done so since the death of the last dauphine; the king
talks with us; at half-past twelve he says good-night, and all retire
to their own apartments; I go to bed; Mme. la Duchesse plays cards,
the game lasting all night till the next day. When there is comedy I
go to it at seven o'clock, and thence to the king's supper; when there
is hunting it is always at one o'clock; then I get up at eight and go
to church at eleven.
I have seen Lord Peterborough twice; he said the oddest things; he has
got a mind like the devil, but a very strange head, and he talks in a
singular way. He said, in speaking of the two kings of Spain, "We are
great fools to let ourselves be killed for two such boobies."
I am really vexed that that old and odious Duchesse de Zell should
still be living, whereas our dear electress is dead already.
You probably have heard of the taking of Barcelona. I approve of the
people being faithful to a master so long as he shows himself worthy
of their affection; but when he abandons them it would be better not
to shed so much blood, and to submit peaceably. But those cursèd monks
are afraid they cannot live as they choose and be respected as much as
they have been under a king of France, and so they preached up and
down the streets that Barcelona must not be surrendered. If my advice
were followed they would put those rascals in the galleys, instead of
the poor Reformers who are languishing there.
October, 1714.
This is, unhappily, the last letter that I shall write you from my
dear Fontainebleau; we leave Wednesday, and on Monday our last hunt
will take place in the beautiful forest. I feel that the fine air and
exercise do me much good; they disperse and drive away sad thoughts,
and nothing is so counter to my health as sadness. Last Thursday we
hunted a stag that was rather malicious; but one gentleman slipped
round a rock behind him and wounded him in the shoulder, so that not
being able to butt with his head he was no longer dangerous. Behind
my calèche was another carriage in which were three priests,--the
Archbishop of Lyons and two abbés; fearing to be attacked by the stag
two of them jumped out and flung themselves flat on their stomachs on
the ground. I am sorry I did not see that scene, which would have made
me laugh, for we old hunters are not so afraid of a stag.
As for what concerns our king in England [George I.] I find it hard
to rejoice in his elevation, for I would not trust the English with a
hair of my head. I have seen recently what the fine talk of my Lord
Peterborough is worth. I wish that our elector, instead of becoming
King of England, had been made Roman Emperor, and that the King of
England who is here were in possession of the kingdom to which he has
a right. I fear that those English, who are so inconstant, will do
something before long which will not be to our liking. No one ever
became king in a more brilliant manner than King James, being crowned
amid cries of joy from the whole nation; yet his people persecuted him
so pitilessly that he could scarcely find a spot in which to rest
after countless sufferings. If one could only trust the English I
should say that it was well for the parliament to be over King George;
but when one reads about the revolutions of the English one sees
what eternal hatred they feel to kings, and also their inconstancy.
The English cannot endure each other; we saw that at the Court of
Saint-Germain; they lived there like cats and dogs. I never heard of
that philosopher Spinoza; was he a Spaniard? the name sounds Spanish.
King George sent me word by M. Martini that as soon as he reached
England he should write to me and keep up a correspondence. Yesterday
M. Prior brought me a letter from the king, but it was written by a
secretary and not by his own hand. I should not have expected that
after the compliment by M. Martini; but I ought not to feel astonished
when I think what that king has always been to me--just the reverse of
his mother. Whatever happens, I shall ever remember that he is the son
of my aunt, and I shall wish him all sorts of prosperity, as I have
to-day written to him. The Princess of Wales grieves me; I esteem her
sincerely, for I find the best sentiments in her--a rare thing at the
present day.