I know all about the tragical affair of the czarewitch; an exact
account of it has been rendered to my son by the people over there.
There are many lies about it in the newspapers; the czar is not as
barbarous as he was before he travelled here and to other Courts. The
czarewitch had taken part in a plot the object of which was to kill
his father; it was from papers written by his own hand that he was
condemned to death. He began by denying everything, and they could
not have convicted him if his mistress had not betrayed him and given
up his papers. My son told me last night at the theatre that the czar
had assembled a great Council, in which were the bishops and all the
councillors of State. He had his son brought before them, embraced
him, and said: "Is it possible that after I spared your life you were
trying to assassinate me?" The prince denied everything. Then the
czar gave to the Council the letters which had been seized, and said:
"I cannot judge my own son; judge him, and let him find mercy and
not be proceeded against by the full rigour of the law." The Council
unanimously condemned the prince to death. When the czarewitch heard
the sentence he was overcome with emotion and remained some hours
without being able to speak. Then he asked to see his father once
more before he died. He confessed everything to him and begged his
forgiveness with tears. He lived two days after that, and he died in
the greatest repentance. Between ourselves, I think they poisoned
him, so as not to have the shame of seeing him in the hands of the
executioner. It is a dreadful story and has the air of a tragedy; it
is like those of Livius Andronicus.
I am still very uneasy on the subject of my son. He has unfortunately
many enemies, but still more false friends; everything is to be feared
from both. One of my grand-daughters is determined to be a nun, in
spite of my wishes and those of her father. The mother has brought
her children up in a way that is a matter of derision and shame; I am
forced to see it daily; but all that I could say would do no good.
My heart is full when I think that is the day when our poor Mlle.
de Chartres is to make her profession. I have represented to her
all I could think of to turn her from that cursed resolution, but
without result. In convents the nuns take the names of saints; my
grand-daughter has taken that of Sister Batilde. No one is afflicted
to the point of weeping, which would surely have happened to me had
I been present at her profession. I do not know the motives that
determined her; she only told me that she felt herself perfectly
capable of enduring the life.
Mlle. de Valois, the fourth daughter, is not on good terms with her
mother, who tried in vain to make her marry the Prince de Dombes,
the eldest son of the Duc du Maine. The mother constantly reproaches
the daughter and tells her that if she had married her nephew the
misfortune which has fallen upon her brother would never have
happened. She is so unwilling to have her daughter before her eyes
that she has asked me to keep her for a while with me.
The old _guenipe_ must think herself immortal to still wish to reign
though she is eighty-three years old. The blow which struck the Duc
du Maine has shaken her roughly. But she has not lost all hope, and
she is so little scrupulous as to the means of reaching her ends,
that I am very uneasy, for I know what usage she can make of poison.
What has happened to the Duc du Maine is a terrible blow to her, and
my son is never upon his guard; he goes about the environs at night
in strange carriages; he sups in one place and then in another with
his companions, among whom are many who are quite worthless; they are
clever enough, but have no good quality.
People talk in diverse ways of the Duchesse du Maine. Some people say
she beat her husband and broke the mirrors in her room to bits, also
everything else that was breakable when she received the news of his
overthrow. Others say she never said a word and only wept. M. le Duc
is charged with the education of the king. He said that he did not
in the beginning ask for that office because he had not reached his
majority; but now in the actual state of things he did demand it, and
he obtained it.
I must tell you of a most amusing dialogue between Lord Stair and the
Spanish ambassador, Prince Cellamare. The latter had reported all over
Paris that it was entirely false that the English fleet had beaten the
Spanish fleet; and the partisans of Spain who are here managed so well
that the news of the defeat was no longer believed, when, suddenly,
the son of Admiral Byng arrived, bringing the official account of the
action and a list of the ships which the English had captured, burned,
or sunk. Lord Stair, having received these documents, said to Prince
Cellamare: "Well, monsieur, what do you say now about your fleet?"
"I say," replied the ambassador, "that the fleet is safely at Cadiz."
"I am not talking about the fleet at Cadiz," said Stair. "I mean that
of Messina."
"The fleet of Cadiz and all the galleons richly laden have entered the
port of Cadiz," returned the prince; and no other answer could be got
from him.
The little dwarf [Duchesse du Maine] says she has more courage than
her husband, her sons, and her brother-in-law, and, like another Jael,
she will kill my son by hammering a nail into his head. My son does
not trouble himself about her threats. When I tell him he ought to be
upon his guard, he laughs and shakes his head as if I were talking
nonsense. But the perils that surround my son's existence make me
spend many a sleepless night, and certainly his regency has not been
to me a subject of satisfaction.