For forty years no October has ever passed without my son being ill,
one way or another, about the 22nd of the month. Though he is regent
he never appears before me or leaves me without kissing my hand
before I embrace him. He never takes a chair in my presence; but in
other respects he stands on no ceremony and gabbles as he likes; we
laugh and joke together like cronies. Between him and his mistresses
everything goes on to beat of drum without the least gallantry; it
reminds me of those old patriarchs who had so many women. The Duc de
Saint-Simon was impatient one day with some of my son's easy-going
ways and said to him, angrily: "Oh! you are so _debonnaire_! since the
days of Louis le Debonnaire there has never been any one so easy-going
as you." My son nearly died of laughter.
My son believes in predestination as much as if he had belonged, like
me, for nineteen years to the Reformed religion. What seems to me
strange is that he does not hate his brother-in-law, the lamester, who
would like to see him dead. I think there never was his like; there is
no gall in him; I never knew him to hate any one.
Mme. la Duchesse is very amusing and says the most diverting things.
She is fond of good eating; and that was just what suited the dauphin
[Monseigneur]; he went to her every morning for a good breakfast, and
at night for a collation. Her daughters had the same tastes, so that
Monseigneur spent the whole day in a society that amused him. At first
he was attached to his daughter-in-law [the Duchesse de Bourgogne],
but after she quarrelled with Mme. la Duchesse he completely changed;
and what irritated him still more was that the Duchesse de Bourgogne
brought about the marriage of his son, the Duc de Berry, a marriage
he did not like. He was not wrong in that, and they did not treat him
well in the matter, I must allow, though the marriage was greatly to
our advantage.
The Queen of Spain [Marie-Louise de Savoie] remained much longer with
her mother than our dauphine, her sister; consequently, she was very
much better educated. The Maintenon knew nothing about education; to
win the young dauphine's affection and keep it for herself alone, she
let her do just what she liked. The young girl had been brought up by
her virtuous mother, and was very winning and droll; merriness became
her; she was not ugly when she had a fine colour. I could not tell
you what foolish heads were allowed to surround the young princess;
for example, the Maréchale d'Estrées. The Maintenon was well paid for
giving her such senseless animals, for the result was that she ceased
to care for her society. But the Maintenon, determined to know the
cause, tormented the princess to admit it. Finally the dauphine told
her that the Maréchale d'Estrées was daily saying to her, "Why do you
stay with the old woman, and not with those who can amuse you much
better than that old carcass?"--saying also other evil things of her.
The Maintenon told me this herself after the dauphine's death, to
prove it was solely the fault of that hussy that the dauphine did not
live on good terms with me. That might be half true, but it is none
the less certain that the old _vilaine_ had set her against me. Nearly
all the giddy young women who surrounded the dauphine were relations
or allies of the old woman; it was by her orders that they tried to
amuse and divert the princess,--in order that she might have no other
society than what she gave her, and be bored elsewhere.
But when the dauphine reached years of discretion she corrected
herself in a wonderful manner, and repented heartily of her childish
follies; which showed she had judgment. What corrected her was
the marriage of Mme. de Berry. She saw that that young woman made
others dislike her, and that all went wrong; she then desired to
adopt another behaviour than that of her cousin, and to make herself
respected. Accordingly she changed her conduct completely; retired
within herself, and became as sensible as she had previously been too
little so. She had much judgment; she knew her faults perfectly well,
and she knew also how to correct them in a wonderful way. She changed
her way of life, and in one month she brought back to her side all
those whom she had caused to dislike her. Thus she continued until
her death. She said frankly how much she regretted to have been so
giddy; but excused herself on the ground of her extreme youth, and she
blamed the young women who had set her such a bad example and given
her such bad advice. She gave them public marks of her displeasure;
and managed matters so that the king did not take them any longer to
Marly. In this way she brought every one back to her.
She was delicate in health and even sickly. But Doctor Chirac assured
us until the last that she would recover. And it is true that if
they had not let her get up whilst she had the measles, and had not
bled her in the foot, she would now be living. Immediately after the
bleeding, from being red as fire she became pale as death and felt
extremely ill. When they took her out of her bed I cried out that
they ought to let the sweating subside before they bled her. Chirac
and Fagon were obstinate and only scoffed at me. The old _guenipe_
came up to me and said: "Do you think yourself cleverer than all the
doctors who are here?" I replied, "No, madame, but it does not take
much cleverness to know that we ought to follow nature, and if nature
inclines to sweating it would be better to follow that indication than
to take a sick person up in a perspiration to bleed her." She shrugged
her shoulders and smiled ironically. I went to the other side of the
room and never said another word.
The Maintenon always retained the fire of her eyes; but she pinched
her lips and contracted her nostrils, which gave her the very
disagreeable air she put on when she saw any one who displeased her,
my Excellency for instance; at such times she would raise the corners
of her mouth and drop her under lip. I have often heard her say in a
jesting way, "I have been too far from, and too near grandeur to know
what it is."
PARIS, February 1, 1721.
I grow weaker and can hardly hold my pen, but there is nothing to be
done. I place myself in the hands of God and refer all things to His
will. I think I shall end by drying up, like that tortoise I kept at
Heidelberg in my bedroom. But as long as I live be sure, dear Louise,
that my heart will cherish you.
There is not in all the world a better air than that of Heidelberg,
especially that about the château near my bedroom; nothing finer can
be found. No one understands better than I, dear Louise, what you must
have felt at Heidelberg; I cannot think of it without deep emotion;
but I must not speak of it to-night; it makes me too sad and hinders
me from sleeping.
My son lives very well with me; he shows me great affection and
will be miserable at losing me. His visits do me more good than
quinine--they rejoice my heart and do not give me pains in my stomach.
He always has something droll to tell me which makes me laugh; he has
wit and expresses himself charmingly. I should be a most unnatural
mother if I did not love him from the bottom of my heart; if you knew
him you would see that he has no ambition and no malignity. Ah! my
God, he is only too kind; he pardons all that is done against him
and laughs about it. If he would only show his teeth to his wicked
relations they would learn to fear him and cease their horrible
machinations. You cannot imagine the wickedness and the ambition of
the third prince of the blood. As long as M. le Duc hoped to get money
out of my son he overwhelmed him with protestations of attachment and
devotion; now that there is nothing more to get from him he has turned
completely against him and has joined my son's inhuman enemy, the
Prince de Conti.