Marie-Adélaïde de Savoie, Duchesse de Bourgogne, who was married to
the grandson of Louis XIV. and was the mother of Louis XV., has left
a very gracious memory behind her. She flitted through the world
like one of those bright, rapid apparitions which the imagination
of contemporaries delights to embellish. Born in 1685, daughter of
the Duc de Savoie, who transmitted to her his ability and possibly
his craft, grand-daughter by her mother of that amiable Henrietta of
England (first wife of Monsieur, Louis XIV.'s brother), whose death
Bossuet immortalized, and whose charm she resuscitated, Marie-Adélaïde
came to France when eleven years old to marry the Duc de Bourgogne,
who was then thirteen. The marriage took place the following year,
but in form only; and for several years the education of the young
princess was the occupation of her life. Mme. de Maintenon applied
herself to that purpose with all the care and consistency of which she
was so capable. It was not her fault if the Duchesse de Bourgogne did
not become the most exemplary of the pupils of Saint-Cyr. The vivacity
and lively spirits of the princess disconcerted at times the well-laid
schemes of prudence, and she constantly broke from the frame in which
it was designed to hold her. Nevertheless, she profited through it
all; serious thoughts slipped in among her pleasures. It was
for her that sacred plays, some by Duché, but especially Racine's
"Athalie," were acted in Mme. de Maintenon's apartment. In "Athalie,"
the Duchesse de Bourgogne played a part.
[Illustration: The Duchesse de Bourgogne]
The princess had already received in Savoie a certain education,
especially in that so necessary to princes and which nature itself
gives to women, namely, the desire and the effort to please. She
arrived at Montargis on Sunday, November 4, 1696. Louis XIV. had
left Fontainebleau after dinner and gone to Montargis with his
son [Monseigneur], his brother [Monsieur, the little Adélaïde's
grandfather], and all the principal seigneurs of his Court, in order
to receive her. Before going to bed that night the king concludes
an important letter to Mme. de Maintenon in which he gives her an
account in the fullest detail of the person and slightest action of
the little princess; it was the affair of State of the moment. The
original of this letter of Louis XIV. exists in the library of the
Louvre, and it is here given textually. Let us now read Louis XIV.
undisguised, or rather, let us listen to the great monarch conversing
and relating; language excellent, phrases neat, exact, and perfect,
terms appropriate, good taste supreme in all that concerns externals
and visible appearance; whatever, in short, contributes to regal
presentation. As for the moral basis, that is slim and mediocre
enough, we must allow, or rather, it is absent. But let us read the
letter:--
"I arrived here [Montargis] before five o'clock," writes
the king; "the princess did not come till nearly six. I went
to receive her at the carriage; she let me speak first, and
afterwards she replied extremely well, but with a little
embarrassment that would have pleased you. I led her to her
room through the crowd, letting her be seen from time to time
by making the torches come nearer to her face. She bore that
march and the lights with grace and modesty. At last we reached
her room, where there was a crowd, and heat enough to kill
us. I showed her now and then to those who approached us, and
I considered her in every way in order to write you what I
think of her. She has the best grace and the prettiest figure
I have ever seen; dressed to paint, and hair the same; eyes
very bright and very beautiful, the lashes black and admirable;
complexion very even, white and red, all that one could
wish; the finest blond hair that was ever seen, and in great
quantity. She is thin, but that belongs to her years; her mouth
is rosy, the lips full, the teeth white, long, and ill-placed;
the hands well shaped, but the colour of her age. She speaks
little, so far as I have seen; is not embarrassed when looked
at, like a person who has seen the world. She curtseys badly,
with a rather Italian air. She has also something of an Italian
in her face; but she pleases; I saw that in the eyes of those
present. As for me, I am wholly satisfied. She resembles her
first portrait, not the second. To speak to you as I always do,
I must tell you that I find her all that could be wished; I
should be sorry if she were handsomer.
"I say it again: everything is pleasing except the
curtsey. I will tell you more after supper, for there I shall
observe many things which I have not been able to see as yet. I
forgot to tell you that she is short rather than tall for her
age. Up to this time I have done marvels; I hope I can sustain
a certain easy air I have taken until we reach Fontainebleau,
where I greatly desire to find myself."
At ten o'clock that night, before going to bed, the king added the
following postscript:--
"The more I see of the princess, the more satisfied I am.
We had a public conversation, in which she said nothing, and
that is saying all. Her waist is very beautiful, one might
say perfect, and her modesty would please you. We supped and
she did not fail in anything, and has a charming politeness
to every one; but to me and my son she fails in nothing, and
behaves as you might have done. She was much looked at and
observed; and all present seemed in good faith to be satisfied.
Her air is noble, her manners polished and agreeable; I have
pleasure in telling you such good of her, for I find that,
without prepossession or flattery, I can do so and that
everything obliges me to do so."
Now, shall I venture to express my thought? There is certainly a
mention of modesty in one or two places in the letter; but it is of
the modest _air_, the good effect produced, the grace that depended on
it. For all the rest it is impossible to find on these pages anything
other than a charming physical, external, and mundane description,
without the slightest concern as to inward and moral qualities.
Evidently the king is as little concerned about those as he is deeply
anxious about externals. Let the princess succeed and please, let her
charm and amuse, let her adorn the Court and enliven it, give her a
good confessor, a sound Jesuit, and for all the rest let her be and do
what pleases her; the king asks nothing else: that is the impression
left upon me by that letter.
If there had entered into this letter written from Montargis even a
flash of moral solicitude in the midst of the record of those external
graces and perfect proprieties, Louis XIV. would not have been, after
twelve years' hourly intimacy, the odious and hard grandfather of the
scene at Marly near the carp basin, to the mother of his expected
heir. I send the reader for the details and the accessories of that
singular scene to Saint-Simon, who in this instance is our Tacitus,
the Tacitus of a king not naturally cruel, but who was so that day by
force of egotism and selfishness. That first letter from Montargis,
so elegant, so smiling on the outward surface, covered in its depths
the vanity and egotism of a master, solicitude solely for decorum and
curtseying--the scene at the basin of carp concludes it.
I shall not reproduce here the divers portraits of the Duchesse de
Bourgogne; I should have to take them from many sources, but above
all from Saint-Simon. She was neither handsome nor pretty, she was
better than either. Each feature of her face taken separately might
seem defective, even ugly, but from all these uglinesses, these
defects, these irregularities arranged by the hand of the Graces,
came a nameless harmony of her person, a delightful _ensemble_, the
movement and airy whirl of which enchanted both eyes and soul. In
moral qualities it was the same.
She played a part in "Athalie;" why should I not tell what she
thought of that play, capricious child that she was? Apropos of its
representation at Saint-Cyr, Mme. de Maintenon writes: "Here is
'Athalie' again breaking down. Ill-luck pursues all that I protect
and care for. Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne tells me it can never
succeed, that the piece is cold, that Racine regretted it, that I
am the only person who likes it, and a number of other things which
enable me to perceive, through the knowledge I have of this Court,
that her part displeases her. She wants to play Josabeth, which she
cannot play as well as the Comtesse d'Ayen."[16] As soon as they
gave her the rôle she liked, the point of view was changed in a
moment; such were the coulisses of Saint-Cyr! "She is delighted,"
continues Mme. de Maintenon, "and now thinks 'Athalie' marvellous.
Let us play it, then, inasmuch as we have agreed to do so; but, in
truth, it is not agreeable to mix in the pleasures of the great." The
Duchesse de Bourgogne came of that race of _the great_ which will
soon be a race departed. She deserves to remain in the vista as a
true representative in her transitory life of its lightest and most
seductive charm.
The letters of the duchess which have been published up to this
time are mere notes, adding nothing to the idea that we form of her
mind. La Fare, in his memoirs written about the year 1699, has very
well remarked that after the death of Madame, Henrietta of England
(grandmother of Marie-Adélaïde) in 1670, the taste for things of
intellect was greatly lowered in that brilliant Court of Louis
XIV. "It is certain," he says, "that in losing that princess the
Court lost the only person of her rank who was capable of liking
and distinguishing real merit; since her death, nothing is seen but
gambling, confusion, and impoliteness." Towards the close of the reign
of Louis XIV. a taste for matters of mind and even for the refinements
of wit reappeared no doubt and found favour in the little circles of
Saint-Maur and Sceaux, but the body of the Court during that period
was a victim to _bassette_, _lansquenet_, and other excesses, in which
wine bore its fair share. The Duchesse de Berry, daughter of the
future regent, was not the only young woman to whom it happened to
be drunk. The Duchesse de Bourgogne herself, entering such society,
found it difficult sometimes not to fall into the vices of the day,
into those nets of which _lansquenet_ was the best known and the
most ruinous. More than once the king or Mme. de Maintenon paid her
debts. But she asked for pardon with such good grace and submission by
letter, and by word of mouth with such pretty and coaxing ways that
she was sure to obtain it.
Those who judged her with the most severity are all agreed that she
corrected herself with age, and that her will, her rare spirit, her
sense of the rank she was about to hold, triumphed in the end over
her first impetuosity and petulance. "Three years before her death,"
writes Madame, mother of the regent, honest and terrible woman who
says all things bluntly, "the dauphine had entirely changed, to her
great advantage; she no longer made escapades or drank too much.
Instead of behaving like an intractable being, she became sensible
and polite, behaved according to her rank, and no longer allowed her
young ladies to be familiar with her, and put their fingers in her
dish." Uncomfortable praises, perhaps, with which we could dispense.
But at this distance of time we can hear all without scruple, and,
while doing homage to a person who had the gift of charm, we may dare
to look on manners and customs as they were.[17] We must resolve,
whatever it costs us, to leave the chamber of Mme. de Maintenon and
the twilight of its sanctuary. The Duchesse de Bourgogne has been
pictured to us in the garb of Saint-Cyr; it is not in that habit that
she is, to my thinking, most natural or truest.
A delicate question presents itself,--more delicate than that of
_lansquenet_: did the Duchesse de Bourgogne have weaknesses of the
heart? Adored by her young husband, and knowing how to take in hand
his interests under all attacks, it does not seem that she had for
his person a very warm or tender liking. Hence one does not see what
there was to guarantee her from some other penchant. Saint-Simon, who
is in no way malevolent to the Duchesse de Bourgogne, relates with
great detail and as if receiving the confidences of well-informed
persons, the slight weaknesses of the princess for M. de Nangis, M.
de Maulévrier, and the Abbé de Polignac. "At Marly," he says, "the
dauphine would run about the gardens with other young people till
three and four o'clock in the morning. The king never knew of these
nocturnal expeditions." Nevertheless, I do not desire to do otherwise
than agree with Mme. de Caylus, who, while admitting the liking of
the princess for M. de Nangis, makes haste to add: "The only thing I
doubt is whether the affair ever went so far as people thought; I am
convinced that the whole intrigue took place in looks, and, at most,
in a few letters."
In the midst of all her levity and childish frivolity the Duchesse de
Bourgogne had serious good qualities, which increased as the years
went on. She said very sweetly one day to Mme. de Maintenon: "Aunt,
I am under infinite obligations to you; you have had the patience to
wait for my reason." She would no doubt have proved capable of State
business and politics. The manner in which she knew how to defend
the prince, her husband, against the cabal of the Duc de Vendôme,
the striking revenge she took upon the latter at Marly, and the
back-handed stroke by which she ousted him, show us plainly what she
could do that was able and persistent when a matter came close to
her heart. The few letters which she wrote to the Duc de Noailles,
in which she says she knows nothing of politics, go to prove, on
the contrary, that, if she could have talked about them instead of
writing, she would have liked very well to take part in them. There is
a more serious matter, which I see no reason for disguising. According
to Duclos [author of "The Secret Memoirs of the reign of Louis XIV.,"
etc.], this fascinating child, so dear to the king, did, nevertheless,
betray France by informing her father, the Duc de Savoie, then become
our enemy, of military plans which she was able to discover when, with
playful familiarity and the liberty of entering the king's cabinet at
all hours, she had the opportunity to read and learn those plans at
their source. The king, adds the historian, found the proofs of this
treachery, after the death of the princess, in her desk. "The little
rogue," he is reported to have said to Mme. de Maintenon, "deceived us
after all."
In spite of all, we find ourselves regretting that this princess,
taken from us at the age of twenty-six, whose natural fairy-like
presence bewitched all hearts, did not live to reign beside the
virtuous pupil of Fénelon. The reign of their son, that Louis XV.
who was only a pretty child at their deaths and became the most
contemptible of kings, would at least have been postponed. But what
good is there in re-making history and in setting up a mere idea of
what _might have been_?
* * * * *
[Sainte-Beuve does not show his usual justice and careful
discrimination in his foregoing semi-acceptance of Duclos' tale of
"perfidy." The whole story of Marie-Adélaïde's position at the French
Court should have been more clearly sifted. The two daughters of
Vittorio Amadeo, Duke of Savoie, were, in a sense, hostages given by
him to Louis XIV. in 1696 and 1701 as an earnest of faithful alliance.
Circumstances, however, forced the duke in 1703 (during the war of the
Spanish Succession) into the coalition against France.
From the tenth century the princes of the ancient house of Savoie had
been, for various reasons geographical and political, the upholders
of Italian unity, or, as one might better say, of Italian existence.
France had felt this under all her attempts to master Italy, until
finally her wisest statesmen, Henri IV., Richelieu, and Mazarin, saw
that their true policy was to use Piedmont against the extension of
the two branches of the House of Austria. The whole history of the
Princes of Savoie is a romance, hitherto neglected, which ought to be
traced out and written by a sympathetic hand.
The alliance of France and Piedmont, so useful to the former by
enabling her to maintain her conquests on the northern frontier, was
converted by Louis XIV. into a species of vassalage, to which the
indolent nature of Carlo Emmanuele submitted. The latter died in 1675,
leaving one son, Vittorio Amadeo, aged nine, under the regency of his
mother, Jeanne de Nemours, an ambitious and powerful woman. It is
impossible to give here even a brief sketch of the House of Savoie, an
heroic history, which should be rescued from the archives of Turin and
elsewhere--in it will be found, we may add parenthetically, the story
of the Waldenses and the secret of the Iron Mask.
Vittorio Amadeo married Anne, daughter of Monsieur, Louis XIV.'s
brother, by his first wife, Henrietta, daughter of Charles I., King
of England. The grandmother to whom the following letters are chiefly
addressed was the father's mother, Jeanne de Nemours.
These letters, which seem to us very short, were laborious
undertakings to the princess, who was never able to write easily.
The first, in a childish round text hand, filling a sheet of paper
twenty-three centimetres long by sixteen centimetres wide, is better
written than those of her after life. The grammar and the spelling
improved somewhat in later years, though never keeping pace with
the improvement in the diction. They are signed with a sort of
hieroglyphic, seldom with her name, and tied by a silken thread,
the seal being a lozenge with the arms of Savoie, or sometimes the
impression of a little dog.
Returning to the charge of Duclos (an historian of gossip rather than
of history), it seems enough to say: (1) that his story has never been
supported in any way; (2) that the tone of the princess's letters
refutes it; (3) that what we know from Madame about the opening of
letters makes it certain that the little duchess, surrounded as she
was, could not have sent documents and plans undetected; (4) that
Madame, that lynx for evil tales, and who did not like the dauphine,
though she did her justice, makes no allusion to this story; and
(5) that Saint-Simon, in a position to know everything, states the
contrary.
The little princess arrived in France, and was met by the king at
Montargis, November 4, 1696. The following is her first letter to
her grandmother, Jeanne de Nemours, dowager Duchess of Savoie. This
letter and one written two years later are here given in the French as
amusing specimens of her spelling and punctuation.]