BOOK 3.

Produced by David Widger

MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF LOUIS XIV. AND OF THE REGENCY

Being the Secret Memoirs of the Mother of the Regent,

MADAME ELIZABETH-CHARLOTTE OF BAVARIA, DUCHESSE D’ORLEANS.

Complete

[Illustration: Bookcover]

[Illustration: Titlepage]

BOOK 1.

PREFACE.

The Duchesse d’Orleans, commonly though incorrectly styled the Princess

of Bavaria, was known to have maintained a very extensive correspondence

with her relations and friends in different parts of Europe. Nearly

eight hundred of her letters, written to the Princess Wilhelmina

Charlotte of Wales and the Duke Antoine-Ulric of Brunswick, were found

amongst the papers left by the Duchess Elizabeth of Brunswick at her

death, in 1767. These appeared to be so curious that the Court of

Brunswick ordered De Praun, a Privy Councillor, to make extracts of such

parts as were most interesting. A copy of his extracts was sent to

France, where it remained a long time without being published.

In 1788, however, an edition appeared, but so mutilated and disfigured,

either through the prudence of the editor or the scissors of the censor,

that the more piquant traits of the correspondence had entirely

disappeared. The bold, original expressions of the German were modified

and enfeebled by the timid translator, and all the names of individuals

and families were suppressed, except when they carried with them no sort

of responsibility. A great many passages of the original correspondence

were omitted, while, to make up for the deficiencies, the editor inserted

a quantity of pedantic and useless notes. In spite of all these faults

and the existence of more faithful editions, this translation was

reprinted in 1807. The existence of any other edition being unknown to

its editor, it differed in nothing from the preceding, except that the

dates of some of the letters were suppressed, a part of the notes cut

out, and some passages added from the Memoirs of Saint-Simon, together

with a life, or rather panegyric, of the Princess, which bore no slight

resemblance to a village homily.

A copy of the extracts made by M. de Praun fell by some chance into the

hands of Count de Veltheim, under whose direction they were published at

Strasburg, in 1789, with no other alterations than the correction of the

obsolete and vicious orthography of the Princess.

In 1789 a work was published at Dantzick, in Germany, entitled,

Confessions of the Princess Elizabeth-Charlotte of Orleans, extracted

from her letters addressed, between the years 1702 and 1722, to her

former governess, Madame de Harling, and her husband. The editor asserts

that this correspondence amounted to nearly four hundred letters. A

great part of these are only repetitions of what she had before written

to the Princess of Wales and the Duke of Brunswick. Since that period no

new collections have appeared, although it is sufficiently well known

that other manuscripts are in existence.

In 1820 M. Schutz published at Leipsig the Life and Character of

Elizabeth-Charlotte, Duchesse d’Orleans, with an Extract of the more

remarkable parts of her Correspondence. This is made up of the two

German editions of 1789 and 1791; but the editor adopted a new

arrangement, and suppressed such of the dates and facts as he considered

useless. His suppressions, however, were not very judicious; without

dates one is at a loss to know to what epoch the facts related by the

Princess ought to be referred, and the French proper names are as

incorrect as in the edition of Strasburg.

Feeling much surprise that in France there should have been no more

authentic edition of the correspondence of the Regent-mother than the

miserable translation of 1788 and 1807, we have set about rendering a

service to the history of French manners by a new and more faithful

edition. The present is a translation of the Strasburg edition, arranged

in a more appropriate order, with the addition of such other passages as

were contained in the German collections. The dates have been inserted

wherever they appeared necessary, and notes have been added wherever the

text required explanation, or where we wished to compare the assertions

of the Princess with other testimonies. The Princess, in the salons of

the Palais Royal, wrote in a style not very unlike that which might be

expected in the present day from the tenants of its garrets. A more

complete biography than any which has hitherto been drawn up is likewise

added to the present edition. In other respects we have faithfully

followed the original Strasburg edition. The style of the Duchess will

be sometimes found a little singular, and her chit-chat indiscreet and

often audacious; but we cannot refuse our respect to the firmness and

propriety with which she conducted herself in the midst of a hypocritical

and corrupt Court. The reader, however, must form his own judgment on

the correspondence of this extraordinary woman; our business is, not to

excite a prejudice in favour of or against her, but merely to present him

with a faithful copy of her letters.

Some doubts were expressed about the authenticity of the correspondence

when the mutilated edition of 1788 appeared; but these have long since

subsided, and its genuineness is no longer questioned.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

BOOK 1.

Preface

Elizabeth-Charlotte, Duchesse d’Orleans

Louis XIV

Mademoiselle de Fontange

Madame de la Valliere

Madame de Montespan

Madame de Maintenon

The Queen-Consort of Louis XIV.

BOOK 2.

Philippe I., Duc d’Orleans

Philippe II., Duc d’Orleans, Regent of France

The Affairs of the Regency

The Duchesse d’Orleans, Consort of the Regent

The Dauphine, Princess of Bavaria.

Adelaide of Savoy, the Second Dauphine

The First Dauphin

The Duke of Burgundy, the Second Dauphin

Petite Madame

BOOK 3.

Henrietta of England, Monsieur’s First Consort

The Due de Berri

The Duchesse de Berri

Mademoiselle d’Orleans, Louise-Adelaide de Chartres

Mademoiselle de Valois, Consort of the Prince of Modena

The Illegitimate Children of the Regent, Duc d’Orleans

The Chevalier de Lorraine

Philip V., King of Spain

The Duchess, Consort of the Duc de Bourbon

The Younger Duchess

Duc Louis de Bourbon

Francois-Louis, Prince de Conti

La Grande Princesse de Conti

The Princess Palatine, Consort of Prince Francois-Louis de Conti

The Princesse de Conti, Louise-Elizabeth, Consort of Louis-Armand

Louis-Armand, Prince de Conti

The Abbe Dubois

Mr. Law

BOOK 4.

Victor Amadeus II.

The Grand Duchess, Consort of Cosimo II. of Florence

The Duchesse de Lorraine, Elizabeth-Charlotte d’Orleans

The Duc du Maine

The Duchesse du Maine

Louvois

Louis XV.

Anecdotes and Historical Particulars of Various Persons

Explanatory Notes

SECRET COURT MEMOIRS.

MADAME ELIZABETH-CHARLOTTE OF BAVARIA, DUCHESSE D’ ORLEANS.

[Illustration: Duchesse d’Orleans and Her Children--116]

SECTION I.

If my father had loved me as well as I loved him he would never have sent

me into a country so dangerous as this, to which I came through pure

obedience and against my own inclination. Here duplicity passes for wit,

and frankness is looked upon as folly. I am neither cunning nor

mysterious. I am often told I lead too monotonous a life, and am asked

why I do not take a part in certain affairs. This is frankly the reason:

I am old; I stand more in need of repose than of agitation, and I will

begin nothing that I cannot, easily finish. I have never learned to

govern; I am not conversant with politics, nor with state affairs, and I

am now too far advanced in years to learn things so difficult. My son, I

thank God, has sense enough, and can direct these things without

me; besides, I should excite too much the jealousy of his

wife--[Marie-Francoise de Bourbon, the legitimate daughter of Louis XIV.

and of Madame de Montespan, Duchesse d’Orleans.]--and his eldest

daughter,--[Marie-Louise-Elizabeth d’Orleans, married on the 17th of

July, 1710, to Charles of France, Duc de Berri.]--whom he loves better

than me; eternal quarrels would ensue, which would not at all suit my

views. I have been tormented enough, but I have always forborne, and

have endeavoured to set a proper example to my son’s wife and his

daughter; for this kingdom has long had the misfortune to be too much

governed by women, young and old. It is high time that men should now

assume the sway, and this is the reason which has determined me not to

intermeddle. In England, perhaps, women may reign without

inconvenience; in France, men alone should do so, in order that things

may go on well. Why should I torment myself by day and by night? I

seek only peace and repose; all that were mine are dead. For whom should

I care? My time is past. I must try to live smoothly that I may die

tranquilly; and in great public affairs it is difficult, indeed, to

preserve one’s conscience spotless.

I was born at Heidelberg (1652), in the seventh month. I am

unquestionably very ugly; I have no features; my eyes are small, my nose

is short and thick, my lips long and flat. These do not constitute much

of a physiognomy. I have great hanging cheeks and a large face; my

stature is short and stout; my body and my thighs, too, are short, and,

upon the whole, I am truly a very ugly little object. If I had not a

good heart, no one could endure me. To know whether my eyes give tokens

of my possessing wit, they must be examined with a microscope, or it will

be difficult to judge. Hands more ugly than mine are not perhaps to be

found on the whole globe. The King has often told me so, and has made me

laugh at it heartily; for, not being able to flatter even myself that I

possessed any one thing which could be called pretty, I resolved to be

the first to laugh at my own ugliness; this has succeeded as well as I

could have wished, and I must confess that I have seldom been at a loss

for something to laugh at. I am naturally somewhat melancholy; when

anything happens to afflict me, my left side swells up as if it were

filled with water. I am not good at lying in bed; as soon as I awake

I must get up. I seldom breakfast, and then only on bread and butter.

I take neither chocolate, nor coffee, nor tea, not being able to endure

those foreign drugs. I am German in all my habits, and like nothing in

eating or drinking which is not conformable to our old customs. I eat no

soup but such as I can take with milk, wine, or beer. I cannot bear

broth; whenever I eat anything of which it forms a part, I fall sick

instantly, my body swells, and I am tormented with colics. When I take

broth alone, I am compelled to vomit, even to blood, and nothing can

restore the tone to my stomach but ham and sausages.

I never had anything like French manners, and I never could assume them,

because I always considered it an honour to be born a German, and always

cherished the maxims of my own country, which are seldom in favor here.

In my youth I loved swords and guns much better than toys. I wished to

be a boy, and this desire nearly cost me my life; for, having heard that

Marie Germain had become a boy by dint of jumping, I took such terrible

jumps that it is a miracle I did not, on a hundred occasions, break my

neck. I was very gay in my youth, for which reason I was called, in

German, Rauschenplatten-gnecht. The Dauphins of Bavaria used to say, “My

poor dear mamma” (so she used always to address me), “where do you pick

up all the funny things you know?”

I remember the birth of the King of England

[George Louis, Duke of Brunswick Hanover, born the 28th of May,

1660; proclaimed King of England the 12th of August, 1714, by the

title of George I.]

as well as if it were only yesterday (1720). I was curious and

mischievous. They had put a doll in a rosemary bush for the purpose of

making me believe it was the child of which my aunt

[Sophia of Bavaria, married, in 1658, to the Elector of Hanover, was

the paternal aunt of Madame. She was the granddaughter of James I,

and was thus declared the first in succession to the crown of

England, by Act of Parliament, 23rd March, 1707.]

had just lain in; at the same moment I heard the cries of the Electress,

who was then in the pains of childbirth. This did not agree with the

story which I had been told of the baby in the rosemary bush; I

pretended, however, to believe it, but crept to my aunt’s chamber as if I

was playing at hide-and-seek with little Bulau and Haxthausen, and

concealed myself behind a screen which was placed before the door and

near the chimney. When the newly born infant was brought to the fire I

issued from my hiding-place. I deserved to be flogged, but in honour of

the happy event I got quit for a scolding.

The monks of the Convent of Ibourg, to revenge themselves for my having

unintentionally betrayed them by telling their Abbot that they had been

fishing in a pond under my window, a thing expressly forbidden by the

Abbot, once poured out white wine for me instead of water. I said, “I do

not know what is the matter with this water; the more of it I put into my

wine the stronger it becomes.” The monks replied that it was very good

wine. When I got up from the table to go into the garden, I should have

fallen into the pond if I had not been held up; I threw myself upon the

ground and fell fast asleep immediately. I was then carried into my

chamber and put to bed. I did not awake until nine o’clock in the

evening, when I remembered all that had passed. It was on a Holy

Thursday; I complained to the Abbot of the trick which had been played me

by the monks, and they were put into prison. I have often been laughed

at about this Holy Thursday.

My aunt, our dear Electress (of Hanover), being at the Hague, did not

visit the Princess Royal;

[Maria-Henrietta Stuart, daughter of Charles I. of England, and of

Henriette-Marie of France, married, in 1660, to William of Nassau,

Prince of Orange; she lost her husband in 1660, and was left

pregnant with William-Henry of Nassau, Prince of Orange, and

afterwards, by the Revolution of 1688, King of England. This

Princess was then preceptress of her son, the Stadtholder of

Holland.]

but the Queen of Bohemia

[Elizabeth Stuart, daughter of James I. of England, widow of

Frederic V., Duke of Bavaria, Count Palatine of the Rhine, King of

Bohemia until the year 1621, mother of the Duchess of Hanover.]

did, and took me with her. Before I set out, my aunt said to me,

“Lizette, now take care not to behave as you do in general, and do not

wander away so that you cannot be found; follow the Queen step by step,

so that she may not have to wait for you.”

I replied, “Oh, aunt, you shall hear how well I will behave myself.”

When we arrived at the Princess Royal’s, whom I did not know, I saw her

son, whom I had often played with; after having gazed for a long time at

his mother without knowing who she was, I went back to see if I could

find any one to tell me what was this lady’s name. Seeing only the

Prince of Orange, I accosted him thus,--

“Pray, tell me who is that woman with so tremendous a nose?”

He laughed and answered, “That is the Princess Royal, my mother.”

I was quite stupefied. That I might compose myself, Mademoiselle Heyde

took me with the Prince into the Princess’s bedchamber, where we played

at all sorts of games. I had told them to call me when the Queen should

be ready to go, and we were rolling upon a Turkey carpet when I was

summoned; I arose in great haste and ran into the hall; the Queen was

already in the antechamber. Without losing a moment, I seized the robe

of the Princess Royal, and, making her a low curtsey, at the same moment

I placed myself directly before her, and followed the Queen step by step

to her carriage; everybody was laughing, but I had no notion of what it

was at. When we returned home, the Queen went to find my aunt, and,

seating herself upon the bed, burst into a loud laugh.

“Lizette,” said she, “has made a delightful visit.” And then she told

all that I had done, which made the Electress laugh even more than the

Queen. She called me to her and said,--

“Lizette, you have done right; you have revenged us well for the

haughtiness of the Princess.”

My brother would have had me marry the Margrave of Dourlach, but I had no

inclination towards him because he was affected, which I never could

bear. He knew very well that I was not compelled to refuse him, for he

was married long before they thought of marrying me to Monsieur. Still

he thought fit to send to me a Doctor of Dourlach, for the purpose of

asking me whether he ought to obey his father and marry the Princess of

Holstein. I replied that he could not do better than to obey his father;

that he had promised me nothing, nor had I pledged myself to him; but

that, nevertheless, I was obliged to him for the conduct he had thought

fit to adopt. This is all that passed between us.

Once they wanted to give me to the Duke of Courlande; it was my aunt

d’Hervod who wished to make that match. He was in love with Marianne,

the daughter of Duke Ulric of Wurtemberg; but his father and mother would

not allow him to marry her because they had fixed their eyes on me.

When, however, he came back from France on his way home, I made such an

impression on him that he would not hear of marriage, and requested

permission to join the army.

I once received a very sharp scolding in a short journey from Mannheim to

Heidelberg. I was in the carriage with my late father, who had with him

an envoy, from the Emperor, the Count of Konigseck. At this time I was

as thin and light as I am now fat and heavy. The jolting of the carriage

threw me from my seat, and I fell upon the Count; it was not my fault,

but I was nevertheless severely rebuked for it, for my father was not a

man to be trifled with, and it was always necessary to be very

circumspect in his presence.

When I think of conflagrations I am seized with a shivering fit, for I

remember how the Palatinate was ravaged for more than three months.

Whenever I went to sleep I used to think I saw Heidelberg all in flames;

then I used to wake with a start, and I very narrowly escaped an illness

in consequence of those outrages.

[The burning of the Palatinate in 1674--a horrible devastation

commanded by Louis, and executed by Turenne.]

Upon my arrival in France I was made to hold a conference with three

bishops. They all differed in their creeds, and so, taking the

quintessence of their opinions, I formed a religion of my own.

It was purely from the affection I bore to her that I refused to take

precedence of our late Electress; but making always a wide distinction

between her aid and the Duchess of Mecklenbourg, as well as our Electress

of Hanover, I did not hesitate to do so with respect to both the latter.

I also would not take precedence of my mother. In my childhood I wished

to bear her train, but she would never permit me.

I have been treated ill ever since my marriage this is in some degree the

fault of the Princess Palatine,--[Anne de Gonzague, Princess Palatine,

who took so active a part in the troubles of the Fronde.]--who prepared

my marriage contract; and it is by the contract that the inheritance is

governed. All persons bearing the title of Madame have pensions from the

King; but as they have been of the same amount for a great many years

past they are no longer sufficient.

I would willingly have married the Prince of Orange, for by that union I

might have hoped to remain near my dear Electress (of Hanover).

Upon my arrival at Saint-Germain I felt as if I had fallen from the

clouds. The Princess Palatine went to Paris and there fixed me. I put

as good a face upon the affair as was possible; I saw very well that I

did not please my husband much, and indeed that could not be wondered at,

considering my ugliness; however, I resolved to conduct myself in such a

manner towards Monsieur that he should become accustomed to me by my

attentions, and eventually should be enabled to endure me. Immediately

upon my arrival, the King came to see me at the Chateau Neuf, where

Monsieur and I lived; he brought with him the Dauphin, who was then a

child of about ten years old. As soon as I had finished my toilette the

King returned to the old Chateau, where he received me in the Guards’

hall, and led me to the Queen, whispering at the same time,--“Do not be

frightened, Madame; she will be more afraid of you than you of her.” The

King felt so much the embarrassment of my situation that he would not

quit me; he sat by my side, and whenever it was necessary for me to rise,

that is to say, whenever a Duke or a Prince entered the apartment, he

gave me a gentle push in the side without being perceived.

According to the custom of Paris, when a marriage is made, all property

is in common; but the husband has the entire control over it. That only

which has been brought by way of dowry is taken into the account; for

this reason I never knew how much my husband received with me. After his

death, when I expected to gain my cause at Rome and to receive some

money, the disagreeable old Maintenon asked me in the King’s name to

promise that if I gained the cause I would immediately cede the half of

the property to my son; and in case of refusal I was menaced with the

King’s displeasure. I laughed at this, and replied that I did not know

why they threatened me, for that my son was in the course of nature my

heir, but that it was at least just that he should stay until my death

before he took possession of my property, and that I knew the King was

too equitable to require of me anything but what was consistent with

justice. I soon afterwards received the news of the loss of my cause,

and I was not sorry for it, on account of the circumstance I have just

related.

When the Abby de Tesse had convinced the Pope that his people had decided

without having read our papers, and that they had accepted 50,000 crowns

from the Grand Duke to pronounce against me, he began weeping, and said,

“Am I not an unhappy man to be obliged to trust such persons?” This will

show what sort of a character the Pope was.

When I arrived in France I had only an allowance of a hundred louis d’or

for my pocket-money; and this money was always consumed in advance.

After my mother’s death, when my husband received money from the

Palatinate, he increased this allowance to two hundred louis; and once,

when I was in his good graces, he gave me a thousand louis. Besides

this, the King had given me annually one thousand louis up to the year

before the marriage of my son. That supported me, but as I would not

consent to the marriage I was deprived of this sum, and it has never been

restored to me. On my first journey to Fontainebleau, the King would

have given me 2,000 pistoles, but that Monsieur begged him to keep half

of them for Madame, afterwards the Queen of Spain.--[Marie-Louise

d’Orleans, born in 1662, married, in 1679, to Charles IL, King of Spain.]

I cared very little about it, and, nevertheless, went to Fontainebleau,

where I lost all my money at Hoca. Monsieur told me, for the purpose of

vexing me, of the good office he had done me with the King; I only

laughed at it, and told him that, if Madame had chosen to accept the

thousand pistoles from my hands, I would very freely have given them to

her. Monsieur was quite confused at this, and, by way of repairing the

offence he had committed, he took upon himself the payment of 600 louis

d’or, which I had lost over and above the thousand pistoles.

I receive now only 456,000 francs, which is exactly consumed within the

year; if, they could have given me any less they would. I would not be

thought to make claims to which I am not entitled, but it should be

remembered that Monsieur has had the money of my family.

I was very glad when, after the birth of my daughter,

[Elizabeth-Charlotte d’Orleans, born in 1676, married, in 1697, to

the Duc de Lorraine. Philippe d’Orleans, afterwards Regent of

France, was born in 1674; there were no other children by this

marriage.]

my husband proposed separate beds; for, to tell the truth, I was never

very fond of having children. When he proposed it to me, I answered,

“Yes, Monsieur, I shall be very well contented with the arrangement,

provided you do not hate me, and that you will continue to behave with

some kindness to me.” He promised, and we were very well satisfied with

each other. It was, besides, very disagreeable to sleep with Monsieur;

he could not bear any one to touch him when he was asleep, so that I was

obliged to lie on the very edge of the bed; whence it sometimes happened

that I fell out like a sack. I was therefore enchanted when Monsieur

proposed to me in friendly terms, and without any anger, to lie in

separate rooms.

I obeyed the late Monsieur by not troubling him with my embraces, and

always conducted myself towards him with respect and submission.

He was a good sort of man, notwithstanding his weaknesses, which, indeed,

oftener excited my pity than my anger. I must confess that I did

occasionally express some impatience, but when he begged pardon, it was

all forgotten.

Madame de Fiennes had a considerable stock of wit, and was a great joker;

her tongue spared no one but me. Perceiving that she treated the King

and Monsieur with as little ceremony as any other persons, I took her by

the hand one day, and, leading her apart, I said to her, “Madame, you are

very agreeable; you have a great deal of wit, and the manner in which you

display it is pleasant to the King and Monsieur, because they are

accustomed to you; but to me, who am but just arrived, I cannot say that

I like it. When any persons entertain themselves at my expense, I cannot

help being very angry, and it is for this reason that I am going to give

you a little advice. If you spare me we shall be mighty good friends;

but if you treat me as I see you treat others, I shall say nothing to

you; I shall, nevertheless, complain of you to your husband, and if he

does not restrain you I shall dismiss him.”

He was my Equerry-in-Ordinary.

She promised never to speak of me, and she kept her word.

Monsieur often said to me, “How does it happen that Madame de Fiennes

never says anything severe of you?”

I answered, “Because she loves me.”

I would not tell him what I had done, for he would immediately have

excited her to attack me.

I was called sometimes ‘Soeur Pacifique’, because I did all in my power

to maintain harmony between Monsieur and his cousins, La Grande

Mademoiselle,

[Anne-Marie-Louise d’Orleans, Duchesse de Montpensier, and

Marguerite-Louise d’Orleans, Duchess of Tuscany, daughters of

Gaston, Duc d’Orleans, but by different wives.]

and La Grande Duchesse:

[Charlotte-Eleonore-Maddleine de la Motte Houdancourt, Duchesse de

Ventadour; she was gouvernante to Louis XV.]

they quarrelled very frequently, and always like children, for the

slightest trifles.

Madame de Ventadour was my Maid of Honour for at least sixteen years.

She did not quit me until two years after the death of my husband, and

then it was by a contrivance of old Maintenon; she wished to annoy me

because she knew I was attached to this lady, who was good and amiable,

but not very cunning. Old Maintenon succeeded in depriving me of her by

means of promises and threats, which were conveyed by Soubise, whose son

had married Madame de Ventadour’s daughter, and who was an artful woman.

By way of recompense she was made gouvernante. They tried, also, to

deprive me of Madame de Chateau Thiers; the old woman employed all her

power there, too, but Madame de Chateau Thiers remained faithful to me,

without telling of these attempts, which I learnt from another source.

Madame de Monaco might, perhaps, be fond of forming very close

attachments of her own sex, and Madame de Maintenon would have put me on

the same footing; but she did not succeed, and was so much vexed at her

disappointment that she wept. Afterwards she wanted to make me in love

with the Chevalier de Vendome, and this project succeeded no better than

the other. She often said she could not think of what disposition I must

be, since I cared neither for men nor women, and that the German nation

must be colder than any other.

I like persons of that cool temperament. The poor Dauphine of Bavaria

used to send all the young coxcombs of the Court to me, knowing that I

detested such persons, and would be nearly choked with laughter at seeing

the discontented air with which I talked to them.

Falsehood and superstition were never to my taste.

The King was in the habit of saying, “Madame cannot endure unequal

marriages; she always ridicules them.”

Although there are some most delightful walks at Versailles, no one went

out either on foot or in carriages but myself; the King observed this,

and said, “You are the only one who enjoys the beauties of Versailles.”

All my life, even from my earliest years, I thought myself so ugly that I

did not like to be looked at. I therefore cared little for dress,

because jewels and decoration attract attention. As Monsieur loved to be

covered with diamonds, it was fortunate that I did not regard them, for,

otherwise, we should have quarrelled about who was to wear them. On

grand occasions Monsieur used formerly to make me dress in red; I did so,

but much against my inclination, for I always hated whatever was

inconvenient to me. He always ordered my dresses, and even used to paint

my cheeks himself.

I made the Countess of Soissons laugh very heartily once. She said to

me, “How is it, Madame, that you never look in a mirror when you pass it,

as everybody else does?”

I answered, “Because I have too great a regard for myself to be fond of

seeing myself look as ugly as I really am.”

I was always attached to the King; and when he did anything disagreeable

to me it was generally to please Monsieur, whose favourites and my

enemies did all they could to embroil me with him, and through his means

with the King, that I might not be able to denounce them. It was natural

enough that the King should be more inclined to please his brother than

me; but when Monsieur’s conscience reproached him, he repented of having

done me ill offices with the King, and he confessed this to the King; His

Majesty would then come to us again immediately, notwithstanding the

malicious contrivances of old Maintenon.

I have always had my own household, although during Monsieur’s life I was

not the mistress of it, because all his favourites derived a share of

profit from it. Thus no one could buy any employment in my establishment

without a bribe to Grancey, to the Chevalier de Lorraine, to Cocard, or

to M. Spied. I troubled myself little about these persons; so long as

they continued to behave with proper respect towards me, I let them

alone; but when they presumed to ridicule me, or to give me any trouble,

I set them to rights without hesitation and as they deserved.

Finding that Madame la Marechale de Clerambault was attached to me, they

removed her, and they placed my daughter under the care of Madame la

Marechale de Grancey, the creature of my bitterest enemy, the Chevalier

de Lorraine, whose mistress was the elder sister of this very Grancei.

It may be imagined how fit an example such a woman was for my daughter;

but all my prayers, all my remonstrances, were in vain.

Madame de Montespan said to me one day that it was a shame I had no

ambition, and would not take part in anything.

I replied, “If a person should have intrigued assiduously to become

Madame, could not her son permit her to enjoy that rank peaceably? Well,

then, fancy that I have become so by such means, and leave me to repose.”

“You are obstinate,” said she.

“No, Madame,” I answered; “but I love quiet, and I look upon all your

ambition to be pure vanity.”

I thought she would have burst with spite, so angry was she. She,

however, continued,--

“But make the attempt and we will assist you.”

“No,” I replied, “Madame, when I think that you, who have a hundred times

more wit than I, have not been able to maintain your consequence in that

Court which you love so much, what hope can I, a poor foreigner, have of

succeeding, who know nothing of intrigue, and like it as little?”

She was quite mortified. “Go along,” she said, “you are good for

nothing.”

Old Maintenon and her party had instilled into the Dauphine a deep hatred

against me; by their direction she often said very impertinent things to

me. They hoped that I should resent them to the Dauphine in such manner

as to afford her reason to complain to the King of me, and thus draw his

displeasure upon me. But as I knew the tricks of the old woman and her

coterie, I resolved not to give them that satisfaction; I only laughed at

the disobliging manner in which they treated me, and I gave them to

understand that I thought the ill behaviour of the Dauphine was but a

trick of her childhood, which she would correct as she grew older. When

I spoke to her she made me no reply, and laughed at me with the ladies

attendant upon her.

“Ladies,” she once said to them, “amuse me; I am tired;” and at the same

time looked at me disdainfully. I only smiled at her, as if her

behaviour had no effect upon me.

I said, however, to old Maintenon, in a careless tone, “Madame la

Dauphine receives me ungraciously; I do not intend to quarrel with her,

but if she should become too rude I shall ask the King if he approves of

her behaviour.”

The old woman was alarmed, because she knew very well that the King had

enjoined the Dauphine always to behave politely to me; she begged me

immediately not to say a word to the King, assuring me that I should soon

see the Dauphine’s behaviour changed; and indeed, from that time, the

Dauphine altered her conduct, and lived upon much better terms with me.

If I had complained to the King of the ill treatment I received from the

Dauphine he would have been very angry; but she would not have hated me

the less, and she and her old aunt would have formed means to repay me

double.

Ratzenhausen has the good fortune to be sprung from a very good family;

the King was always glad to see her, because she made him laugh; she also

diverted the Dauphine, and Madame de Berri liked her much, and made her

visit her frequently. It is not surprising that we should be good

friends; we have been so since our infancy, for I was not nine years old

when I first became acquainted with her. Of all the old women I know,

there is not one who keeps up her gaiety like Linor.

I often visited Madame de Maintenon, and did all in my power to gain her

affections, but could never succeed. The Queen of Sicily asked me one

day if I did not go out with the King in his carriage, as when she was

with us. I replied to her by some verses (from Racine’s Phedre).

Madame de Torci told this again to old Maintenon, as if it applied to

her, which indeed it did, and the King was obliged to look coldly on me

for some time.

During the last three years of his life I had entirely gained my husband

to myself, so that he laughed at his own weaknesses, and was no longer

displeased at being joked with. I had suffered dreadfully before; but

from this period he confided in me entirely, and, always took my part.

By his death I saw the result of the care and pains of thirty years

vanish. After Monsieur’s decease, the King sent to ask me whither I

wished to retire, whether to a convent in Paris, or to Maubuisson, or

elsewhere. I replied that as I had the honour to be of the royal house

I could not live but where the King was, and that I intended to go

directly to Versailles. The King was pleased at this, and came to see

me. He somewhat mortified me by saying that he sent to ask me whither I

wished to go because he had not imagined that I should choose to stay

where he was. I replied that I did not know who could have told His

Majesty anything so false and injurious, and that I had a much more

sincere respect and attachment for His Majesty than those who had thus

falsely accused me. The King then dismissed all the persons present,

and we had a long explanation, in the course of which the King told me

I hated Madame de Maintenon. I confessed that I did hate her, but only

through my attachment for him, and because she did me wrong to His

Majesty; nevertheless, I added that, if it were agreeable to him that I

should be reconciled to her, I was ready to become so. The good lady was

not prepared for this, or she would not have suffered the King to come to

me; he was, however, so satisfied that he remained favourable to me up to

his last hour. He made old Maintenon come, and said to her, “Madame is

willing to make friends with you.” He then caused us to embrace, and

there the scene ended. He required her also to live upon good terms with

me, which she did in appearance, but secretly played me all sorts of

tricks. It was at this time a matter of indifference to me whether I

went to live at Montargis or not, but I would not have the appearance of

doing so in consequence of any disgrace, and as if I had committed some

offence for which I was driven from the Court. I had reason to fear,

besides, that at the end of two days’ journey I might be left to die of

hunger, and to avoid this risk I chose rather to be reconciled to the

King. As to going into a convent, I never once thought of it, although

it was that which old Maintenon most desired. The Castle of Montargis is

my jointure; at Orleans there is no house. St. Cloud is not a part of

the hereditary property, but was bought by Monsieur with his own money.

Therefore my jointure produces nothing; all that I have to live on comes

from the King and my son. At the commencement of my widowhood I was left

unpaid, and there was an arrear of 300,000 francs due to me, which were

not paid until after the death of Louis XIV. What, then, would have

become of me if I had chosen to retire to Montargis? My household

expenses amounted annually to 298,758 livres.

Although Monsieur received considerable wealth with me, I was obliged,

after his death, to give up to my son the jewels, movables, pictures--in

short, all that had come from my family; otherwise I should not have had

enough to live according to my rank and to keep up my establishment,

which is large. In my opinion, to do this is much better than to wear

diamonds.

My income is not more than 456,000 livres; and yet, if it please God, I

will not leave a farthing of debt. My son has just made me more rich by

adding 150,000 livres to my pension (1719). The cause of almost all the

evil which prevails here is the passion of women for play. I have often

been told to my face, “You are good for nothing; you do not like play.”

If by my influence I can serve any unfortunate persons with the different

branches of the Government, I always do so willingly; in case of success

I rejoice; in a less fortunate event I console myself by the belief that

it was not the will of God.

After the King’s death I repaired to St. Cyr to pay a visit to Madame de

Maintenon. On my entering the room she said to me, “Madame, what do you

come here for?”

I replied, “I come to mingle my tears with those of her whom the King I

so much deplore loved most.--that is yourself, Madame.”

“Yes, indeed,” she said, “he loved me well; but he loved you, also.”

I replied, “He did me the honour to say that, he would always distinguish

me by his friendship, although everything was done to make him hate me.”

I wished thus to let her understand that I was, quite aware of her

conduct, but that, being a Christian, I could pardon my enemies. If she

possessed any sensibility she must have felt some pain at thus.

receiving the forgiveness of one whom she had incessantly persecuted.

The affair of Loube is only a small part of what I have suffered here.

I have now no circle, for ladies a tabouret--[Ladies having the

privilege of seats upon small stools in the presence.]--seldom come to

me, not liking to appear but in full dress. I begged them to be present

as usual at an audience, which I was to give to the ambassador of Malta,

but not one of them came. When the late Monsieur and the King were

alive, they were more assiduous; they were not then so much accustomed to

full dresses, and when they did not come in sufficient numbers Monsieur

threatened to tell the King of it.

But this is enough, as M. Biermann said, after having preached four hours

together.

SECTION II.--LOUIS XIV.

[Illustration: Louis XIV.]

When the King pleased he could be one of the most agreeable and amiable

men in the world; but it was first necessary that he should be intimately

acquainted with persons. He used to joke in a very comical and amusing

manner.

The King, though by no means perfect, possessed some great and many fine

qualities; and by no means deserved to be defamed and despised by his

subjects after his death.

While he lived he was flattered, even to idolatry.

He was so much tormented on my account that I could not have wondered if

he had hated me most cordially. However, he did not; but, on the

contrary, he discovered that all which was said against me sprang from

malice and jealousy.

If he had not been so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of two of the

worst women in the world Montespan, and that old Maintenon, who was even

worse than the other, he would have been one of the best kings that ever

lived; for all the evil that he ever did proceeded from those two women,

and not from himself.

Although I approved of many things he did, I could not agree with him

when he maintained that it was vulgar to love one’s relations. Montespan

had instilled this into him, in order that she might get rid of all his

legitimate blood connections, and might suffer none about him but her

bastards; she had even carried matters so far as to seek to confine the

royal favour to her offspring or her creatures.

Our King loved the chase passionately; particularly hawking and stag

hunting.

One day all the world came to Marly to offer their compliments of

condolence; Louis XIV., to get rid of the ceremony, ordered that no

harangues should be made, but that all the Court should enter without

distinction and together at one door, and go out by the other. Among

them came the Bishop of Gap, in a sort of dancing step, weeping large,

hot tears, and smiling at the same moment, which gave to his face the

most grotesque appearance imaginable. Madame, the Dauphine, and I, were

the first who could not restrain ourselves; then the Dauphin and the Duc

de Berri, and at last the King, and everybody who was in the chamber

burst out into loud laughter.

The King, it must be allowed, gave occasion to great scandal on account

of his mistresses; but then he very sincerely repented of these offences.

He had good natural wit, but was extremely ignorant; and was so much

ashamed of it that it became the fashion for his courtiers to turn

learned men into ridicule. Louis XIV. could not endure to hear politics

talked; he was what they call in this country, ‘franc du collier’.

At Marly he did not wish the slightest ceremony to prevail. Neither

ambassadors nor other envoys were ever permitted to come here; he never

gave audience; there was no etiquette, and the people went about

‘pele-mele’. Out of doors the King made all the men wear their hats; and

in the drawing-room, everybody, even to the captains, lieutenants, and

sublieutenants of the foot-guards, were permitted to be seated. This

custom so disgusted me with the drawing-room that I never went to it.

The King used to take off his hat to women of all descriptions, even, the

common peasants.

When he liked people he would tell them everything he had heard; and for

this reason it was always dangerous to talk to him of that old Maintenon.

Although he loved flattery, he was very often ready to ridicule it.

Montespan and the old woman had spoiled him and hardened his heart

against his relations, for he was naturally of a very affectionate

disposition.

Louis XIV., as well as all the rest of his family, with the exception of

my son, hated reading. Neither the King nor Monsieur had been taught

anything; they scarcely knew how to read and write. The King was the

most polite man in his kingdom, but his son and his grandchildren were

the most rude.

In his youth he had played in the comedy of ‘Les Visionnaires’, which he

knew by heart, and in which he acted better than the comedians. He did

not know a note of music; but his ear was so correct that he could play

in a masterly style on the guitar, and execute whatever he chose.

It is not astonishing that the King and Monsieur were brought up in

ignorance. The Cardinal (Mazarin) wished to reign absolutely; if the

princes had been better instructed, he would neither have been trusted

nor employed, and this it was his object to prevent, hoping that he

should live much longer than he did. The Queen-mother found all that the

Cardinal did perfectly right; and, besides, it suited her purpose that he

should be indispensable. It is almost a miracle that the King should

have become what he afterwards was.

I never saw the King beat but two men, and they both well deserved it.

The first was a valet, who would not let him enter the garden during one

of his own fetes. The other was a pickpocket, whom the King saw emptying

the pocket of M. de Villars. Louis XIV., who was on horseback, rode

towards the thief and struck him with his cane; the rascal cried out,

“Murder! I shall be killed!” which made us all laugh, and the King

laughed, also. He had the thief taken, and made him give up the purse,

but he did not have him hanged.

The Duchesse de Schomberg was a good deal laughed at because she asked

the King a hundred questions, which is not the fashion here. The King

was not well pleased to be talked to; but he never laughed in any one’s

face.

When Louvois proposed to the King for the first time that he should

appoint Madame Dufresnoy, his mistress, a lady of the Queen’s bedchamber,

His Majesty replied, “Would you, then, have them laugh at both of us?”

Louvois, however, persisted so earnestly in his request that the King at

length granted it.

The Court of France was extremely agreeable until the King had the

misfortune to marry that old Maintenon; she withdrew him from company,

filled him with ridiculous scruples respecting plays, and told him that

he ought not to see excommunicated persons. In consequence of this she

had a small theatre erected in her own apartments, where plays were acted

twice a week before the King. Instead of the dismissed comedians,

[These dismissed comedians had, as appears by the edition of 1788,

renounced their profession, and had been admitted to the communion.

After that, Madame de Maintenon no longer saw any sin in them.]

she had the Dauphine, my son, the Duc de Berri, and her own nieces, to

play; in her opinion this was much better than the real comedians. The

King, instead of occupying his usual place, was seated behind me in a

corner, near Madame de Maintenon. This arrangement spoilt all, for the

consequence was that few people saw him, and the Court was almost

deserted.

Maintenon told me that the King said to her, “Now that I am old my

children get tired of me and are delighted to find any opportunity of

fixing me here and going elsewhere for their own amusement; Madame alone

stays, and I see that she is glad to be with me still.” But she did not

tell me that she had done all in her power to persuade him of the

contrary, and that the King spoke thus by way of reproaching her for the

lies she had invented about me. I learned that afterwards from others.

If the King had been my father I could not have loved him more than I

did; I was always pleased to be with him.

He was fond of the German soldiers, and said that the German horsemen

displayed more grace in the saddle than those of any other nation.

When the King had a design to punish certain libertines, Fagon--[Guy

Crescent Fagon, appointed the King’s chief physician in 1693, died in

1718.]--had an amusing conversation with him. He said,--

“Folks made love long before you came into the world, and they will

always continue to do so. You cannot prevent them; and when I hear

preachers talking in the pulpit and railing against such as yield to the

influence of passion, I think it is very much as if I should say to my

phthisical patients, ‘You must not cough; it is very wrong to spit.’

Young folks are full of humours, which must be dispersed by one way or

another.”

The King could not refrain from laughing.

He was only superstitious in religious matters; for example, with respect

to the miracles of the Virgin, etc.

He had been taught to believe that to make friends with his brother was a

great political stroke and a fine State device; that it made a part of

what is called to reign well.

Since the time of this King it has not been the custom for ladies to talk

of the affairs of the State.

If the King heard that any one had spoken ill of him, he displayed a

proud resentment towards the offender; otherwise it was impossible to be

more polite and affable than he was. His conversation was pleasing in a

high degree. He had the skill of giving an agreeable turn to everything.

His manner of talking was natural, without the least affectation, amiable

and obliging. Although he had not so much courage as Monsieur, he was

still no coward. His brother said that he had always behaved well in

occasions of danger; but his chief fault lay in being soon tired of war,

and wishing to return home.

From the time of his becoming so outrageously devout, all amusements were

suspended for three weeks (at Easter); and before, they were only

discontinued a fortnight.

The King had a peculiarity of disposition which led him easily to behave

harshly to persons who were disagreeable to such as he loved. It was

thus that La Valliere was so ill-treated at the instigation of Montespan.

He was much amused with the Comte de Grammont,--[Philibert, Comte de

Grammont, St. Evremond’s hero, and so well known by means of the Memoirs

of Count Antoine Hamilton, his brother-in-law.]--who was very pleasant.

He loaded him with proofs of his kindness, and invited him to join in all

the excursions to Marly, a decided mark of great favour.

The King frequently complained that in his youth he had not been allowed

to converse with people generally, but it was the fault of his natural

temper; for Monsieur, who had been brought up with him, used to talk to

everybody.

Louis XIV. used to say, laughingly, to Monsieur that his eternal

chattering had put him out of conceit with talking. “Ah, mon Dieu!” he

would say, “must I, to please everybody, say as many silly things as my

brother?”

In general, they would not have been taken for brothers. The King was a

large man, and my husband a small one: the latter had very effeminate

inclinations; he loved dress, was very careful of his complexion, and

took great interest in feminine employments and in ceremonies. The King,

on the contrary, cared little about dress, loved the chase and shooting,

was fond of talking of war, and had all manly tastes and habits.

Monsieur behaved well in battle, but never talked of it; he loved women

as companions, and was pleased to be with them. The King loved to see

them somewhat nearer, and not entirely en honneur, as Monsieur did.

[Madame is not a good authority on this point. The memoirs of the

time will show either that she cannot have known or must have

wilfully concealed the intrigues of various kinds in which her

husband was engaged.]

They nevertheless loved one another much, and it was very interesting to

see them together. They joked each other sensibly and pleasantly, and

without ever quarrelling.

I was never more amused than in a journey which I took with the King to

Flanders. The Queen and the Dauphine were then alive. As soon as we

reached a city, each of us retired to our own quarters for a short time,

and afterwards we went to the theatre, which was commonly so bad that we

were ready to die with laughing. Among others, I remember that at

Dunkirk we saw a company playing Mithridates. In speaking to Monimia,

Mithridates said something which I forget, but which was very absurd.

He turned round immediately to the Dauphine and said, “I very humbly beg

pardon, Madame, I assure you it was a slip of the tongue.” The laugh

which followed this apology may be imagined, but it became still greater

when the Prince of Conti,

[Louis-Armaud de Bourbon, Prince de Conti, married in 1780 to

Marie-Anne, commonly called Mademoiselle de Blois, one of the

legitimated daughters of Louis XIV. by Madame de la Valliere. She

was called at Court La Grande Princesse, on account of her beauty

and her stature.]

the husband of La Grande Princesse, who was sitting above the orchestra,

in a fit of laughing, fell into it. He tried to save himself by the

cord, and, in doing so, pulled down the curtain over the lamps, set it on

fire, and burnt a great hole in it. The flames were soon extinguished,

and the actors, as if they were perfectly indifferent, or unconscious of

the accident, continued to play on, although we could only see them

through the hole. When there was no play, we took airings and had

collations; in short, every day brought something new. After the King’s

supper we went to see magnificent artificial fireworks given by the

cities of Flanders. Everybody was gay; the Court was in perfect

unanimity, and no one thought of anything but to laugh and seek

amusement.

If the King had known the Duchess of Hanover, he would not have been

displeased at her calling him “Monsieur.” As she was a Sovereign

Princess, he thought it was through pride that she would not call him

“Sire,” and this mortified him excessively, for he was very sensitive on

such subjects.

One day, before Roquelaure was made a Duke, he was out when it rained

violently, and he ordered his coachman to drive to the Louvre, where the

entrance was permitted to none but Ambassadors, Princes and Dukes. When

his carriage arrived at the gate they asked who it was.

“A Duke,” replied he.

“What Duke?” repeated the sentinel.

“The Duc d’Epernon,” said he.

“Which of them?”

“The one who died last.” And upon this they let him enter. Fearing

afterwards that he might get into a scrape about it, he went directly to

the King. “Sire,” said he, “it rains so hard that I came in my coach

even to the foot of your staircase.”

The King was displeased. “What fool let you enter?” he asked.

“A greater fool than your Majesty can imagine,” replied Roquelaure, “for

he admitted me in the name of the Duc d’Epernon who died last.”

This ended the King’s anger and made him laugh very heartily.

So great a fear of hell had been instilled into the King that he not only

thought everybody who did not profess the faith of the Jesuits would be

damned, but he even thought he was in some danger himself by speaking to

such persons. If any one was to be ruined with the King, it was only

necessary to say, “He is a Huguenot or a Jansenist,” and his business was

immediately settled. My son was about to take into his service a

gentleman whose mother was a professed Jansenist. The Jesuits, by way of

embroiling my son with the King, represented that he was about to engage

a Jansenist on his establishment.

The King immediately sent for him and said “How is this, nephew?

I understand you think of employing a Jansenist in your service.”

“Oh, no!” replied my son, laughing, “I can assure your Majesty that he is

not a Jansenist, and I even doubt whether he believes in the existence of

a God.”

“Oh, well, then!” said the King, “if that be the case, and you are sure

that he is no Jansenist, you may take him.”

It is impossible for a man to be more ignorant of religion than the King

was. I cannot understand how his mother, the Queen, could have brought

him up with so little knowledge on this subject. He believed all that

the priests said to him, as if it came from God Himself. That old

Maintenon and Pere la Chaise had persuaded him that all the sins he had

committed with Madame de Montespan would be pardoned if he persecuted and

extirpated the professors of the reformed religion, and that this was the

only path to heaven. The poor King believed it fervently, for he had

never seen a Bible in his life; and immediately after this the

persecution commenced. He knew no more of religion than what his

confessors chose to tell him, and they had made him believe that it was

not lawful to investigate in matters of religion, but that the reason

should be prostrated in order to gain heaven. He was, however, earnest

enough himself, and it was not his fault that hypocrisy reigned at Court.

The old Maintenon had forced people to assume it.

It was formerly the custom to swear horridly on all occasions; the King

detested this practice, and soon abolished it.

He was very capable of gratitude, but neither his children nor his

grandchildren were. He could not bear to be made to wait for anything.

He said that by means of chains of gold he could obtain anything he

wished from the ministers at Vienna.

He could not forgive the French ladies for affecting English fashions.

He used often to joke about it, and particularly in the conversation

which he addressed to me, expecting that I would take it up and tease the

Princesses. To amuse him, I sometimes said whatever came into my head,

without the least ceremony, and often made him laugh heartily.

Reversi was the only game at which the King played, and which he liked.

When he did not like openly to reprove any person, he would address

himself to me; for he knew that I never restrained myself in

conversation, and that amused him infinitely. At table, he was almost

obliged to talk to me, for the others scarcely said a word. In the

cabinet, after supper, there were none but the Duchess--[Anne of

Bavaria, wife of Henri-Jules, Duc de Bourbon, son of the great Conde; she

bore the title of Madame la Princesse after his death.]--and I who spoke

to him. I do not know whether the Dauphine used to converse with the

King in the cabinets, for while she was alive I was never permitted to

enter them, thanks to Madame de Maintenon’s interference; the Dauphine

objected to it; the King would willingly have had it so; but he dare not

assert his will for fear of displeasing the Dauphine and the old woman.

I was not therefore suffered to enter until after the death of the

Dauphine, and then only because the King wished to have some one who

would talk to him in the evening, to dissipate his melancholy thoughts,

in which I did my best. He was dissatisfied with his daughters on both

sides, who, instead of trying to console him in his grief, thought only

of amusing themselves, and the good King might often have remained alone

the whole evening if I had not visited his cabinet. He was very sensible

of this, and said to Maintenon, “Madame is the only one who does not

abandon me.”

Louis XIV. spoiled the Jesuits; he thought whatever came from them must

be admirable, whether it was right or wrong.

The King did not like living in town; he was convinced that the people

did not love him, and that there was no security for him among them.

Maintenon had him, besides, more under her sway at Versailles than at

Paris, where there was certainly no security for her. She was

universally detested there; and whenever she went out in a carriage the

populace shouted loud threats against her, so that at last she dared not

appear in public.

At first the King was in the habit of dining with Madame de Montespan and

his children, and then no person went to visit him but the Dauphin and

Monsieur. When Montespan was dismissed, the King had all his

illegitimate children in his cabinet: this continued until the arrival of

the last Dauphine; she intruded herself among the bastards to their great

affliction. When the Duchess--

[Louise-Francoise, commonly called Mademoiselle de Nantes, the

legitimated daughter of Madame de Montespan and the King, was

married to the Duc de Bourbon in 1685.]

became the favourite of the Dauphin, she begged that no other persons of

the royal house might have access to the cabinet; and therefore my

request for admission, although not refused, was never granted until

after the death of the Dauphin and Dauphine. The latter accompanied the

King to places where I did not, and could not go, for she even, went with

him upon occasions when decency ought to have forbidden her presence.

Maintenon did the same thing, for the purpose of having an opportunity of

talking to the King in secret.

Louis XIV. loved the young Dauphine so well that he dared refuse her

nothing; and Maintenon had so violent a hatred against me that she was

ready to do me all the mischief in her power. What could the King do

against the inclinations of his son and his granddaughter? They would

have looked cross, and that would have grieved him. I had no inclination

to cause him any vexation, and therefore preferred exercising my own

patience. When I had anything to say to the King, I requested a private

audience, which threw them all into despair, and furnished me with a good

laugh in my sleeve.

The King was so much devoted to the old usages of the Royal Palace that

he would not for the world have departed from them. Madame de Fiennes

was in the habit of saying that the Royal Family adhered so strictly to

their habits and customs that the Queen of England died with a toguet on

her head; that is, a little cap which is put upon children when they go

to bed.

When the King denied anything it was not permitted to argue with him;

what he commanded must be done quickly and without reply. He was too

much accustomed to “such is our good pleasure,” to endure any

contradiction.

He was always kind and generous when he acted from his own impulses.

He never thought that his last will would be observed; and he said to

several people, “They have made me sign a will and some other papers;

I have done it for the sake of being quiet, but I know very well that it

will not stand good.”

The good King was old; he stood in need of repose, and he could not enjoy

it by any other means than by doing whatever that old Maintenon wished;

thus it was that this artful hussy always accomplished her ends.

The King used always to call the Duc de Verneuil his uncle.

It has been said and believed that Louis XIV. retired from the war

against Holland through pure generosity; but I know, as well as I know my

own name that he came back solely for the purpose of seeing Madame de

Montespan, and to stay with her. I know also many examples of great

events, which in history have been attributed to policy or ambition, but

which have originated from the most insignificant trifles. It has been

said it was our King’s ambition that made him resolve to become the

master of the world, and that it was for this he commenced the Dutch war;

but I know from an indisputable source that it was entered upon only

because M. de Lionne, then Minister of State, was jealous of Prince

William of Furstenberg, who had an intrigue with his wife, of which he

had been apprised. It was this that caused him to engage in those

quarrels which afterwards produced the war.

It was not surprising that the King was insensible to the scarcity which

prevailed, for in the first place he had seen nothing of it, and, in the

second, he had been told that all the reports which had reached him were

falsehoods, and that they were in no respect true. Old Maintenon

invented this plan for getting money, for she had bought up all the corn,

for the purpose of retailing it at a high price. [This does not sound

like M. Maintenon. D.W.] Everybody had been requested to say nothing

about it to the King, lest it should kill him with vexation.

The King loved my son as well as his own, but he cared little for the

girls. He was very fond of Monsieur, and he had reason to be so; never

did a child pay a more implicit obedience to its parents than did

Monsieur to the King; it was a real veneration; and the Dauphin, too, had

for him a veneration, affection and submission such as never son had for

a father. The King was inconsolable for his death. He never had much

regard for the Duke of Burgundy; the old sorceress (Maintenon) had

slandered him to the King, and made the latter believe that he was of an

ambitious temper, and was impatient at the King’s living so long. She

did this in order that if the Prince should one day open his eyes, and

perceive the manner in which his wife had been educated, his complaints

might have no effect with the King, which really took place. Louis XIV.

at last thought everything that the Dauphine of Burgundy did was quite

charming; old Maintenon made him believe that her only aim was to divert

him. This old woman was to him both the law and the prophets; all that

she approved was good, and what she condemned was bad, no matter how

estimable it really was. The most innocent actions of the first Dauphine

were represented as crimes, and all the impertinences of the second were

admired.

A person who had been for many years in immediate attendance upon the

King, who had been engaged with him every evening at Maintenon’s, and

who must consequently have heard everything that was said, is one of my

very good friends, and he has told me that although while the old lady

was living he dare not say a word, yet, she being dead, he was at liberty

to tell me that the King had always professed a real friendship for me.

This person has often heard with his own ears Maintenon teasing the King,

and speaking ill of me for the purpose of rendering me hateful in his

eyes, but the King always took my part. It was in reference to this,

I have no doubt, that the King said to me on his death-bed:

“They have done all they could to make me hate you, Madame, but they have

not succeeded.” He added that he had always known me too well to believe

their calumnies. While he spoke thus, the old woman stood by with so

guilty an air that I could not doubt they had proceeded from her.

Monsieur often took a pleasure in diminishing or depriving me of the

King’s favour, and the King was not sorry for some little occasions to

blame Monsieur. He told me once that he had embroiled me with Monsieur

by policy.

I was alarmed, and said immediately, “Perhaps your Majesty may do the

same thing again.”

The King laughed, and said, “No, if I had intended to do so I should not

have told you of it; and, to say the truth, I had some scruples about it,

and have resolved never to do so again.”

Upon the death of one of his children, the King asked of his old medical

attendant, M. Gueneau: “Pray, how does it happen that my illegitimate

children are healthy and live, while all the Queen’s children are so

delicate and always die?” “Sire,” replied Gueneau, “it is because the

Queen has only the rinsings of the glass.”

He always slept in the Queen’s bed, but did not always accommodate

himself to the Spanish temperament of that Princess; so that the Queen

knew he had been elsewhere. The King, nevertheless, had always great

consideration for her, and made his mistresses treat her with all

becoming respect. He loved her for her virtue, and for the sincere

affection she bore to him, notwithstanding his infidelity. He was much

affected at her death; but four days afterwards, by the chattering of old

Maintenon, he was consoled. A few days afterwards we went to

Fontainebleau, and expected to find the King in an ill-humour, and that

we should be scolded; but, on the contrary, he was very gay.

When the King returned from a journey we were all obliged to be at the

carriage as he got out, for the purpose of accompanying him to his

apartments.

While Louis XIV. was young all the women were running after him; but he

renounced this sort of life when he flattered himself that he had grown

devout. His motive was, Madame de Maintenon watched him so narrowly that

he could not, dare not, look at any one. She disgusted him with

everybody else that she might have him to herself; and this, too, under

the pretext of taking care of his soul.

Madame de Colonne had a great share of wit, and our King was so much in

love with her, that, if her uncle, the Cardinal, had consented, he would

certainly have married her. Cardinal Mazarin, although in every other

respect a worthless person, deserved to be praised for having opposed

this marriage. He sent his niece into Italy. When she was setting out,

the King wept violently. Madame de Colonne said to him, “You are a King;

you weep, and yet I go.” This was saying a great deal in a few words.

As to the Comtesse de Soissons, the King had always more of friendship

than of love for her. He made her very considerable presents, the least

of which was to the amount of 2,000 louis.

Madame de Ludres, the King’s mistress, was an agreeable person;

she had been Maid of Honour to Monsieur’s first wife,--[Henrietta of

England.]--and after her death she entered the Queen’s service, but when

these places were afterwards abolished, Monsieur took back Ludres and

Dampierre, the two Ladies of Honour he had given to the Queen. The

former was called Madame, because she was canoness of a chapter at

Lorraine.

It is said that the King never observed her beauty while she was with the

Queen, and that it was not until she was with me that he fell in love

with her. Her reign lasted only two years. Montespan told the King that

Ludres had certain ringworms upon her body, caused by a poison that had

been given her in her youth by Madame de Cantecroix. At twelve or

thirteen years of age, she had inspired the old Duc de Lorraine with so

violent a passion that he resolved to marry her at all events. The

poison caused eruptions, covered her with ringworms from head to foot,

and prevented the marriage. She was cured so well as to preserve the

beauty of her figure, but she was always subject to occasional eruptions.

Although now (1718) more than seventy years old, she is still beautiful;

she has as fine features as can be seen, but a very disagreeable manner

of speaking; she lisps horribly. She is, however, a good sort of person.

Since she has been converted she thinks of nothing but the education of

her nieces, and limits her own expenses that she may give the more to her

brother’s children. She is in a convent at Nancy, which she is at

liberty to quit when she pleases. She, as well as her nieces, enjoy

pensions from the King.

I have seen Beauvais, that femme de chambre of the Queen-mother, a

one-eyed creature, who is said to have first taught the King the art of

intriguing. She was perfectly acquainted with all its mysteries, and had

led a very profligate life; she lived several years after my arrival in

France.

Louis XIV. carried his gallantries to debauchery. Provided they were

women, all were alike to him peasants, gardeners’ girls, femmes de

chambre, or ladies of quality. All that they had to do was to seem to be

in love with him.

For a long time before his death, however, he had ceased to run after

women; he even exiled the Duchesse de la Ferte, because she pretended to

be dying for him. When she could not see him, she had his portrait in

her carriage to contemplate it. The King said that it made him

ridiculous, and desired her to retire to her own estate. The Duchesse de

Roquelaure, of the house of Laval, was also suspected of wishing to

captivate the King; but his Majesty was not so severe with her as with La

Ferte. There was great talk in the scandalous circles about this

intrigue; but I did not thrust my nose into the affair.

I am convinced that the Duchesse de la Valliere always loved the King

very much. Montespan loved him for ambition, La Soubise for interest,

and Maintenon for both. La Fontange loved him also, but only like the

heroine of a romance; she was a furiously romantic person. Ludres was

also very much attached to him, but the King soon got tired of her. As

for Madame de Monaco, I would not take an oath that she never intrigued

with the King. While the King was fond of her, Lauzun, who had a regular

though a secret arrangement with his cousin, fell into disgrace for the

first time. He had forbidden his fair one to see the King; but finding

her one day sitting on the ground, and talking with His Majesty, Lauzun,

who, in his place as Captain of the guard, was in the chamber, was so

transported with jealousy that he could not restrain himself, and,

pretending to pass, he trod so violently on the hand which Madame de

Monaco had placed upon the ground, that he nearly crushed it. The King,

who thus guessed at their intrigue, reprimanded him. Lauzun replied

insolently, and was sent for the first time to the Bastille.

Madame de Soubise was cunning, full of dissimulation, and very wicked.

She deceived the good Queen cruelly; but the latter rewarded her for this

in exposing her falsehood and in unmasking her to the world. As soon as

the King had undeceived Her Majesty with respect to this woman, her

history became notorious, and the Queen amused herself in relating her

triumph, as she called it, to everybody.

The King and Monsieur had been accustomed from their childhood to great

filthiness in the interior of their houses; so much so, that they did not

know it ought to be otherwise, and yet, in their persons, they, were

particularly neat.

Madame de la Motte, who had been at Chaillot, preferred the old Marquis

de Richelieu to the King. She declared to His Majesty that her heart was

no longer disposable, but that it was at length fixed.

I can never think, without anger, of the evil which has been spoken of

the late King, and how little His Majesty has been regretted by those to

whom he had done so much good.

I hardly dare repeat what the King said to me on his death-bed. All

those who were usually in his cabinet were present, with the exception of

the Princess, his daughter, the Princesse de Conti, and Madame de

Vendome, who, alone, did not see the King. The whole of the Royal Family

was assembled. He recommended his legitimated daughters to live together

in concord, and I was the innocent cause of his saying something

disagreeable to them. When the King said, “I recommend you all to be

united,” I thought he alluded to me and my son’s daughter; and I said,

“Yes, Monsieur, you shall be obeyed.” He turned towards me, and said in

a stern voice, “Madame, you thought I spoke of you. No, no; you are a

sensible person, and I know you; it is to the Princesses, who are not so,

that I speak:”

Louis XIV. proved at his death that he was really a great man, for it

would be impossible to die with more courage than he displayed. For

eight days he had incessantly the approach of death before his eyes

without betraying fear or apprehension; he arranged everything as if he

had only been going to make a journey.

Eight or ten days before his death a disease had appeared in his leg; a

gangrene ensued, and it was this which caused his death. But for three

months preceding he had been afflicted with a slow fever, which had

reduced him so much that he looked like a lath. That old rogue, Fagon,

had brought him to this condition, by administering purgatives and

sudorifics of the most violent kind. At the instigation of

Pere Letellier, he had been tormented to death by the cursed

constitution,--[The affair of the Bull Unigenitus]--and had not been

allowed to rest day or night. Fagon was a wicked old scoundrel, much

more attached to Maintenon than to the King. When I perceived how much

it was sought to exault the Duc du Maine, and that the old woman cared

so little for the King’s death, I could not help entertaining

unfavourable notions of this old rascal.

It cannot be denied that Louis XIV. was the finest man in his kingdom.

No person had a better appearance than he. His figure was agreeable, his

legs well made, his feet small, his voice pleasant; he was lusty in

proportion; and, in short, no fault could be found with his person.

Some folks thought he was too corpulent for his height, and that Monsieur

was too stout; so that it was said, by way of a joke at Court, that there

had been a mistake, and that one brother had received what had been

intended for the other. The King was in the habit of keeping his mouth

open in an awkward way.

An English gentleman, Mr. Hammer, found him an expert fencer.

He preserved his good looks up to his death, although some of my ladies,

who saw him afterwards, told me that he could scarcely be recognized.

Before his death, his stature had been diminished by a head, and he

perceived this himself.

His pronunciation was very distinct, but all his children, from the

Dauphin to the Comte de Toulouse, lisped. They used to say, Pahi,

instead of Paris.

In general, the King would have no persons at his table but members of

the Royal Family. As for the Princesses of the blood, there were so many

of them that the ordinary table would not have held them; and, indeed,

when we were all there, it was quite full.

The King used to sit in the middle, and had the Dauphin and the Duke of

Burgundy at his right, and the Dauphine and the Duchesse de Berri on his

left; on one of the sides Monsieur and I sat; and on the other, my son

and his wife; the other parts of the table were reserved for the noblemen

in waiting, who did not take their places behind the King, but opposite

to him. When the Princesses of the blood or any other ladies were

received at the King’s table, we were waited on, not by noblemen, but by

other officers of the King’s household, who stood behind like pages.

The King upon such occasions was waited on by his chief Maitre d’Hotel.

The pages never waited at the King’s table, but on journeys; and then

upon no person but the King. The Royal Family had persons to attend them

who were not noble. Formerly all the King’s officers, such as the

butler, the cupbearer, etc., etc., were persons of rank; but afterwards,

the nobility becoming poor could not afford to buy the high offices; and

they fell, of necessity, into the hands of more wealthy citizens who

could pay for them.

The King, the late Monsieur, the Dauphin, and the Duc de Berri were great

eaters. I have often seen the King eat four platefuls of different

soups, a whole pheasant, a partridge, a plateful of salad, mutton hashed

with garlic, two good-sized slices of ham, a dish of pastry, and

afterwards fruit and sweetmeats. The King and Monsieur were very fond of

hard eggs.

Louis XIV. understood perfectly the art of satisfying people even while

he reproved their requests. His manners were most affable, and he spoke

with so much politeness as to win all hearts.

SECTION III.--MADEMOISELLE DE FONTANGE.

I had a Maid of Honour whose name was Beauvais; she was a very

well-disposed person: the King fell in love with her, but she remained

firm against all his attempts. He then turned his attention to her

companion, Fontange, who was also very pretty, but not very sensible.

When he first saw her he said, “There is a wolf that will not eat me;”

and yet he became very fond of her soon afterwards. Before she came to

me she had dreamt all that was to befall her, and a pious Capuchin

explained her dream to her. She told me of it herself long before she

became the King’s mistress. She dreamt that she had ascended a high

mountain, and, having reached the summit, she was dazzled by an

exceedingly bright cloud; then on a sudden she found herself in such

profound darkness that her terror at this accident awoke her. When she

told her confessor he said to her: “Take care of yourself; that mountain

is the Court, where some distinction awaits you; it will, however, be

but of short duration; if you abandon your God He will forsake you and

you will fall into eternal darkness.”

There is no doubt that Fontange died by poison; she accused Montespan of

being the cause of her death. A servant who had been bribed by that

favourite destroyed her and some of her people by means of poison mixed

with milk. Two of them died with her, and said publicly that they had

been poisoned.

Fontange was a stupid little creature, but she had a very good heart.

She was very red-haired, but, beautiful as an angel from head to foot.

SECTION IV.-MADAME DE LA VALLIERE.

When one of Madame de Montespan’s children died, the King was deeply

affected; but he was not so at the death of the poor Comte de Vermandois

(the son of La Valliere). He could not bear him, because Montespan and

that old Maintenon had made him believe the youth was not his but the Duc

de Lauzun’s child. It had been well if all the King’s reputed children

had been as surely his as this was. Madame de La Valliere was no light

mistress, as her unwavering penitence sufficiently proved. She was an

amiable, gentle, kind and tender woman. Ambition formed no part of her

love for the King; she had a real passion for him, and never loved any

other person. It was at Montespan’s instigation that the King behaved so

ill to her. The poor creature’s heart was broken, but she imagined that

she could not make a sacrifice more agreeable to God than that which had

been the cause of her errors; and thought that her repentance ought to

proceed from the same source as her crime. She therefore remained, by

way of self-mortification, with Montespan, who, having a great portion of

wit, did not scruple to ridicule her publicly, behaved extremely ill to

her, and obliged the King to do the same.

He used to pass through La Valliere’s chamber to go to Montespan’s; and

one day, at the instigation of the latter, he threw a little spaniel,

which he had called Malice, at the Duchesse de La Valliere, saying:

“There, Madam, is your companion; that’s all.”

This was the more cruel, as he was then going direct to Montespan’s

chamber. And yet La Valliere bore everything patiently; she was as

virtuous as Montespan was vicious. Her connection with the King might be

pardoned, when it was remembered that everybody had not only advised her

to it, but had even assisted to bring it about. The King was young,

handsome and gallant; she was, besides, very young; she was naturally

modest, and had a very good heart. She was very much grieved when she

was made a Duchess, and her children legitimated; before that she thought

no one knew she had had children. There was an inexpressible charm in

her countenance, her figure was elegant, her eyes were always in my

opinion much finer than Montespan’s, and her whole deportment was

unassuming. She was slightly lame, but not so much as to impair her

appearance.

When I first arrived in France she had not retired to the convent, but

was still in the Court. We became and continued very intimate until she

took the veil. I was deeply affected when this charming person took that

resolution; and, at the moment when the funeral pall was thrown over her,

I shed so many tears that I could see no more. She visited me after the

ceremony, and told me that I should rather congratulate than weep for

her, for that from that moment her happiness was to begin: she added that

she should never forget the kindness and friendship I had displayed

towards her, and which was so much more than she deserved. A short time

afterwards I went to see her. I was curious to know why she had remained

so long in the character of an attendant to Montespan. She told me that

God had touched her heart, and made her sensible of her crimes; that she

felt she ought to perform a penitence, and suffer that which would be

most painful to her, which was to love the King, and to be despised by

him; that for the three years after the King had ceased to love her she

had suffered the torments of the damned, and that she offered her sorrows

to Heaven as the expiation of her sins; and as her sins had been public,

so should be her repentance. She said she knew very well that she had

been taken for a fool, who was not sensible of anything; but that at the

very period she alluded to she suffered most, and continued to do so

until God inspired her with the resolution to abandon everything, and to

serve Him alone, which she had since put into execution; but that now she

considered herself unworthy, on account of her past life, to live in the

society of persons as pure and pious as the Carmelite Sisters. All this

evidently came from the heart.

From the time she became professed, she was entirely devoted to Heaven.

I often told her that she had only transposed her love, and had given to

God that which had formerly been the King’s. She has said frequently

that if the King should come into the convent she would refuse to see

him, and would hide herself so that he could not find her. She was,

however, spared this pain, for the King not only never went, but seemed

to have forgotten her, as if he had never known her.

To accuse La Valliere of loving any one besides the King was wicked to

the last degree, but falsehoods cost Montespan but little. The Comte de

Vermandois was a good sort of young man, and loved me as if I had been

his mother. When his irregularities were first discovered,--[A more

particular account of these will be found hereafter.]--I was very angry

with him; and I had caused him to be told very seriously that if he had

behaved ill I should cease to have any regard for him. This grieved him

to the heart; he sent to me daily, and begged permission to say only a

few words to me. I was firm during four weeks; at length I permitted him

to come, when he threw himself at my feet, begged my pardon, promising to

amend his conduct, and beseeching me to restore him my friendship

(without which he said he could not exist), and to assist him again with

my advice. He told me the whole history of his follies, and convinced me

that he had been most grossly deluded.

When the Dauphine lay in of the Duke of Burgundy, I said to the King,

“I hope your Majesty will not upon this occasion refuse a humble request

I have to make to you.”

He smiled and said, “What have you to ask, then?”

I replied, “The pardon, Monsieur, of the poor Comte de Vermandois.”

He smiled once more, and said, “You are a very good friend; but as for M.

Vermandois, he has not been sufficiently punished for his crimes.”

“The poor lad,” I rejoined, “is so very penitent for his offence.”

The King replied, “I do not yet feel myself inclined to see him; I am too

angry with him still.”

Several months elapsed before the King would see him; but the young man

was very grateful to me for having spoken in his behalf; and my own

children could not be more attached to me than he was. He was well made,

but his appearance, though not disagreeable, was not remarkably good; he

squinted a little.

SECTION V.--MADAME DE MONTESPAN

The King at first could not bear Madame de Montespan,--[Daughter of

Gabriel de Roche Chouart, first Duc de Mortemart.]--and blamed Monsieur

and even the Queen for associating with her; yet, eventually, he fell

deeply in love with her himself.

She was more of an ambitious than a libertine woman, but as wicked as the

devil himself. Nothing could stand between her and the gratification of

her ambition, to which she would have made any sacrifice. Her figure was

ugly and clumsy, but her eyes bespoke great intelligence, though they

were somewhat too bright. Her mouth was very pretty and her smile

uncommonly agreeable. Her complexion was fairer than La Valliere’s, her

look was more bold, and her general appearance denoted her intriguing

temper. She had very beautiful light hair, fine arms, and pretty hands,

which La Valliere had not. But the latter was always very neat, and

Montespan was filthy to the last degree. She was very amusing in

conversation, and it was impossible to be tired in talking with her.

The King did not regret Montespan more than he did La Fontange. The Duc

d’Antin, her only legitimate child, was also the only one who wept at her

death. When the King had the others legitimated, the mother’s name was

not mentioned, so that it might appear Madame de Montespan was not their

mother.

[Madame de Montespan had eight children by Louis XIV. The Duc du

Maine; Comte Vegin; Mademoiselle de Nantes, married to the Duc de

Bourbon; Mademoiselle de Tours, married to the Regent Duc d’Orleans;

the Comte de Toulouse, and two other sons who died young.]

She was once present at a review, and as she passed before the German

soldiers they called out:

“Konigs Hure! Hure!” When the King asked her in the evening how she

liked the review, she said: “Very well, but only those German soldiers

are so simple as not to call things by their proper names, for I had

their shouts explained to me.”

Madame de Montespan and her eldest daughter could drink a large quantity

of wine without being affected by it. I have seen them drink six bumpers

of the strong Turin Rosa Solis, besides the wine which they had taken

before. I expected to see them fall under the table, but, on the

contrary, it affected them no more than a draught of water.

It was Madame de Montespan who invented the ‘robes battantes’ for the

purpose of concealing her pregnancy, because it was impossible to

discover the shape in those robes. But when she wore them, it was

precisely as if she had publicly announced that which she affected to

conceal, for everybody at the Court used to say, “Madame de Montespan has

put on her robe battante, therefore she must be pregnant.” I believe she

did it on purpose, hoping that it commanded more attention for her at

Court, as it really did.

It is quite true that she always had a Royal bodyguard, and it was fit

that she should, because the King was always in her apartments by day and

night. He transacted business there with his Ministers, but, as there

were several chambers, the lady was, nevertheless, quite at liberty to do

as she pleased, and the Marshal de Noailles, though a devout person, was

still a man. When she went out in a carriage, she had guards, lest her

husband should, as he had threatened, offer her some insult.

She caused the Queen great vexation, and it is quite true that she used

to ridicule her; but then she did the same to everybody besides. She,

however, never ventured upon any direct or remarkable impertinence to Her

Majesty, for the King would not have suffered it.

She had married one of her cousins, M. de Montpipeau, to Mademoiselle

Aubry, the daughter of a private citizen who was exceedingly rich. To

convince her that she had made a good match, Madame de Montespan had her

brought into her own small private room. The young lady was not

accustomed to very refined society, and the first time she went she

seated herself upon the table, and, crossing her legs, sat swinging there

as if she had been in her own chamber. The laugh which this excited

cannot be conceived, nor the comical manner in which Madame de Montespan

turned it to the King’s amusement. The young lady thought that her new

relation was inclined to be favourable to her, and loaded her with

compliments. In general, Montespan had the skill of representing things

so humourously that it was impossible not to laugh at her.

According to the law of the land, all her children were supposed to be

Monsieur de Montespan’s. When her husband was dangerously ill, Madame de

Montespan, who in some degree affected devotion, sent to ask him if he

would allow her to nurse him in his sickness. He replied that he would

very willingly, provided she would bring all his children home with her,

but if she left one behind he would not receive her. After this answer,

she took care not to go, for her husband was a great brute, and would

have said whatever he pleased as soon as she presented herself to him.

With the exception of the Comte de Toulouse, all the children she had by

the King are marked. The Duc du Maine is paralytic, Madame d’Orleans is

crooked, and Madame la Duchesse is lame.

M. de Montespan was not a very estimable person; he did nothing but play.

He was a very sordid man, and I believe if the King had chosen to give

him a good round sum he would have been very quiet. It was amusing

enough to see him and his son, d’Antin, playing with Madame d’Orleans and

Madame la Duchesse, and presenting the cards very politely, and kissing

his hand to the Princesses, who were called his own daughters. He

thought it a joke himself, and always turned aside a little to laugh in

his sleeve.

SECTION VI.--MADAME DE MAINTENON.

The marriage of Louis XIV. with old Maintenon proves how impossible it is

to escape one’s fate. The King said one day to the Duc de Crequi and to

M. de La Rochefoucauld, long before he knew Mistress Scarron, “I am

convinced that astrology is false. I had my nativity cast in Italy, and

I was told that, after living to an advanced age, I should be in love

with an old ----- to the last moment of my existence. I do not think

there is any great likelihood of that.” He laughed most heartily as he

said this; and yet the thing has taken place.

The history of Theodora, in Procopius, bears a singular resemblance to

that of Maintenon. In the history of Sweden, too, there is a similar

character in the person of Sigbritta, a Dutch woman, who lived during the

reign of Christian IL, King of Denmark, Sweden and Norway, who bears so

great a likeness to Maintenon that I was struck with it as soon as I read

it. I cannot imagine how they came to permit its publication. It is

fortunate for the Abbe Vertot, who is the author, that the King does not

love reading, otherwise he would certainly have been sent to the

Bastille. Several persons thought that the Abbe had invented it by way

of a joke, but he swears by all that is good that he found it in the

annals of Sweden. The old woman cannot have read it either, for she is

too much occupied in reading the letters written to her from Paris,

relating all that is going on there and at the Court. Sometimes the

packets have consisted of twenty or thirty sheets; she kept them or

showed them to the King, according as she liked or disliked the persons.

She was not deficient in wit, and could talk very well whenever she

chose. She did not like to be called La Marquise, but preferred the

simpler and shorter title of Madame de Maintenon.

She did not scruple to display openly the hatred she had for me. For

example, when the Queen of England came to Marly, and went out on foot or

in the carriage with the King, on their return the Queen, the Dauphine,

the Princess of England, and all the Princesses, went into the King’s

room; I alone was excluded.

It was with great regret that I gave up my Maids of Honour. I had four,

sometimes five of them, with their governess and sub-governess; they

amused me very much, for they were all very gay. The old woman feared

there might be some among them to whom the King might take a fancy, as he

had done to Ludre and Fontange. I only kept my Maids of Honour a year

after the death of Monsieur.--[1702]--The King was always fond of the

sex, and if the old woman had not watched him very narrowly he would have

slipped through her fingers in spite of all his devotion.

She hated the Dauphine because the latter would not let her treat her

like a child, but wished to keep a Court and live as became her rank.

This the old woman could not and would not endure. She loved to set all

things in confusion, as she did afterwards with the second Dauphine, in

the hope of compelling the King to recognize and proclaim her as Queen;

but this the King never would do, notwithstanding all her artifices.--

[Other writers including Madame de Montespan put it just the opposite way

that the King wished to proclaim Maintenon Queen and she refused. D.W.]

Nobody at Court used perfumery except that old woman; her gloves were

always scented with jessamine. The King could not bear scent on any

other person, and only endured it in her because she made him believe

that it was somebody else who was perfumed.

If Madame des Ursins had not been protected by Madame de Maintenon, she

would have been ruined at Court long before the Queen of Spain dismissed

her, for in his heart the King disliked her excessively; but all those

who were supported by Madame de Maintenon were sure to triumph.

The old woman took great pains to conceal from the King all that could

give him pain; but she did not scruple to torment him incessantly about

the Constitution and those illegitimate children, whom she wished to

raise higher than the King desired. She teased him also with her hatred

of my son and myself, for he had no dislike to us.

Neither the Queen nor the first Dauphine nor myself ever received a

farthing; but this old Maintenon took money on all sides, and taught the

second Dauphine to do the same. Her example was followed by all the

others.

In the time of the Queen and the first Dauphine, everything at Court was

conducted with modesty and dignity. Those persons who indulged in secret

debaucheries at least kept up a respect for appearances; but from the

time that Maintenon’s reign began, and the King’s illegitimate children

were made a part of the Royal Family, all was turned topsy-turvy.

When she once conceived a hatred against any person it was for life, and

she never ceased secretly to persecute them, as I have personally

experienced. She has laid many snares for me, which by the help of

Providence I have always avoided. She was terribly annoyed by her first

husband, who kept her always shut up in his chamber. Many people say,

too, that she hastened the passage of poor Mansart into the other world.

It is quite certain that he was poisoned by means of green peas, and that

he died within three hours of eating them. She had learnt that on the

same day M. de Torcy was going to show the King certain papers

containing an account of the money which she had received from the post

unknown to His Majesty. The King never knew anything of this adventure

nor of that of Louvois, because, as people had no fancy for being

poisoned, they held their tongues.

Before she got into power, the Church of France was very reasonable;

but she spoiled everything by encouraging such follies and superstitions

as the rosaries and other things. When any reasonable men appeared, the

old woman and the Confessor had them banished or imprisoned. These two

persons were the causes of all the persecutions which the Lutherans and

those of the reformed religion underwent in France. Pere La Chaise, with

his long ears, began this worthy enterprise, and Pere Letellier completed

it; France was thus ruined in every way.

The Duchesse de Bourbon was taught by her mother and her aunt, Mesdames

de Montespan and De Thiange, to ridicule everybody, under the pretext of

diverting the King. The children, who were always present, learnt

nothing else; and this practice was the universal dread of all persons in

the Court; but not more so than that of the gouvernante of the children

(Madame de Maintenon). Her habit was to treat things very seriously, and

without the least appearance of jesting. She used to speak ill of

persons to the King through charity and piety, for the sole purpose of

correcting the faults of her neighbours; and under this pretext she

filled the King with a bad opinion of the whole Court, solely that he

might have no desire for any other company than that of herself and her

creatures, who were alone perfect and without the slightest defect. What

rendered her disclosures the more dangerous was that they were frequently

followed by banishment, by ‘lettres-de-cachet’, and by imprisonment.

When Montespan was in power, at least there was nothing of this sort.

Provided she could amuse herself at the expense of all around her, she

was content.

I have often heard Madame de Maintenon say, jestingly, “I have always

been either too far from, or too near to, greatness, to know exactly what

it is.”

She could not forgive the King for not having proclaimed her Queen. She

put on such an appearance of humility and piety to the Queen of England

that she passed for a saint with her. The old woman knew very well that

I was a right German, and that I never could endure unequal alliances.

She fancied, therefore, that it was on my account the King was reluctant

to acknowledge his marriage with her, and this it was that made her hate

me so profoundly. From the time of the King’s death and our departure

from Versailles my son has never once seen her.

She would never allow me to meddle with anything, because she feared it

would give me an opportunity of talking to the King. It was not that she

was jealous lest he should be fond of me, but she feared that, in

speaking according to my usual custom, freely and without restraint,

I should open the King’s eyes and point out to him the folly of the life

he was leading. I had, however, no such intention.

All the mistresses the King had did not tarnish his reputation so much as

the old woman he married; from her proceeded all the calamities which

have since befallen France. It was she who excited the persecution

against the Protestants, invented the heavy taxes which raised the price

of grain so high, and caused the scarcity. She helped the Ministers to

rob the King; by means of the Constitution she hastened his death; she

brought about my son’s marriage; she wanted to place bastards upon the

throne; in short, she ruined and confused everything.

Formerly the Court never went into mourning for children younger than six

years of age; but the Duc du Maine having lost a daughter only one year

old, the old woman persuaded the King to order a mourning, and since that

time it has been always worn for children of a year old.

The King always hated or loved as she chose to direct; it was not,

therefore, surprising that he could not bear Montespan, for all her

failings were displayed to him by the old woman, who was materially

assisted in this office by Montespan’s eldest son, the Duc du Maine.

In her latter years she enjoyed a splendour which she could never have

dreamed of before; the Court looked upon her as a sort of divinity.

The old lady never failed to manifest her hatred of my son on all

occasions. She liked my husband no better than myself; and my son and my

daughter and her husband were equally objects of her detestation. She

told a lady once that her greatest fault was that of being attached to

me. Neither my son nor I had ever done her any injury. If Monsieur

thought fit to tell his niece, the Duchess of Burgundy, a part of

Maintenon’s history, in the vexation he felt at her having estranged the

Princess from him, and not choosing that she should behave affectionately

to her great-uncle, that was not our fault. She was as jealous of the

Dauphine as a lover is of his mistress.

She was in the habit of saying, “I perceive there is a sort of vertigo at

present affecting the whole world.” When she perceived that the harvest

had failed, she bought up all the corn she could get in the markets, and

gained by this means an enormous sum of money, while the poor people were

dying of famine. Not having a sufficient number of granaries, a large

quantity of this corn became rotten in the boats loaded with it, and it

was necessary to throw it into the river. The people said this was a

just judgment from Heaven.

My son made me laugh the other day. I asked him how Madame de Maintenon

was.

“Wonderfully well,” he replied.

“That is surprising at her age,” I said.

“Yes,” he rejoined, “but do you not know that God has, by way, of

punishing the devil, doomed him to exist a certain number of years in

that ugly body?”

Montespan was the cause of the King’s love for old Maintenon. In the

first place, when she wished to have her near her children, she shut her

ears to the stories which were told of the irregular life which the hussy

had been leading; she made everybody who spoke to the King about her,

praise her; her virtue and piety were cried up until the King was made to

think that all he had heard of her light conduct were lies, and in the

end he most firmly believed it. In the second place, Montespan was a

creature full of caprice, who had no control over herself, was

passionately fond of amusement, was tired whenever she was alone with the

King, whom she loved only, for the purposes of her own interest or

ambition, caring very little for him personally. To occupy him, and to

prevent him from observing her fondness for play and dissipation, she

brought Maintenon. The King was fond of a retired life, and would

willingly have passed his time alone with Montespan; he often reproached

her with not loving him sufficiently, and they quarrelled a great deal

occasionally. Goody Scarron then appeared, restored peace between them,

and consoled the King. She, however, made him remark more and more the

bitter temper of Montespan; and, affecting great devotion, she told the

King that his affliction was sent him by Heaven, as a punishment for the

sins he had committed with Montespan. She was eloquent, and had very

fine eyes; by degrees the King became accustomed to her, and thought she

would effect his salvation. He then made a proposal to her; but she

remained firm, and gave him to understand that, although he was very

agreeable to her, she would not for the whole world offend Heaven. This

excited in the King so great an admiration for her, and such a disgust to

Madame de Montespan, that he began to think of being converted. The old

woman then employed her creature, the Duc du Maine, to insinuate to his

mother that, since the King had taken other mistresses, for example,

Ludres and Fontange, she had lost her authority, and would become an

object of contempt at Court. This irritated her, and she was in a very

bad humour when the King came. In the meantime, Maintenon was

incessantly censuring the King; she told him that he would be damned if

he did not live on better terms with the Queen. Louis XIV. repeated this

to his wife, who considered herself much obliged to Madame de Maintenon:

she treated her with marks of distinction, and consented to her being

appointed second dame d’atour to the Dauphine of Bavaria; so that she had

now nothing to do with Montespan. The latter became furious, and related

to the King all the particulars of the life of Dame Scarron. But the

King, knowing her to be an arrant fiend, who would spare no one in her

passion, would not believe anything she said to him. The Duc du Maine

persuaded his mother to retire from Court for a short time in order that

the King might recall her. Being fond of her son, and believing him to

be honest in the advice he gave her, she went to Paris, and wrote to the

King that she would never come back. The Duc du Maine immediately sent

off all her packages after her without her knowledge; he even had her

furniture thrown out of the window, so that she could not come back to

Versailles. She had treated the King so ill and so unkindly that he was

delighted at being rid of her, and he did not care by what means. If she

had remained longer, the King, teased as he was, would hardly have been

secure against the transports of her passion. The Queen was extremely

grateful to Maintenon for having been the means of driving away Montespan

and bringing back the King to the marriage-bed; an arrangement to which,

like an honest Spanish lady, she had no sort of objection. With that

goodness of heart which was so remarkable in her, she thought she was

bound to do something for Madame de Maintenon, and therefore consented to

her being appointed dame d’atour. It was not until shortly before her

death that she learnt she had been deceived by her. After the Queen’s

death, Louis XIV. thought he had gained a triumph over the very

personification of virtue in overcoming the old lady’s scruples; he used

to visit her every afternoon, and she gained such an influence over him

as to induce him to marry.

Madame la Marechale de Schomberg had a niece, Mademoiselle d’Aumale, whom

her parents had placed at St. Cyr during the King’s life. She was ugly,

but possessed great wit, and succeeded in amusing the King so well that

the old Maintenon became disturbed at it. She picked a quarrel with her,

and wanted to send her again to the convent. But the King opposed this,

and made the old lady bring her back. When the King died, Mademoiselle

d’Aumale would not stay any longer with Madame de Maintenon.

When the Dauphine first arrived, she did not know a soul. Her household

was formed before she came. She did not know who Maintenon was; and when

Monsieur explained it to her a year or two afterwards, it was too late to

resist. The Dauphin used at first to laugh at the old woman, but as he

was amorous of one of the Dauphine’s Maids of Honour, and consequently

was acquainted with the gouvernante of the Maids of Honour,

Montchevreuil, a creature of Maintenon’s, that old fool set her out in

very fair colours. Madame de Maintenon did not scruple to estrange the

Dauphin from the Dauphine, and very piously to sell him first Rambure and

afterwards La Force.

18th April, 1719--To-day I will begin my letter with the story of Madame

de Ponikau, in Saxony. One day during her lying-in, as she was quite

alone, a little woman dressed in the ancient French fashion came into the

room and begged her to permit a party to celebrate a wedding, promising

that they would take care it should be when she was alone. Madame de

Ponikau having consented, one day a company of dwarfs of both sexes

entered her chamber. They brought with them a little table, upon which a

good dinner, consisting of a great number of dishes, was placed, and

round which all the wedding guests took their seats. In the midst of the

banquet, one of the little waiting-maids ran in, crying,

“Thank Heaven, we have escaped great perplexity. The old ----- is dead.”

It is the same here, the old is dead. She quitted this world at St.

Cyr, on Saturday last, the 15th day of April, between four and five

o’clock in the evening. The news of the Duc du Maine and his wife being

arrested made her faint, and was probably the cause of her death, for

from that time she had not a moment’s repose or content. Her rage, and

the annihilation of her hopes of reigning with him, turned her blood.

She fell sick of the measles, and was for twenty days in great fever.

The disorder then took an unfavourable turn, and she died. She had

concealed two years of her age, for she pretended to be only eighty-four,

while she was really eighty-six years old. I believe that what grieved

her most in dying was to quit the world, and leave me and my son behind

her in good health. When her approaching death was announced to her, she

said, “To die is the least event of my life.” The sums which her nephew

and niece De Noailles inherited from her were immense; but the amount

cannot be ascertained, because she had concealed a large part of her

wealth.

A cousin of hers, the Archbishop of Rouen, who created so much trouble

with respect to the Constitution, followed his dear cousin into the other

world exactly a week afterwards, on the same day, and at the same hour.

Nobody, knows what the King said to Maintenon on his death bed. She had

retired to St. Cyr before he died. They fetched her back, but she did

not stay, to the end. I think the King repented of his folly in having

married her, and, indeed, notwithstanding all her contrivances, she could

not persuade him to declare their marriage. She wept for the King’s

death, but was not so deeply afflicted as she ought to have been. She

always flattered herself with the hope of reigning together with the Duc

du Maine.

From the beginning to the end of their connection, the King’s society was

always irksome to her, and she did not scruple to say so to her own

relations. She had before been much accustomed to the company of men,

but afterwards dared see none but the King, whom she never loved, and his

Ministers. This made her ill-tempered, and she did not fail to make

those persons who were within her power feel its effects. My son and I

have had our share of it. She thought only of two things, her ambition

and her amusement. The old sorceress never loved any one but her

favourite, the Duc du Maine. Perceiving that the Dauphine was desirous

of acting for herself and profiting by the king’s favour, that she

ridiculed her to her attendants, and seemed not disposed to yield to her

domination, she withdrew her attention from her; and if the Dauphine had

not possessed great influence with the King, Maintenon would have turned

round upon her former favourite; she was therefore very soon consoled for

this Princess’s death. She thought to have the King entirely at her

disposal through the Duc du Maine, and it was for this reason that she

relied so much upon him, and was so deeply afflicted at his imprisonment.

She was not always so malicious, but her wickedness increased with her

years. For us it had been well that she had died twenty years before,

but for the honour of the late King that event ought to have taken place

thirty-three years back, for, if I do not mistake, she was married to the

King two years after the Queen’s death, which happened five-and-thirty

years ago.

If she had not been so outrageously inveterate against me, she could have

done me much more injury with the King, but she set about it too

violently; this caused the King to perceive that it was mere malice, and

therefore it had no effect. There were three reasons why she hated me

horribly. The first was, that the King treated me favourably. I was

twenty-five years of age when she came into power; she saw that, instead

of suffering myself to be governed by her, I would have my own way, and,

as the King was kind to me, that I should undeceive him and counsel him

not to suffer himself to be blindly led by so worthless a person. The

second reason was that, knowing how much I must disapprove of her

marriage with the King, she imagined I should always be an obstacle to

her being proclaimed Queen; and the third was, that I had always taken

the Dauphine’s part whenever Maintenon had mortified her. The poor

Dauphine did not know what to do with Maintenon, who possessed the King’s

heart, and was acquainted with all his intentions. Notwithstanding all

the favour she enjoyed, the old lady was somewhat timid. If the Dauphine

could have summoned courage to threaten Maintenon, as I advised her, to

hint that her previous life was well known, and that unless she behaved

better to the Dauphine the latter would expose her to the King, but that

if, on the contrary, she would live quietly and on good terms, silence

should be kept, then Maintenon would have pursued a very different

conduct. That wicked Bessola always prevented this, because then she

would have had no more tales to tell.

One day I found the Dauphine in the greatest distress and drowned in

tears, because the old woman had threatened to make her miserable, to

have Madame du Maine preferred to her, to make her odious to the whole

Court and to the King besides. I laughed when she told me all this.

“Is it possible,” I said, “with so much sense and courage as you possess

that you will suffer this old hag to frighten you thus? You can have

nothing to fear: you are the Dauphine, the first person in the kingdom;

no one can do you any mischief without the most serious cause. When,

therefore, they threaten you, answer boldly: ‘I do not fear pour menaces;

Madame de Maintenon is too much beneath me, and the King is too just to

condemn without hearing me. If you compel me I will speak to him myself,

and we shall see whether he will protect me or not.’”

The Dauphine was not backward in repeating this word for word. The old

woman immediately said, “This is not your own speech; this proceeds from

Madame’s bad advice; you have not courage enough to think thus for

yourself; however, we shall see whether Madame’s friendship will be

profitable to you or not.” But from that time forth she never threatened

the Princess. She had introduced the name of the Duchesse du Maine

adroitly enough in her threats to the Dauphine, because, having educated

the Duke, she thought her power at Court unlimited, and wished to chew

that she could prefer the last Princess of the blood before the first

person in France, and that therefore it was expedient to submit to her

and obey her. But Bessola, who was jealous of me, and could not bear

that the Dauphine should confide in me, had been bought over by the old

woman, to whom she betrayed us, and told her all that I had said to

console the Princess; she was commissioned, besides, to torment and

intimidate her mistress as much as possible, and acquitted herself to

a miracle, terrifying her to death, and at the same time seeming to act

only from attachment, and to be entirely devoted to her. The poor

Dauphine never distrusted this woman, who had been educated with her, and

had accompanied her to France; she did not imagine that falsehood and

perfidy existed to such an extent as this infernal creature carried them.

I was perfectly amazed at it. I opposed Bessola, and did all I could to

console the Dauphine and to alleviate her vexation. She told me when she

was dying that I had prolonged her life by two years by inspiring her

with courage. My exertions, however, procured for me Maintenon’s cordial

hatred, which lasted to the end of her life. Although the Dauphine might

have something to reproach herself with, she was not to be taken to task

for it by that old woman, for who had ever led a less circumspect life

than she? In public, or when we were together, she never said anything

unpleasant to me, for she knew that I would not have failed to answer her

properly, as I knew her whole life. Villarceaux had told me more of her

than I desired to know.

When the King was talking to me on his death-bed she turned as red as

fire.

“Go away, Madame,” said she; “the King is too much affected while he

talks to you; it may do him harm. Pray go away.”

As I went out she followed me and said, “Do not think, Madame, that I

have ever done you an ill turn with the King.”

I answered her with tears, for I thought I should choke with grief:

“Madame, do not let us talk upon that subject,” and so quitted her.

That humpbacked old Fagon, her favourite, used to say that he disliked

Christianity because it would not allow him to build a temple to

Maintenon and an altar to worship her.

The only trait in her character that I can find to praise is her conduct

to Montchevreuil; although she was a wicked old devil, Maintenon had

reason to love her and be kind to her, for she had fed and clothed her

when Maintenon was in great want.

I believe the old woman would not procure for Madame de Dangeau the

privilege of the tabouret, only because she was a German and of good

family. She once had two young girls from Strasbourg brought to Court,

and made them pass for Countesses Palatine, placing them in the office of

attendants upon her nieces. I did not know a word of it until the

Dauphine came to tell it me with tears in her eyes.

I said to her, “Do not disturb yourself, leave me alone to act; when I

have a good reason for what I do, I despise the old witch.”

When I saw from my window the niece walking with these German girls,

I went into the garden and met them. I called one of them, and asked her

who she was. She told me, boldly, that she was a Countess Palatine of

Lutzelstein.

“By the left hand?” I asked.

“No,” she replied, “I am not illegitimate; the young Count Palatine

married my mother, who is of the house of Gehlen.”

“In that case,” I said, “you cannot be Countess Palatine; for we never

allow such unequal marriages to hold good. I will tell you, moreover,

that you lie when you say that the Count Palatine married your mother;

she is a -----, and the Count has married her no more than a hundred

others have done; I know her lawful husband is a hautboy-player. If you

presume, in future, to pass yourself off as a Countess Palatine I will

have you stripped; let me never again hear anything of this; but if you

will follow my advice, and take your proper name, I shall not reproach

you. And now you see what you have to choose between.”

The girl took this so much to heart that she died some days afterwards.

As for the second, she was sent to a boarding-house in Paris, where she

became as bad as her mother; but as she changed her name I did not

trouble myself any further about her.

I told the Dauphine what I had done, who was very much obliged to me,

and confessed she should not have had courage enough to do it herself.

She feared that the King would be displeased with me; but he only said

to me, jestingly, “One must not play tricks with you about your family,

for it seems to be a matter of life or death with you.”

I replied, “I hate lies.”

There was a troop of Italian players who had got up a comedy called “The

Pretended Prude.” When I learnt they were going to represent it, I sent

for them and told them not to do so. It was in vain; they played it, and

got a great deal of money by it; but they were afterwards sent away in

consequence. They then came to me and wanted me to intercede for them;

but I said, “Why did you not take my advice?” It was said they hit off

the character of Maintenon with the most amusing fidelity. I should have

liked to see it, but I would not go lest the old woman should have told

the King that I had planned it out of ill-will to her.

SECTION VII.--THE QUEEN--CONSORT OF LOUIS XIV.

Our Queen was excessively ignorant, but the kindest and most virtuous

woman in the world; she had a certain greatness in her manner, and knew

how to hold a Court extremely well. She believed everything the King

told her, good or bad. Her teeth were very ugly, being black and broken.

It was said that this proceeded from her being in the constant habit of

taking chocolate; she also frequently ate garlic. She was short and fat,

and her skin was very white. When she was not walking or dancing she

seemed much taller. She ate frequently and for a long time; but her food

was always cut in pieces as small as if they were for a singing bird.

She could not forget her country, and her manners were always remarkably

Spanish. She was very fond of play; she played basset, reversis, ombre,

and sometimes a little primero; but she never won because she did not

know how to play.

She had such as affection for the King that she used to watch his eyes to

do whatever might be agreeable to him; if he only looked at her kindly

she was in good spirits for the rest of the day. She was very glad when

the King quitted his mistresses for her, and displayed so much

satisfaction that it was commonly remarked. She had no objection to

being joked upon this subject, and upon such occasions used to laugh and

wink and rub her little hands.

One day the Queen, after having conversed for half-an-hour with the

Prince Egon de Furstemberg,--[Cardinal Furstemberg, Bishop of

Strasbourg.]--took me aside and said to me, “Did you know what M. de

Strasbourg has been saying? I have not understood him at all.”

A few minutes afterwards the Bishop said to me, “Did your Royal Highness

hear what the Queen said to me? I have not comprehended a single word.”

“Then,” said I, “why did you answer her.”

“I thought,” he replied, “that it would have been indecorous to have

appeared not to understand Her Majesty.”

This made me laugh so much that I was obliged precipitately to quit the

Chamber.

The Queen died of an abscess under her arm. Instead of making it burst,

Fagon, who was unfortunately then her physician, had her blooded; this

drove in the abscess, the disorder attacked her internally, and an

emetic, which was administered after her bleeding, had the effect of

killing the Queen.

The surgeon who blooded her said, “Have you considered this well, Sir?

It will be the death of my Mistress!”

Fagon replied, “Do as I bid you.”

Gervais, the surgeon, wept, and said to Fagon, “You have resolved, then,

that my Mistress shall die by my hand!”

Fagon had her blooded at eleven o’clock; at noon he gave her an emetic,

and three hours afterwards she was dead. It may be truly said that with

her died all the happiness of France. The King was deeply grieved by

this event, which that old villain Fagon brought about expressly for the

purpose of confirming that mischievous old woman’s fortune.

After the Queen’s death I also happened to have an abscess. Fagon did

all he could to make the King recommend me to be blooded; but I said to

him, in His Majesty’s presence, “No, I shall do no such thing. I shall

treat myself according to my own method; and if you had done the same to

the Queen she would have been alive now. I shall suffer the abscess to

gather, and then I shall have it opened.” I did so, and soon got well.

The King said very kindly to me, “Madame, I am afraid you will kill

yourself.”

I replied, laughing, “Your Majesty is too good to me, but I am quite

satisfied with not having followed my physician’s advice, and you will

soon see that I shall do very well.”

After my convalescence I said at table, in presence of my two doctors,

Daguin, who was then first physician, and Fagon, who succeeded him upon

his being disgraced, “Your Majesty sees that I was right to have my own

way; for I am quite well, notwithstanding all the wise sayings and

arguments of these gentlemen.”

They were a little confused, but put it off with a laugh; and Fagon said

to me,--

“When folks are as robust as you, Madame, they may venture to risk

somewhat.”

I replied, “If I am robust, it is because I never take medicine but on

urgent occasions.”

BOOK 2.

Philippe I., Duc d’Orleans

Philippe II., Duc d’Orleans, Regent of France

The Affairs of the Regency

The Duchesse d’Orleans, Consort of the Regent

The Dauphine, Princess of Bavaria.

Adelaide of Savoy, the Second Dauphine

The First Dauphin

The Duke of Burgundy, the Second Dauphin

Petite Madame

SECTION VIII.--PHILIPPE I., DUC D’ORLEANS.

Cardinal Mazarin perceiving that the King had less readiness than his

brother, was apprehensive lest the latter should become too learned; he

therefore enjoined the preceptor to let him play, and not to suffer him

to apply to his studies.

“What can you be thinking of, M. la Mothe le Vayer,” said the Cardinal;

“would you try to make the King’s brother a clever man? If he should be

more wise than his brother, he would not be qualified for implicit

obedience.”

Never were two brothers more totally different in their appearance than

the King and Monsieur. The King was tall, with light hair; his mien was

good and his deportment manly. Monsieur, without having a vulgar air,

was very small; his hair and eye-brows were quite black, his eyes were

dark, his face long and narrow, his nose large, his mouth small, and his

teeth very bad; he was fond of play, of holding drawing-rooms, of eating,

dancing and dress; in short, of all that women are fond of. The King

loved the chase, music and the theatre; my husband rather affected large

parties and masquerades: his brother was a man of great gallantry, and I

do not believe my husband was ever in love during his life. He danced

well, but in a feminine manner; he could not dance like a man because his

shoes were too high-heeled. Excepting when he was with the army, he

would never get on horseback. The soldiers used to say that he was more

afraid of being sun-burnt and of the blackness of the powder than of the

musket-balls; and it was very true. He was very fond of building.

Before he had the Palais Royal completed, and particularly the grand

apartment, the place was, in my opinion, perfectly horrible, although in

the Queen-mother’s time it had been very much admired. He was so fond of

the ringing of bells that he used to go to Paris on All Souls’ Day for

the purpose of hearing the bells, which are rung during the whole of the

vigils on that day he liked no other music, and was often laughed at for

it by his friends. He would join in the joke, and confess that a peal of

bells delighted him beyond all expression. He liked Paris better than

any other place, because his secretary was there, and he lived under less

restraint than at Versailles. He wrote so badly that he was often

puzzled to read his own letters, and would bring them to me to decipher

them.

“Here, Madame,” he used to say, laughing, “you are accustomed to my

writing; be so good as to read me this, for I really cannot tell what I

have been writing.” We have often laughed at it.

He was of a good disposition enough, and if he had not yielded so

entirely to the bad advice of his favourites, he would have been the best

master in the world. I loved him, although he had caused me a great deal

of pain; but during the last three years of his life that was totally

altered. I had brought him to laugh at his own weakness, and even to

take jokes without caring for them. From the period that I had been

calumniated and accused, he would suffer no one again to annoy me; he had

the most perfect confidence in me, and took my part so decidedly, that

his favourites dared not practise against me. But before that I had

suffered terribly. I was just about to be happy, when Providence thought

fit to deprive me of my poor husband. For thirty years I had been

labouring to gain him to myself, and, just as my design seemed to be

accomplished, he died. He had been so much importuned upon the subject

of my affection for him that he begged me for Heaven’s sake not to love

him any longer, because it was so troublesome. I never suffered him to

go alone anywhere without his express orders.

The King often complained that he had not been allowed to converse

sufficiently with people in his youth; but taciturnity was a part of his

character, for Monsieur, who was brought up with him, conversed with

everybody. The King often laughed, and said that Monsieur’s chattering

had put him out of conceit with talking. We used to joke Monsieur upon

his once asking questions of a person who came to see him.

“I suppose, Monsieur,” said he, “you come from the army?”

“No, Monsieur,” replied the visitor, “I have never joined it.”

“You arrive here, then, from your country house?”

“Monsieur, I have no country house.”

“In that case, I imagine you are living at Paris with your family?”

“Monsieur, I am not married.”

Everybody present at this burst into a laugh, and Monsieur in some

confusion had nothing more to say. It is true that Monsieur was more

generally liked at Paris than the King, on account of his affability.

When the King, however, wished to make himself agreeable to any person,

his manners were the most engaging possible, and he won people’s hearts

much more readily than my husband; for the latter, as well as my son, was

too generally civil. He did not distinguish people sufficiently, and

behaved very well only to those who were attached to the Chevalier de

Lorraine and his favourites.

Monsieur was not of a temper to feel any sorrow very deeply. He loved

his children too well even to reprove them when they deserved it; and if

he had occasion to make complaints of them, he used to come to me with

them.

“But, Monsieur,” I have said, “they are your children as well as mine,

why do you not correct them?”

He replied, “I do not know how to scold, and besides they would not care

for me if I did; they fear no one but you.”

By always threatening the children with me, he kept them in constant fear

of me. He estranged them from me as much as possible, but he left me to

exercise more authority over my elder daughter and over the Queen of

Sicily than over my son; he could not, however, prevent my occasionally

telling them what I thought. My daughter never gave me any cause to

complain of her. Monsieur was always jealous of the children, and was

afraid they would love me better than him: it was for this reason that he

made them believe I disapproved of almost all they did. I generally

pretended not to see this contrivance.

Without being really fond of any woman, Monsieur used to amuse himself

all day in the company of old and young ladies to please the King: in

order not to be out of the Court fashion, he even pretended to be

amorous; but he could not keep up a deception so contrary to his natural

inclination. Madame de Fiennes said to him one day, “You are in much

more danger from the ladies you visit, than they are from you.” It was

even said that Madame de Monaco had attempted to give him some violent

proofs of her affection. He pretended to be in love with Madame de

Grancey; but if she had had no other lover than Monsieur she might have

preserved her reputation. Nothing culpable ever passed between them; and

he always endeavoured to avoid being alone with her. She herself said

that whenever they happened to be alone he was in the greatest terror,

and pretended to have the toothache or the headache. They told a story

of the lady asking him to touch her, and that he put on his gloves before

doing so. I have often heard him rallied about this anecdote, and have

often laughed at it.

Madame de Grancey was one of the most foolish women in the world. She

was very handsome at the time of my arrival in France, and her figure was

as good as her face; besides, she was not so much disregarded by others

as by my husband; for, before the Chevalier de Lorraine became her lover,

she had had a child. I knew well that nothing had passed between

Monsieur and Grancey, and I was never jealous of them; but I could not

endure that she should derive a profit from my household, and that no

person could purchase an employment in it without paying a douceur to

her. I was also often indignant at her insolence to me, and at her

frequently embroiling me with Monsieur. It was for these reasons, and

not from jealousy, as was fancied by those who knew nothing about it,

that I sometimes sharply reprimanded her. The Chevalier de Lorraine,

upon his return from Rome, became her declared lover. It was through his

contrivances, and those of D’Effiat, that she was brought into the house

of Monsieur, who really cared nothing about her. Her continued

solicitations and the behaviour of the Chevalier de Lorraine had so much

disgusted Monsieur, that if he had lived he would have got rid of them

both.

He had become tired of the Chevalier de Lorraine because he had found out

that his attachment to him proceeded from interested motives. When

Monsieur, misled by his favourites, did something which was neither just

nor expedient, I used to say to him, “Out of complaisance to the

Chevalier de Lorraine, you put your good sense into your pocket, and

button it up so tight that it cannot be seen.”

After my husband’s death I saw Grancey only once; I met her in the

garden. When she ceased to be handsome, she fell into utter despair;

and so great a change took place in her appearance that no one would have

known her. Her nose, before so beautiful, grew long and large, and was

covered with pimples, over each of which she put a patch; this had a very

singular effect; the red and white paint, too, did not adhere to her

face. Her eyes were hollow and sunken, and the alteration which this had

caused in her face cannot be imagined. In Spain they, lock up all the

ladies at night, even to the septuagenary femmes de chambre. When

Grancey followed our Queen to Spain as dame d’atour, she was locked up in

the evening, and was in great grief about it.

When she was dying, she cried, “Ah, mon Dieu, must I die, who have never

once thought of death?”

She had never done anything but sit at play with her lovers until five or

six o’clock in the morning, feast, and smoke tobacco, and follow

uncontrolled her natural inclinations.

When she reached her climacteric, she said, in despair, “Alas, I am

growing old, I shall have no more children.”

This was exceedingly amusing; and her friends, as well as her enemies,

laughed at it. She once had a high dispute with Madame de Bouillon. One

evening, Grancey chose to hide herself in one of the recesses formed by

the windows in the chamber of the former lady, who, not thinking she was

heard, conversed very freely with the Marquise d’Allure, respecting the

libertine life of Grancey; in the course of which she said several

strange things respecting the treatment which her lovers had experienced

from her. Grancey at length rushed out, and fell to abusing Madame de

Bouillon like a Billingsgate. The latter was not silent, and some

exceedingly elegant discourse passed between them. Madame de Bouillon

made a complaint against Grancey; in the first place, for having listened

to her conversation; and in the second, for having insulted her in her

own house. Monsieur reproved Grancey; told her that she had brought this

inconvenience upon herself by her own indiscretion, and ordered her to be

reconciled with her adversary.

“How can I,” said Grancey, “be reconciled to Madame de Bouillon, after

all the wicked things she has said about me?” But after a moment’s

reflection she added, “Yes, I can, for she did not say I was ugly.”

They afterwards embraced, and made it up.

.........................................

Monsieur was taken ill at ten o’clock at night, but he did not die until

the next day at noon. I can never think of this night without horror.

I remained with him from ten at night until five the next morning, when

he lost all consciousness.--[The Duc d’Orleans died of apoplexy on the

9th June, 1701]

The Electors of Germany would not permit Monsieur to write to them in the

same style as the King did.

SECTION IX.--PHILIPPE II., DUC D’ ORLEANS, REGENT OF FRANCE.

From the age of fourteen to that of fifteen years, my son was not ugly;

but after that time he became very much sun-burnt in Italy and Spain.

Now, however, he is too ruddy; he is fat, but not tall, and yet he does

not seem disagreeable to me. The weakness of his eyes causes him

sometimes to squint. When he dances or is on horseback he looks very

well, but he walks horridly ill. In his childhood he was so delicate

that he could not even kneel without falling, through weakness; by

degrees, however, his strength improved. He loads his stomach too much

at table; he has a notion that it is good to make only one meal; instead

of dinner, he takes only one cup of chocolate, so that by supper he is

extremely hungry and thirsty. In answer to whatever objections are made

to this regimen, he says he cannot do business after eating. When he

gets tipsy, it is not with strong potations, but with Champagne or Tokay.

He is not very fond of the chase. The weakness of his sight arose from

an accident which befell him at the age of four years, and which was

something like an apoplexy. He sees well enough near, and can read the

smallest writing; but at the distance of half the room he cannot

distinguish persons without a glass. He had an application of a powder

to that eye which is worst, and, although it had caused intolerable pain

to every other person who had used it, it seemed to have no effect upon

him, for he laughed and chatted as usual. He found some benefit from

this; but W. Gendron was too severe for him. That physician forbade the

petits-soupers and the amusements which usually followed them; this was

not agreeable to my son, and those who used to frequent them to their own

advantage; they therefore persuaded him to adopt some other remedies

which almost deprived him of sight. For the last forty years (1719),

that is to say since the accident happened, the month of October has

never elapsed without his health and eyesight being affected towards the

21st in some way or other.

He was only seventeen years old when he was married. If he had not been

threatened with imprisonment in the old castle of Villers-Cotterets, and

if hopes had not been given him of seeing the Duchesse de Bourbon as he

wished, they could not have induced him to form this accursed marriage.

It is my son’s unlucky destiny to have for a wife a woman who is desirous

of ruling everything with her brothers. It is commonly said, that where

one sins there one suffers; and thus it has happened to my son with

respect to his wife and his brothers-in-law. If he had not inflicted

upon me the deepest vexation by uniting himself with this low race, he

might now speak to them boldly. I never quarrelled with my son; but he

was angry with me about this marriage, which he had contracted against my

inclination.

As I sincerely love him, I have forgotten it; and I do not believe that

we shall ever quarrel in future. When I have anything to say about his

conduct, I say it openly, and there is an end of it. He behaves to me

very respectfully. I did all in my power to prevent his marriage; but

since it did take place, and with his consent, though without mine, I

wish now only for his tranquillity. His wife fancies that she has done

him an honour in marrying him, because he is only the son of the brother

of a king, while she is the daughter of a king; but she will not perceive

that she is also the daughter of a -----. He was obliged to put down all

his feelings of nobility; and if I had a hundred crowns for as many times

as he has since repented it, I could almost buy France for the King, and

pay his debts. My son visits his wife every day, and when she is in good

humour he stays with her a long time; but when she is ill-tempered,

which, unfortunately, happens too often, he goes away without saying

anything. I have every reason to be satisfied with him; he lives on very

good terms with me, and I have no right to complain of his conduct; but I

see that he does not repose much confidence in me, and I know many

persons to whom he is more communicative.

I love my son with all my heart; but I cannot see how any one else can,

for his manners are little calculated to inspire love. In the first

place, he is incapable of the passion, or of being attached to any one

for a long time; in the second, he is not sufficiently polished and

gallant to make love, but sets about it rudely and coarsely; in the

third, he is very indiscreet, and tells plainly all that he has done.

I have said to him a hundred times, “I wonder how any woman can run after

you, whom they ought rather to fly from.”

He would reply, laughing, “Ah! you do not know the libertine women of the

present day; provided they are talked of, they are satisfied.”

There was an affair of gallantry, but a perfectly honourable one, between

him and the Queen of Spain. I do not know whether he had the good

fortune to be agreeable to her, but I know he was not at all in love with

her. He thought her mien and figure good, but neither her manners nor

her face were agreeable to him.

He was not in any degree romantic, and, not knowing how to conduct

himself in this affair, he said to the Duc de Grammont, “You understand

the manner of Spanish gallantry; pray tell me a little what I ought to

say and do.”

He could not, however, suit the fancy of the Queen, who was for pure

gallantry; those who were less delicate he was better suited for, and for

this reason it was said that libertine women used to run after him.

...............................

He never denied that he was indiscreet and inconstant. Being one day

with me at the theatre, and hearing Valere say he was tired of his

mistress, “That has been my case often,” he cried. I told him he never

was in love in his life, and that what he called love was mere

debauchery.

He replied, “It is very true that I am not a hero of romance, and that I

do not make love like a Celadon, but I love in my way.”

“Your way,” I said, “is an extremely gross one.” . . . This made him

laugh.

He likes the business of his gallantry to be conducted with beat of drum,

without the least refinement. He reminds me of the old Patriarchs, who

were surrounded by women.

............................

All women do not please him alike. He does not like fine airs so well as

profligate manners: the opera-house dancers are his favourites. The

women run after him from mere interest, for he pays them well. A

pleasant enough adventure happened last winter:

A young and pretty woman visited my son in his cabinet; he presented her

with a diamond of the value of 2,000 Louis and a box worth 200. This

woman had a jealous husband, but she had effrontery enough to shew him

the jewels which she said had been offered to her a great bargain by

persons who wanted the money, and she begged him not to let such an

opportunity slip. The credulous husband gave her the money she asked

for. She thanked him, put the box in her dressing-case and the diamond

on her finger, and displayed it in the best company.

When she was asked where she got the ring and the bog, “M. de Parabere

gave them to me,” she said; and he, who happened to be present, added,

“Yes, I gave them to her; can one do less when one has for a wife a lady

of quality who loves none but her husband?”

This caused some mirth; for other people were not so simple as the

husband, and knew very well where the presents came from. If my son has

a queen-sultana, it is this Madame de Parabere. Her mother, Madame de la

Vieuville, was dame d’atour to the Duchesse de Berri.--[Marie-Madeline de

la Vieuville, Comtesse de la Parabere; it was she whom the Regent used to

call “his little black crow.”]--It was there that my son first became

acquainted with the daughter, who is now a widow: she is of a slight

figure, dark complexion, and never paints; her eyes and mouth are pretty;

she is not very sensible, but is a desirable little person. My son says

he likes her because she thinks of nothing but amusing herself, and never

interferes with other affairs. That would be very well if she were not a

drunkard, and if she did not make my son eat and drink so much, and take

him to a farm which she has at Anieres, and where he sometimes sups with

her and the country folks. It is said that he becomes a little jealous

of Parabere, in which case he must love her more than he has done yet.

I often tell him that, if he really loved, he would not suffer his

mistresses to run after others, and to commit such frequent infidelities.

He replied that there was no such thing as love except in romances. He

broke with Seri, because, as he said, she wanted him to love her like an

Arcadian. He has often made me laugh at his complaining of this

seriously, and with an air of great affliction.

“Why do you disturb yourself?” I have said to him; “if that is not

agreeable to you, leave her alone. You are not obliged to feign a love

which you do not feel.”

This convinces me, however, that my son is incapable of love. He

willingly eats, drinks, sings, and amuses himself with his mistresses,

but to love one of them more than another is not his way. He is not

afraid of application; but when he has been actively engaged from morning

till night he is glad to divert himself at supper with such persons. It

is for this reason that Parabere, who is said to be a great fool, is so

agreeable to him. She eats and drinks astonishingly, and plays absurd

tricks, which divert him and make him forget his labour.

My son, it must be allowed, possesses some great qualities. He has good

sense, understands several languages, is fond of reading, speaks well,

has studied much, is learned and acquainted with most of the arts,

however difficult. He is a musician, and does not compose badly; he

paints well, he understands chemistry, is well versed in history, and is

quick of comprehension. He soon, however, gets tired of everything. He

has an excellent memory, is expert in war, and fears nothing in the

world; his intentions are always just and fair, and if his actions are

ever otherwise, it is the fault of others. His only faults are that he

is too kind, not sufficiently reserved, and apt to believe people who

have less sense than himself; he is, therefore, often deceived, for the

knaves who know his easiness of temper will run all risks with him. All

the misfortunes and inconveniences which befall him spring from that

cause. His other fault is one not common to Frenchmen, the easiness with

which women can persuade him, and this often brings him into domestic

quarrels. He can refuse them nothing, and even carries his complaisance

so far as to give them marks of affection without really liking them.

When I tell him that he is too good, he says, “Is it not better to be

good than bad?”

He was always extremely weak, too, with respect to lovers, who chose to

make him their confidant.

The Duc de Saint Simon was one day exceedingly annoyed at this weakness

of my son, and said to him, angrily, “Ah! there you are; since the days

of Louis le Debonnaire there has been nobody so debonnaire as yourself.”

My son was much amused at it.

When he is under the necessity of saying anything harsh, he is much more

pained at it than the person who experiences the disgrace.

He is not fond of the country, but prefers living in town. He is in this

respect like Madame de Longueville, who was tired to death of being in

Normandy, where her husband was.

[The Duc de Longueville was Governor of Normandy; and after the

reduction of Bordeaux, in 1652, the Duchesse de Longueville received

an order from the Court to repair to her husband.]

Those who were about her said, “Mon Dieu, Madame, you are eaten up with

ennui; will you not take some amusement? There are dogs and a beautiful

forest; will you hunt?”

“No,” she replied, “I don’t like hunting.”

“Will you work?”

“No, I don’t like work.”

“Will you take a walk, or play at some game?”

“No, I like neither the one nor the other.”

“What will you do, then?” they asked.

“What can I do?” she said; “I hate innocent pleasures.”

My son understands music well, as all the musicians agree. He has

composed two or three operas, which are pretty. La Fare, his Captain of

the guards, wrote the words. He had them played in his palace, but never

would permit them to be represented on the public stage.

When he had nothing to do he painted for one of the Duchess’s cabinets

all the pastoral romance of “Daphnis and Chloe.”

[The designs for the romance of “Daphnis and Chloe” were composed by

the Regent, with the advice, and probably the assistance, of Claude

Audran, a distinguished painter, whom Lebrun often employed to help

him with his large pictures. He painted a part of the battles of

Alexander. These designs were engraved by Benoit Audran; they

embellish what is called “the Regent’s edition” of the Pastoral of

Longus, which was printed under his inspection in the year 1718. It

is somewhat surprising that Madame should speak so disdainfully of

so eminent an artist as Benoit Audran.]

With the exception of the first, he invented and painted all the

subjects. They have been engraved by one Audran. The Duchess thought

them so pretty that she had them worked in a larger size in tapestry; and

these, I think, are better than the engravings.

My son’s learning has not the least tinge of pedantry. He knows a

quantity of facetious stories, which he learnt in Italy and in Spain.

He does not tell them badly, but I like him better in his more serious

moods, because they are more natural to him. When he talks upon learned

topics it is easy to see that they are rather troublesome to him than

otherwise. I often blamed him for this; but he used to reply that it was

not his fault, that he was ready enough to learn anything, but that when

he once knew it he no longer took pleasure in it.

He is eloquent enough, and when he chooses he can talk with dignity. He

has a Jesuit for his confessor, but he does not suffer himself to be

ruled by him. He pretends that his daughter has no influence over him.

He was delighted when he obtained the command of the Spanish army, and

was pleased with everything in that country; this procured him the hatred

of the Princesse des Ursins, who feared that my son would diminish her

authority and gain more of the confidence of the Spaniards than she

possessed.

He learned to cook during his stay with the army in Spain.

I cannot tell where he learned so much patience; I am sure it was neither

from Monsieur nor from me.

When he acted from himself I always found him reasonable; but he too

often confided in rogues, who had not half his sense, and then all went

wrong.

My son is like all the rest of his family; when they had become

accustomed to a thing they suffered it to go its own way. It was for

this reason he could not persuade himself to shake off the Abbe Dubois,

although he knew him to be a rascal. This Abbe had the impudence to try

to persuade even me that the marriage he had brought about was an

excellent one.

“But the honour which is lost in it,” said I, “how will you repair that?”

Old Maintenon had made immense promises to him, as well as to my son;

but, thank God, she kept neither the one nor the other.

It is intolerable that my son will go about day and night with that

wicked and impertinent Noce I hate that Noce as I hate the devil. He and

Brogue run all risks, because they are thus enabled to sponge upon my

son. It is said that Noce is jealous of Parabere, who has fallen in love

with some one else. This proves that my son is not jealous. The person

with whom she has fallen in love has long been a sort of adventurer: it

is Clermont, a captain in my son’s Swiss Guard; the same who preferred

Chouin to the great Princesse de Conti. It is said that Noce utters

whatever comes into his head, and about any persons; this makes my son

laugh, and amuses him, for Noce has wit and can do this pleasantly,

enough. His father was under-governor to my son, who has thus been

accustomed from his infancy to this wicked rascal, and who is very fond

of him. I do not know for what reason, for he is a person who fears

neither God nor man, and has not a single good point about him; he is

green, black, and deep yellow; he is ten years older than my son; it is

incredible how many, millions this mercenary rogue has drawn from him.

Madame de Berri has told me that Broglie’s jokes consist only in saying

openly, the most horrible things. The Broglii are of Italian extraction,

but have been long settled in France. There were three brothers, the

elder of whom died in the army; the second was an Abbe, but he cast aside

his gown, and he is the knave of whom I have been speaking. The third is

still serving in the army, and, according to common report, is one of the

best gentlemen in the world. My son does not like him so well as his

good-for-nothing brother, because he is too serious, and would not become

his buffoon. My son excuses himself by saying that when he quits

business he wants something to make him laugh, and that young Broglie is

not old enough for this; that if he had a confidential business, or a

warlike expedition to perform, he would prefer him; but that for laughing

and dissipation of all sorts, his elder brother is more fit.

My son has three natural children, two boys and a girl, of whom only one

has been legitimated; that is his son by Mademoiselle de Seri,

[N. de Seri de la Boissiere; the father had been ambassador in

Holland. Mademoiselle de Seri was the Regent’s first mistress; he

gave her the title of Comtesse d’Argenton. Her son, the Chevalier

d’Orleans, was Grand-Prieur of France.]

who was my Maid of Honour; she was genteel and gay, but not pretty nor of

a good figure. This son was called the Chevalier d’Orleans. The other,

who is now a lad of eighteen years, is the Abbe de Saint Albin; he had

this child by Florence, an opera dancer, of a very neat figure, but a

fool; although to look at her pretty face one would not have thought so.

She is since dead. The third of my son’s illegitimate children is a girl

of fourteen years old, whom he had by Desmarets, an actress, who is still

on the stage. This child has been educated at a convent at Saint Denis,

but has not much inclination for a monastic life. When my son sent for

her she did not know who she was.

Desmarets wanted to lay another child to my son’s account; but he

replied, “No, that child is too much of a harlequin.”

When some one asked him what he meant, he said it was of so many

different pieces, and therefore he renounced it.

I do not know whether the mother did not afterwards give it to the

Elector of Bavaria, who had some share in it, and who sacrificed to her

the most beautiful snuff-box that ever was seen; it was covered with

large diamonds.

My first son was called the Duc de Valois; but as this name was one of

evil omen, Monsieur would not suffer my other son to be called so; he

took, therefore, the title of Duc de Chartres. After Monsieur’s death

my son took the name of Orleans, and his son that of Chartres.

[Alesandre-Louis d’Orleans, Duc de Valois, died an infant on the

16th of March, 1676; the Regent was born on the 4th of August, 1674.

It is unnecessary to mention the unhappy ends of Henri III. and of

the three Kings, his sons, who all died without issue.]

My son is too much prejudiced in favour of his nation; and although he

sees daily that his countrymen are false and treacherous, he believes

there is no nation comparable to them. He is not very lavish of his

praise; and when he does approve of anything his sincerity gives it an

additional value.

As he is now in his forty-second year the people of Paris do not forgive

him for running about at balls, like a young fool, for the amusement of

women, when he has the cares of the kingdom upon his shoulders. When the

late King ascended the throne he had reason to take his diversion; it is

not so now. Night and day it is necessary to labour in order to repair

the mischief which the late King, or rather his Ministers, did to the

country.

When my son gently reproached that old Maintenon for having maligned him,

and asked her to put her hand upon her heart, and say whether her

calumnies were true, she replied, “I said it because I believed it.”

My son replied, “You could not believe it, because you knew the

contrary.”

She said arrogantly, and yet my son kept his temper, “Is not the Dauphine

dead?”

“Is it my fault,” he rejoined, “that she is dead? Was she immortal?”

“Well,” she replied, “I was so much distressed at the loss that I could

not help detesting him whom I was told was the cause of it.”

“But, Madame,” said my son, “you know, from the report which has been

made to the King, that I was not the cause, and that the Dauphine was not

poisoned.”

“I do know it,” she replied, “and I will say nothing more about it.”

SECTION X.--THE AFFAIRS OF THE REGENCY.

The old Maintenon wished to have the Duc du Maine made Regent; but my

son’s harangue to the Parliament frustrated her intention.

He was very angry with Lord Stair because he believed that he had done

him an ill office with the King of England, and prevented the latter from

entering into the alliance with France and Holland. If that alliance had

taken place my son could have prevented the Pretender from beginning his

journey; but as England refused to do so, the Regent was obliged to do

nothing but what was stipulated for by the treaty of peace: that is to

say, not to succour the Pretender with money nor arms, which he

faithfully performed. He sent wherever Lord Stair requested.

[The Duc d’Orleans ordered, in Lord Stair’s presence, Contades,

Major of the Guard, to arrest the Pretender on his passage through

Chateau-Thierry; but, adds Duclos, Contades was an intelligent man,

and well acquainted with the Regent’s secret intentions, and so he

set out resolved not to find what he went in search of.]

He believed that the English people would not be well pleased to see

their King allied to the Crown of France.

1717

The Baron Goertz thought to entrap my son, who, however, did not trust

him; he would not permit him to purchase a single ship, and it was upon

this that the Baron had built all his hopes of success.

That tall Goertz, whom I have seen, has an unlucky physiognomy; I do not

believe that he will die a fair death.

The Memoir of the thirty noblemen has so much angered my son that he will

hasten to pronounce sentence.

[Goertz was the Swedish minister, and had been sent into Holland and

France to favour the cause of the Pretender. He was arrested in

Holland in 1717, and remained in prison for several months. He was

a very cunning person, and a great political intriguer. On the

death of Charles XII. he was taken before an extraordinary

tribunal, and condemned in an unjust and arbitrary manner to be

beheaded, which sentence was executed in, May, 1719.]

1718

The whole of the Parliament was influenced against him. He made a

remonstrance against this, which was certainly effected at the

instigation of the eldest bastard and his wife.--[The Duc and Duchesse du

Maine.]--If any one spoke ill of my son, and seemed dissatisfied, the

Duchesse du Maine: invited them to Sceaux, and pitied and caressed them

to hear them abuse my son. I wondered at his patience. He has great

courage, and went steadily on without disturbing himself about anything.

Although the Parliament of Paris sent to all the other parliaments in the

kingdom to solicit them to unite with it, none of them did so, but all

remained faithful to my son. The libels which were dispersed for the

purpose of exciting the people against him had scarcely any effect. I

believe the plot would have succeeded better if the bastard and his wife

had not engaged in it, for they were extraordinarily hated at Paris. My

son told the Parliament they had nothing to do with the coinage; that he

would maintain the royal authority, and deliver it to the King when he

should be of age in the same state as he had found it on his becoming

Regent.

The Marechale d’Uxelles hated my son mortally, but after the King’s

death he played the fawning dog so completely that my son forgave him and

took him into favour again. In the latter affair he was disposed once

more to follow his natural inclination, but my son, having little value

for whatever he could do, said, “Well, if he will not sign he may let it

alone.”

When the Marshal saw my son was serious and did not care at all for his

bravadoes, he became submissive and did what my son desired.

The wife of the cripple, the Duchesse du Maine, resolved to have an

explanation with my son. She made a sententious speech, just as if she

had been on the stage; she asked how he could think that the answer to

Fitz-Morris’s book should have proceeded from her, or that a Princess of

the blood would degrade herself by composing libels? She told him, too,

that the Cardinal de Polignac was engaged in affairs of too much

importance to busy himself in trifles like this, and M. de Malezieux was

too much a philosopher to think of anything but the sciences. For her

own part, she said she had sufficient employment in educating her

children as became that royal dignity of which she had been wrongfully

deprived. My son only replied to her thus:--

“I have reason to believe that these libels have been got up at your

house, and by you, because that fact has been attested by persons who

have been in your service, and who have seen them in progress; beyond

this no one makes me believe or disbelieve anything.”

He made no reply to her last observation, and so she went away. She

afterwards boasted everywhere of the firmness with which she had spoken

to my son.

My son this day (26th of August) assembled the Council of the Regency.

He had summoned the Parliament by a ‘lettre-de-cachet’: they repaired to

the Tuileries in a procession on foot, dressed in scarlet robes, hoping

by this display to excite the people in their favour; but the mob only

called out, “Where are these lobsters going?” The King had caused the

Keeper of the Seals to make a remonstrance to the Parliament for having

infringed upon his authority in publishing decrees without his sanction.

He commanded them to quash the decree, which was done; and to confirm the

authority of the Keeper of the Seals, which they did also. He then

ordered them with some sternness not to interfere with the affairs of the

Government beyond their province; and as the Duc du Maine had excited the

Parliament against the King, he was deprived of the care of His Majesty’s

education, and he with his brothers were degraded from the rank of

Princes of the blood, which had been granted to them. They will in

future have no other rank than that of their respective peerages; but the

Duc du Maine alone, for the fidelity he has always manifested towards the

King, will retain his rank for his life, although his issue, if he should

have any, will not inherit it.

[Saint-Simon reports that it was the Comte de Toulouse who was allowed

to retain his rank.--See The Memoirs of Saint-Simon, Chapter XCIII.--D.W.]

Madame d’Orleans was in the greatest despair, and came to Paris in such a

condition as moved my pity for her. Madame du Maine is reported to have

said, three weeks ago, at a grand dinner, “I am accused of having caused

the Parliament to revolt against the Duc d’Orleans, but I despise him too

much to take so noble a vengeance; I will be revenged in another manner.”

The Parliament had very notable projects in hand. If my son had delayed

four-and-twenty hours longer in removing the Duc du Maine from the King

it would have been decided to declare His Majesty of full age; but my son

frustrated this by dismissing the Duke, and degrading him at the same

time. The Chief President is said to have been so frightened that he

remained motionless, as if he had been petrified by a gaze at the head of

Medusa. That celebrated personage of antiquity could not have been more

a fury than Madame du Maine; she threatened dreadfully, and did not

scruple to say, in the presence of her household, that she would yet find

means to give the Regent such a blow as should make him bite the dust.

That old Maintenon and her pupil have also had a finger in the pie.

The Parliament asked pardon of my son, which proves that the Duc and

Duchesse du Maine were the mainsprings of the plot.

There is reason to believe that the old woman and the former Chancellor

were also implicated in it. The Chancellor, who would have betrayed my

son in so shameful a manner, was under the heaviest obligations to him.

What has happened is a great mortification to Maintenon, and yet she has

not given up all hopes. This makes me very anxious, for I know how

expertly she can manage poison. My son, instead of being cautious, goes

about the town at night in strange carriages, sometimes supping with one

or another of his people, none of whom are worthy of being trusted, and

who, excepting their wit, have not one good quality.

Different reports respecting the Duchesse du Maine are abroad; some say

she has beaten her husband and broken the glasses and everything brittle

in her room. Others say she has not spoken a word, and has done nothing

but weep. The Duc de Bourbon has undertaken the King’s education. He

said that, not being himself of age, he did not demand this office

before, but that being so now he should solicit it, and it was

immediately given to him.

One president and two counsellors have been arrested. Before the close

of the session, the Parliament implored my son to use his good offices

with the King for the release of their members, and promised that they

should, if found culpable, be punished by the Parliament itself. My son

replied that they could not doubt he should always advise the King to the

most lenient measures; that His Majesty would not only be gracious to

them as a body, while they merited it, but also to each individual; that,

as to the prisoners, they would in good time be released.

That old Maintenon has fallen sick of grief that her project for the Duc

du Maine has miscarried.

The Duke and the Parliament had resolved to have a bed of justice held,

where my son should be dismissed, and the Regency be committed to the

Duke, while at the same time the King’s household should be under arms.

The Duke and the Prince de Conti had long been urging my son without

knowing all the particulars. The Duc du Maine has not been banished to

the country, but has permission to go with his family wherever he

pleases; he will not, however, remain at Paris, because he no longer

enjoys his rank; he chooses rather to live at Sceaux, where he has an

elegant mansion and a fine park.

The little dwarf (the Duchesse du Maine) says she has more courage than

her husband, her son, and her brother-in-law put together; and that, like

another Jael, she would kill my son with her own hand, and would drive a

nail into his head. When I implored my son to be on his guard against

her, and told him this, he laughed at my fears and shook his head

incredulously.

I do not believe that the Devil, in his own person, is more wicked than

that old Maintenon, the Duc du Maine, and the Duchess. The latter said

openly that her husband and her brother-in-law were no better than

cowards; that, woman as she was, she was ready to demand an audience of

my son and to plunge a dagger in his heart. Let any one judge whether I

have not reason to fear such persons, and particularly, when they, have

so strong a party. Their cabal is very considerable; there are a dozen

persons of consideration, all great noblemen at Court. The richest part

of the people favour the Spanish pretensions, as well as the Duc and

Duchesse du Maine; they wish to call in the King of Spain. My brother

has too much sense for them; they want a person who will suffer himself

to be led as they, please; the King of Spain is their man; and, for this

reason, they are trying all means to induce him to come. It is for these

reasons that I think my son is in so great danger.

My son has not yet released the three rogues of the Parliament, although

their liberation has been twice petitioned for.

The Duc du Maine and the cabal have made his sister believe that if my

son should die they would make her Regent, and would aid her with their

counsel to enable her to become one of the greatest persons in the world.

They say they mean no violence towards my son, who cannot live long on

account of his irregularities; that he must soon die or lose his sight;

and in the latter event he would consent to her becoming Regent. I know

a person to whom the Duc du Maine said so. This put an end to one’s

astonishment, that she should have wished to force her daughter to marry

the Duc du Maine.

All this gave me great anxiety. I foresaw it all and said to my son,

“You are committing a folly, for which I shall have to suffer all my

life.”

He has made great changes; instead of a great number of Councils he has

appointed Secretaries of State. M. d’Armenouville is Secretary of State

for the Navy; M. le Blanc, for the Army; M. de la Vrilliere, for the Home

Department; the Abbe Dubois, for Foreign Affairs; M. de Maurepas, for the

Royal Household; and a Bishop for the Church Benefices.

Malezieux and the Cardinal de Polignac had probably as great a share in

the answer to Fitz-Morris as the Duchesse du Maine.

The Duc de Bourbon and the Prince de Conti assisted very zealously in the

disgrace of the Duc du Maine. My son could not bring himself to resolve

upon it until the treachery had been clearly demonstrated to him, and he

saw that he should lend himself to his own dishonour if he did not

prevent the blow.

My son is very fond of the Comte de Toulouse, whom he finds a sensible

person on all occasions: if the latter had followed the advice of the Duc

du Maine he would have shared his fate; but he despised his brother’s

advice and followed that of his wife.

My son believes as firmly in predestination as if he had been, like me, a

Calvinist, for nineteen years. I do not know how he learnt the affair of

the Duc du Maine; he has always kept it a great secret. But what appears

the most singular to me is that he does not hate his brother-in-law, who

has endeavoured to procure his death and dishonour. I do not believe his

like was ever seen: he has no gall in his composition; I never knew him

to hate any one.

He says he will take as much care as he can; but that if God has ordained

that he shall perish by the hands of his enemies he cannot change his

destiny, and that therefore he shall go on tranquilly.

He has earnestly requested Lord Stair to speak to the King of England

on your account.--[This passage is addressed to the Princess of

Wales.]--He says no one can be more desirous than he is that you should

be reinstated in your father’s affection, and that he will neglect no

opportunity of bringing it about, being persuaded that it is to the

advantage of the King of England, as well as of yourself, that you should

be reconciled.

M. Law must be praised for his talent, but there is an astonishing number

of persons who envy him in this country. My son is delighted with his

cleverness in business.

He has been compelled to arrest the Spanish Ambassador, the Prince of

Cellamara, because letters were found upon his courier, the Abbe Porto

Carero, who was his nephew, and who has also been arrested, containing

evidence of a plot against the King and against my son. The Ambassador

was arrested by two Counsellors of State. It was time that this

treachery should be made public. A valet of the Abbe Porto Carero having

a bad horse, and not being able to get on so quick as his master, stayed

two relays behind, and met on his way the ordinary courier from Poitiers.

The valet asked him, “What news?”

“I don’t know any,” replied the postilion, “except that they have

arrested at Poitiers an English bankrupt and a Spanish Abbe who was

carrying a packet.”

When the valet heard this he instantly took a fresh horse, and, instead

of following his master, he came back full gallop to Paris. So great was

his speed, that he fell sick upon his arrival in consequence of the

exertion. He outstripped my son’s courier by twelve hours, and so had

time to apprise the Prince of Cellamara twelve hours before his arrest,

which gave him time to burn his most important letters and papers. My

son’s enemies pretend to treat this affair as insignificant to the last

degree; but I cannot see anything insignificant in an Ambassador’s

attempting to cause a revolt in a whole kingdom, and among the

Parliament, against my son, and meditating his assassination as well as

that of his son and daughter. I alone was to have been let live.

That Des Ursins must have the devil in her to have stirred up Pompadour

against my son. He is not any very great personage; but his wife is a

daughter of the Duc de Navailles, who was my son’s governor. Madame de

Pompadour was the governess of the young Duc d’Alencon, the son of Madame

de Berri. As to the Abbe Brigaut, I know him very well. Madame de

Ventadour was his godmother, and he was baptized at the same time with

the first Dauphin, when he received the name of Tillio. He has talent,

but he is an intriguer and a knave. He pretended at first to be very

devout, and was appointed Pere de l’Oratoire; but, getting tired of this

life, he took up the trade of catering for the vices of the Court, and

afterwards became the secretary and factotum of Madame du Maine, for whom

he used to assist in all the libels and pasquinades which were written

against my son. It would be difficult to say which prated most, he or

Pompadour.

Madame d’Orleans has great influence over my son. He loves all his

children, but particularly his eldest daughter. While still a child, she

fell dangerously ill, and was given over by her physicians. My son was

in deep affliction at this, and resolved to attempt her cure by treating

her in his own way, which succeeded so well that he saved her life, and

from that moment has loved her better than all his other children.

............................

The Abbe Dubois has an insinuating manner towards every one; but more

particularly towards those of whom he had the care in their childhood.

Two Germans were implicated in the conspiracy; but I am only surprised at

one of them, the Brigadier Sandrazky, who was with me daily, and in whose

behalf I have often spoken, because his father served my brother as

commandant at Frankendahl; he died in the present year. The other is the

Count Schlieben, who has only one arm. I am not astonished at him; for,

in the first place, I know how he lost his arm; and, in the second, he is

a friend and servant of the Princesse des Ursins: they expect to take him

at Lyons. Sandrazky was at my toilette the day before yesterday; as he

looked melancholy, I asked him what was the matter? He replied, “I am

ill with vexation: I love my wife, who is an Englishwoman, very tenderly,

and she is no less fond of me; but, as we have not the means of keeping

up an establishment, she must go into a convent. This distresses me so

much that I am really very unwell.”

I was grieved to hear this, and resolved to solicit my son for him.

My son sometimes does as is said in Atys,--[The opera of Atys, act ii.,

scene 3.]--“Vous pourriez aimer et descendre moins bas;” for when Jolis

was his rival, he became attached to one of his daughter’s ‘filles de

chambre’, who hoped to marry Jolis because he was rich; for this reason

she received him better than my son, who, however, at last gained her

favour. He afterwards took her away from his daughter, and had her

taught to sing, for she had a fine voice.

The printed letters of Cellamara disclose the whole of the conspiracy.

The Abbe Brigaut, too, it is said, begins to chatter about it. This

affair has given me so much anxiety that I only sleep through mere

exhaustion. My heart beats incessantly; but my son has not the least

care about it. I beseech him, for God’s sake, not to go about in coaches

at night, and he promises me he will not; but he will no more keep that

promise than he did when he made it to me before.

It is now eight days since the Duc du Maine and his wife were arrested

(29th December). She was at Paris, and her husband at Sceaux in his

chateau. One of the four captains of the King’s Guard arrested the

Duchess, the Duke was arrested only by a lieutenant of the Body Guard.

The Duchess was immediately taken to Dijon and her husband to the

fortress of Doullens. I found Madame d’Orleans much more calm than I had

expected. She was much grieved, and wept bitterly; but she said that,

since her brother was convicted, she must confess he had done wrong; that

he was, with his wife, the cause of his own misfortune, but that it was

no less painful to her to know that her own brother had thus been

plotting against her husband. His guilt was proved upon three points:

first, in a paper under the hand of the Spanish Ambassador, the Prince of

Cellamara, in which he imparted to Alberoni that the Duchesse and the Duc

du Maine were at the head of the conspiracy; he tells him how many times

he has seen them, by whose means, and in what place; then he says that he

has given money to the Duc du Maine to bribe certain persons, and he

mentions the sum. There are already two men in the Bastille who confess

to have received money, and others who have voluntarily stated that they

conducted the Ambassador to the Duke and Duchess, and negotiated

everything between the parties. The greater part of their servants have

been sent to the Bastille. The Princess is deeply afflicted; and,

although the clearest proofs are given of her children’s crime, she

throws all the blame upon the Duke, her grandson, who, she says, has

accused them falsely, because he hates them, and she has refused to see

him. The Duchess is more moderate in her grief. The little Princesse de

Conti heartily pities her sister and weeps copiously, but the elder

Princess does not trouble herself about her uncle and aunt.

The Cardinals cannot be arrested, but they may be exiled; therefore the

Cardinal de Polignac has been ordered to retire to one of his abbeys and

to remain there. It was love that turned his head. He was formerly a

great friend of my son’s, and he did not change until he became attached

to that little hussy.

Magni

[Foucault de Magni, introducteur des ambassadeurs, and son of a

Counsellor of State. Duclos says he was a silly fellow, who never

did but, one wise thing, which was to run away.]

has not yet been taken; he flies from one convent to another. He stayed

with the Jesuits a long time.

1719

They say that the Duchesse du Maine used all her persuasions to induce

her husband to fly; but that he replied, as neither of them had written

anything with their own hands, nothing could be proved against them;

while, by flying, they would confess their guilt. They did not consider

that M. de Pompadour could say enough to cause their arrest.

The Duchess’s fraternal affection is a much stronger passion than her

love for her children.

A letter of Alberoni’s to the lame bastard has been intercepted, in which

is the following passage: “As soon as you declare war in France spring

all your mines at once.”

What enrages me is that Madame d’Orleans and the Princess would still

make one believe that the Duc and Duchesse du Maine are totally innocent,

although proofs of their guilt are daily appearing. The Duchess came to

me to beg I would procure an order for her daughter’s people, that is,

her dames d’honneur, her femmes de chambre, and her hair-dresser, to be

sent to her. I could not help laughing, and I said, “Mademoiselle de

Launay is an intriguer and one of the persons by whom the whole affair

was conducted.”

But she replied, “The Princess is at the Bastille.”--“I know it,” I said;

“and well she has deserved it.” This almost offended the Princess.

The Duchesse du Maine said openly that she should never be happy until

she had made an end of my son. When her mother reproached her with it,

she did not deny it, but only replied, “One says things in a passion

which one does not mean to do.”

Although the plot has been discovered, the conspirators have not yet been

all taken. My son says, jokingly, “I have hold of the monster’s head and

tail, but I have not yet got his body.”

I can guess how it happened that the mercantile letters stated my son to

have been arrested; it is because the conspirators intended to have done

so, and two days later it would have taken place. It must have been

persons of this party, therefore, who wrote to England.

When Schlieben was seized, he said, “If Monsieur the Regent does not take

pity upon me, I am ruined.”

He was for a long time at the Spanish Court, where he was protected by

the Princesse des Ursins. He has some wit, can chatter well, and is an

excellent spy for such a lady. The persons who had arrested him took him

to Paris by the diligence, without saying a word. On reaching Paris the

diligence was ordered to the Bastille; the poor travellers not knowing

why, were in a great fright, and expected all to be locked up, but were

not a little pleased at being set free. Sandrazky is not very clever; he

is a Silesian. He married an Englishwoman, whose fortune he soon

dissipated, for he is a great gambler.

The Duchesse du Maine has fallen sick with rage, and that old Maintenon

is said to be afflicted by the affair more than any other person. It was

by her fault that they fell into this scrape, for she put it into their

heads that it was unjust they should not reign, and that the kingdom

belonged as much to them as King Solomon’s did to him.

Madame d’Orleans weeps for her brother by day and night.

They tried to arrest the Duc de Saint-Aignan at Pampeluna; but he

effected his escape with his wife, and in disguise.

When they carried away the Duc du Maine, he said, “I shall soon return,

for my innocence will be speedily manifested; but I only speak for

myself, my wife may not come back quite so soon.”

Madame d’Orleans cannot believe that her brother has been engaged in a

conspiracy; she says it must have been his wife who acted in his name.

The Princess, on the other hand, believes that her daughter is innocent,

and that the Duc du Maine alone has carried on the plot.

The factum is not badly drawn up. Our priest can write well enough when

he likes; he drew it up, and my son corrected it.

The more the affair is examined, the more clearly does the guilt of the

Duke and Duchess appear; for three days ago, Malezieux, who is in the

Bastille, gave up his writing-desk. The first thing that was found in it

was a projet, which Malezieux had written at the Duchess’s bedside, and

which Cardinal de Polignac had corrected with his own hand. Malezieux

pretends that it is a Spanish letter, addressed to the Duchess, and that

he had translated it for her, with the assistance of the Cardinal de

Polignac; and yet the letters of Alberoni to the Prince de Cellamara

refer so directly to this projet that it is easy to see that they spring

from the same source.

The Duchesse du Maine has made the Princess believe that the Duke (of

Bourbon) was the cause of all this business, so that now he dare not

appear before the latter, although he has always behaved with great

respect and friendship towards her; while the Duc and Duchesse du Maine,

on the contrary, have been engaged in a law-suit against her for five

years. It was not until after the Princess had inherited the property of

Monsieur de Vendome, that this worthy couple insinuated themselves into

her good graces.

The Parliament is reconciled to my son, and has pronounced its decree,

which is favourable to him, and which is another proof that the Duc du

Maine had excited it against him.

The Jesuits have probably been also against my son; for all those who

have declared against the Constitution cannot be friendly to him; they

have, however, kept so quiet that nothing can be brought against them.

They are cunning old fellows.

Madame d’Orleans begins to recover her spirits and to laugh again,

particularly since I learn she has consulted the Premier President and

other persons, to know whether, upon my son’s death, she would become the

Regent. They told her that could not be, but that the office would fall

upon the Duke. This answer is said to have been very unpalatable to her.

If my son would have paid a price high enough to the Cardinal de

Polignac, he would have betrayed them all. He is now consoling himself

in his Abbey with translating Lucretius.

The King of Spain’s manifesto, instead of injuring my son, has been

useful to him, because it was too violent and partial. Alberoni must

needs be a brutal and an intemperate person. But how could a journeyman

gardener know the language which ought to be addressed to crowned heads?

Several thousand copies of this manifesto have been transmitted to Paris,

addressed to all the persons in the Court, to all the Bishops, in short,

to everybody; even to the Parliament, which has taken the affair up very

properly, from Paris to Bordeaux, as the decree shows. I thought it

would have been better to burn this manifesto in the post-office instead

of suffering it to be spread about; but my son said they should all be

delivered, for the express purpose of discovering the feelings of the

parties to whom they were addressed, and a register of them was kept at

the post-office. Those who were honest brought them of their own accord;

the others kept them, and they are marked, without the public knowing

anything about it. The manifesto is the work of Malezieux and the

Cardinal de Polignac.

A pamphlet has been cried about the streets, entitled, “Un arret contre

les poules d’Inde.” Upon looking at it, however, it seems to be a decree

against the Jesuits, who had lost a cause respecting a priory, of which

they had taken possession. Everybody bought it except the partisans of

the Constitution and of the Spanish faction.

My son is more fond of his daughters, legitimate and illegitimate, than

his son.

The Duc and Duchesse du Maine rely upon nothing having been found in

their writing; but Mademoiselle de Montauban and Malezieux have written.

in their name; and is not what Pompadour has acknowledged voluntarily

quite as satisfactory a proof as even their own writing?

They have got the pieces of all the mischievous Spanish letters written

by the same hand, and corrected by that of the Cardinal de Polignac, so

that there can be no doubt of his having composed them.

A manifesto, too, has been found in Malezieux’s papers. It is well

written, but not improved by the translation. Malezieux pretends that he

only translated it before it was sent hence to Spain.

Mademoiselle de Montauban and Mademoiselle de Launay, a person of some

wit, who has kept up a correspondence with Fontenelle, and who was ‘femme

de chambre’ to the Duchesse du Maine, have both been sent to the

Bastille.

The Duc du Maine now repents that he followed his wife’s advice; but it

seems that he only followed the worst part of it.

The Duchesse d’Orleans has been for some days past persuading my son to

go masked to a ball. She says that his daughter, the Duchesse de Berri,

and I, make him pass for a coward by preventing him from going to balls

and running about the town by night as he used to do before; and that he

ought not to manifest the least symptom of fear. He replied that he knew

he should give me great pain by doing so, and that the least he could do

was to tranquillize my mind by living prudently. She then said that the

Duchesse de Berri filled me with unfounded fears in order that she might

have more frequent opportunities of being with him, and of governing him

entirely. Can the Devil himself be worse than this bastard? It teaches

me, however, that my son is not secure with her. I must do violence to

myself that my suspicions may not be apparent.

My son has not kept his word; he went to this ball, although he denies

it.

Although it is well known that Maintenon has had a hand in all these

affairs, nothing can be said to her, for her name does not appear in any

way.

When my son is told of persons who hate him and who seek his life, he

laughs and says, “They dare not; I am not so weak that I cannot defend

myself.” This makes me very angry.

If the proofs against Malezieux are not manifest, and if they do not put

the rogue upon his trial, it will be because his crime is so closely

connected with that of the Duchesse du Maine that, in order to convict

him before the Parliament, he must be confronted with her. Besides, as

the Parliament is better disposed towards the Duc and Duchesse du Maine

than to my son, they might be acquitted and taken out of his hands, which

would make them worse than they are now. For this reason it is that they

are looking for proofs so clear that the Parliament cannot refuse to

pronounce upon them.

The Duc du Maine writes thus to his sister:

“They ought not to have put me in prison; but they ought to have stripped

me and put me into petticoats for having been thus led by my wife;” and

he wrote to Madame de Langeron that he enjoyed perfect repose, for which

he thanked God; that he was glad to be no longer exposed to the contempt

of his family; and that his sons ought to be happy to be no longer with

him.

The King of Spain and Alberoni have a personal hatred against my son,

which is the work of the Princesse des Ursins.

My son is naturally brave, and fears nothing: death is not at all

terrible to him.

On the 29th of March the young Duc de Richelieu was taken to the

Bastille: this caused a great number of tears to be shed, for he is

universally loved. He had kept up a correspondence with Alberoni, and

had got his regiment placed at Bayonne, together with that of his friend,

M. de Saillant, for the purpose of delivering the town to the Spaniards.

He went on Wednesday last to the Marquis de Biron, and urged him to

despatch him as promptly as possible to join his regiment at Bayonne, and

so prove the zeal which attached him to my son. His comrade, who passes

for a coward and a sharper at play, has also been shut up in the

Bastille.

[On the day that they were arrested, the Regent said he had that in

his pocket which would cut off four heads, if the Duke had so many.

--Memoires de Duclos.]

The Duc de Richelieu had the portraits of his mistresses painted in all

sorts of monastic habits: Mademoiselle de Charolais as a Recollette nun,

and it is said to be very like her. The Marechales de Villars and

d’Estrees are, it is said, painted as Capuchin nuns.

When the Duc de Richelieu was shown his letter to Alberoni, he confessed

all that concerned himself, but would not disclose his accomplices.

Nothing but billets-doux were found in his writing-case. Alberoni in

this affair trusted a man who had formerly been in his service, but who

is now a spy of my son’s. He brought Alberoni’s letter to the Regent;

who opened it, read it, had a copy made, resealed it, and sent it on to

its destination. The young Duc de Richelieu answered it, but my son can

make no use of this reply because the words in which it is written have a

concealed sense.

The Princess has strongly urged my son to permit the Duchesse du Maine to

quit Dijon, under the pretext that the air was unwholesome for her. My

son consented upon condition that she should be conducted in her own

carriage, but under the escort of the King’s Guard, from Dijon to

Chalons-sur-Saone.

Here she thought she should enjoy comparative liberty, and that the town

would be her prison: she was much astonished to find that she was as

closely confined at Chalons as at Dijon. When she asked the reason for

this rigour she was told that all was discovered, and that the prisoners

had disclosed the particulars of the conspiracy. She was immediately

struck with this; but recovering her self-possession, she said, “The Duc

de Orleans thinks that I hate him; but if he would take my advice, I

would counsel him better than any other person.” My son’s wife remains

very tranquil.

On the 17th of April a rascal was brought in who was near surprising my

son in the Bois de Boulogne a year ago. He is a dismissed colonel; his

name is La Jonquiere. He had written to my son demanding enormous

pensions and rewards; but meeting with a refusal, he went into Spain,

where he promised Alberoni to carry off my son, and deliver him into his

hands, dead or alive. He brought one hundred men with him, whom he put

in ambuscade near Paris. He missed my son only by a quarter of an hour

in the Bois de Boulogne, which the latter had passed through in his way

to La Muette, where he went to dine with his daughter. La Jonquiere

having thus failed, retired in great vexation to the Low Countries, where

he boasted that, although he had missed this once, he would take his

measures so much better in future that people should soon hear of a great

blow being struck. This was luckily repeated to my son, who had him

arrested at Liege. He sent a clever fellow to him, who caught him, and

leading him out of the house where they were, he clapped a pistol to his

throat, and threatened to shoot him on the spot if he did not go with him

and without speaking a word. The rascal, overcome with terror, suffered

himself to be taken to the boat, but when he saw that they were

approaching the French territory he did not wish to go any further; he

said he was ruined, and should be drawn and quartered. They bound him

and carried him to the Bastille.

I have exhorted my son to take care of himself, and not to go out but in

a carriage. He has promised that he will not, but I cannot trust him.

The late Monsieur was desirous that his son’s wife should not be a

coquette. This was not the particular which I so much disapproved of;

but I wished the husband not to be informed of it, or that it should get

abroad, which would have had no other effect than that of convincing my

son that his wife had dishonoured him.

I must never talk to my son about the conspiracy in the presence of

Madame d’Orleans; it would be wounding her in the tenderest place; for

all that concerns her brother is to her the law and the prophets.

My son has so satisfactorily disproved the accusations of that old

Maintenon and the Duc du Maine, that the King has believed him, and,

after a minute examination, has done my son justice. But Madame

d’Orleans has not conducted herself well in this affair; she has spread

by means of her creatures many calumnies against my son, and has even

said that he wanted to poison her. By such means she has made her peace

with old Maintenon, who could not endure her before. I have often

admired the patience with which my son suffers all this, when he knows it

just as well as I do. If things had remained as Madame de Maintenon had

arranged them at the death of the King, my son would only have been

nominally Regent, and the Duc du Maine would actually have enjoyed all

the power. She thought because my son was in the habit of running after

women a little that he would be afraid of the labour, and that he would

be contented with the title and a large pension, leaving her and the Duc

du Maine to have their own way. This was her plan, and she fancied that

her calumnies had so far succeeded in making my son generally despised

that no person would be found to espouse his cause. But my son was not

so unwise as to suffer all this; he pleaded his cause so well to the

Parliament that the Government was entrusted to him, and yet the old

woman did not relinquish her hopes until my son had the Duc du Maine

arrested; then she fainted.

The Pope’s nuncio thrusts his nose into all the plots against my son; he

may be a good priest, but he is nevertheless a wicked devil.

On the 25th of April M. de Laval, the Duchesse de Roquelaure’s brother,

was arrested.

M. de Pompadour has accused the Duc de Laval of acting in concert with

the Prince de Cellamara, to whom, upon one occasion, he acted as

coachman, and drove him to the Duchesse du Maine at the Arsenal. This

Comte de Laval is always sick and covered with wounds; he wears a plaster

which reaches from ear to ear; he is lame, and often has his arm in a

sling; nevertheless, he is full of intrigue, and is engaged night and day

in writing against my son.

Madame de Maintenon is said to have sent large sums of money into the

provinces for the purpose of stirring up the people against my son; but,

thank God, her plan has not succeeded.

The old woman has spread about the report that my son poisoned all the

members of the Royal Family who have died lately. She hired one of the

King’s physicians first to spread this report. If Marechal, the King’s

surgeon, who was present at the opening of the bodies, had not stated

that there was no appearance of poison, and confirmed that statement to

the King, this infamous creature would have plunged my innocent son into

a most deplorable situation.

Mademoiselle de Charolais says that the affair of Bayonne cannot be true,

for that the Duc de Richelieu did not tell her of it, and he never

concealed anything from her. She says, too, that she will not see my

son, for his having put the Duke into the Bastille.

The Duke walks about on the top of the terrace at the Bastille, with his

hair dressed, and in an embroidered coat. All the ladies who pass stop

their carriages to look at the pretty fellow.

[This young man, says Duclos, thought himself of some consequence

when he was made a State prisoner, and endured his confinement with

the same levity which he had always displayed in love, in business,

or in war. The Regent was much amused with him, and suffered him to

have all he wanted-his valet de chambre, two footmen, music, cards,

etc.; so that, although he was deprived of his liberty, he might be

as licentious as ever.]

Madame d’Orleans has been so little disposed to undertake her husband’s

defence in public, that she has pretended to believe the charges against

him, although no person in the world knows better than she does that the

whole is a lie. She sent to her brothers for a counter-poison, so that

my son should not take her off by those means; and thus she reconciled

Maintenon, who was at enmity with her. I learnt this story during the

year, and I do not know whether my son is aware of it. I would not say

anything to him about it, for I did not wish to embroil man and wife.

The Abbe Dubois--[Madame probably means the Duc du Maine]--seems to

think that we do not know how many times he went by night to Madame de

Maintenon’s, to help this fine affair.

My son has been dissuaded from issuing the manifesto.

Madame d’Orleans has at length quite regained her husband; and, following

her advice, he goes about by night in a coach. On Wednesday night he set

off for Anieres, where Parabere has a house. He supped there, and,

getting into his carriage again, after midnight, he put his foot into a

hole and sprained it.

I am very much afraid my son will be attacked by the small-pox. He eats

heavy suppers; he is short and fat, and just one of those persons whom

the disease generally attacks.

The Cardinal de Noailles has been pestering my son in favour of the Duc

de Richelieu; and as it cannot be positively proved that he addressed the

letter to Alberoni, they can do no more to him than banish him to

Conflans, after six months’ imprisonment. Mademoiselle de Charolais

procured some one to ask my son secretly by what means she could see the

Duc de Richelieu, and speak with him, before he set off for Conflans.

[This must have been a joke of Mademoiselle de Charolais; for she

had already, together with Mademoiselle Valois, paid the Duke

several visits in the Bastille. When the Duke was sent to Conflans

to the Cardinal de Noailles, he used to escape almost every night,

and come to see his mistresses. It was this that determined the

Regent to send him to Saint-Germain en Laye; but, soon afterwards,

Mademoiselle de Valois obtained from her father a pardon for her

lover.---Memoirs de Richelieu, tome iii., p. 171]

My son replied, “that she had better speak to the Cardinal de Noailles;

for as he was to conduct the Duke to Conflans, and keep him in his own

house, he would know better than any other person how he might be spoken

with.” When she learnt that the Duke had arrived at Saint-Germain, she

hastened thither immediately.

I never doubted for a moment that my son’s marriage was in every respect

unfortunate; but my advice was not listened to. If the union had been a

good one, that old Maintenon would not have insisted on it.

Nothing less than millions are talked of on all sides: my sun has made me

also richer by adding 130,000 livres to my pension.

By what we hear daily of the insurrection in Bretagne, it seems that my

son’s enemies are more inveterate against him than ever. I do not know

whether it is true, as has been said, that there was a conspiracy at

Rochelle, and that the governor intended to give up the place to the

Spaniards, but has fled; that ten officers were engaged in the plot, some

of whom have been arrested, and the others have fled to Spain.

I always took the Bishop of Soissons for an honest man. I knew him when

he was only an Abbe, and the Duchess of Burgundy’s almoner; but the

desire to obtain a Cardinal’s hat drives most of the Bishops mad. There

is not one of them who does not believe that the more impertinently he

behaves to my son about the Constitution, the more he will improve his

credit with the Court of Rome, and the sooner become a Cardinal.

My son, although he is Regent, never comes to see me, and never quits me,

without kissing my hand before he embraces me; and he will not even take

a chair if I hand it to him. He is not, however, at all timid, but chats

familiarly with me, and we laugh and talk together like good friends.

[Illustration: The Regent and His Mother--166]

While the Dauphin was alive La Chouin behaved very ill to my son; she

embroiled him with the Dauphin, and would neither speak to nor see him;

in short, she was constantly opposed to him. And yet, when he learnt

that she had fallen into poverty, he sent her money, and secured her a

pension sufficient to live upon.

My son gave me actions to the amount of two millions, which I distributed

among my household. The King also took several millions for his own,

household; all the Royal Family have had them; all the enfans and petits

enfans de France, and the Princes of the blood.

[This may be stock the M. Law floated in the Mississippi Company. D.W.]

The old Court is doing its utmost to put people, out of conceit with

Law’s bank.

I do not think that Lord Stair praises my son so much as he used to do,

for they do not seem to be very good friends. After having received all

kinds of civilities from my son, who has made him richer than ever he

expected to be in his life, he has turned his back upon him, caused him

numerous little troubles, and annoys him so much that my son would gladly

be rid of him.

My son was obliged to make a speech at the Bank, which was applauded.

1720

They have been obliged to adopt severe measures in Bretagne; four persons

of quality have been beheaded. One of them, who might have escaped by

flying to Spain, would not go. When he was asked why, he said it had

been predicted that he should die by sea (de la mer). Just before he was

executed he asked the headsman what his name was.

“My name is Sea (La Mer),” replied the man.

“Then,” said the nobleman, “I am undone.”

All Paris has been mourning at the cursed decree which Law has persuaded

my son to make. I have received anonymous letters, stating that I have

nothing to fear on my own account, but that my son shall be pursued with

fire and sword; that the plan is laid and the affair determined on. From

another quarter I have learnt that knives are sharpening for my son’s

assassination. The most dreadful news is daily reaching me. Nothing

could appease the discontent until, the Parliament having assembled, two

of its members were deputed to wait upon my son, who received them

graciously, and, following their advice, annulled the decree, and so

restored things to their former condition. This proceeding has not only

quieted all Paris, but has reconciled my son (thank God) to the

Parliament.

My son wished by sending an embassy to give a public proof how much he

wished for a reconciliation between the members of the Royal Family of

England, but it was declined.

The goldsmiths will work no longer, for they charge their goods at three

times more than they are worth, on account of the bank-notes. I have

often wished those bank-notes were in the depths of the infernal regions;

they have given my son much more trouble than relief. I know not how

many inconveniences they have caused him. Nobody in France has a penny;

but, saving your presence, and to speak in plain palatine, there is

plenty of paper.

..........................

It is singular enough that my son should only become so firmly attached

to his black Parabere, when she had preferred another and had formally

dismissed him.

Excepting the affair with Parabere, my son lives upon very good terms

with his wife, who for her part cares very little about it; nothing is so

near to her heart as her brother, the Duc du Maine. In a recent quarrel

which she had with my son on this subject, she said she would retire to

Rambouillet or Montmartre. “Wherever you please,” he replied; “or

wherever you think you will be most comfortable.” This vexed her so mach

that she wept day and night about it.

On the 17th of June, while I was at the Carmelites, Madame de

Chateau-Thiers came to see me, and said to me, “M. de Simiane is come

from the Palais Royal; and he thinks it fit you should know that on your

return you will find all the courts filled with the people who, although

they do not say anything, will not disperse. At six o’clock this

morning they brought in three dead bodies which M. Le Blanc has had

removed. M. Law has taken refuge in the Palais Royal: they have done

him no harm; but his coach man was stoned as he returned, and the

carriage broken to pieces. It was the coachman’s fault, who told them

‘they were a rabble, and ought to be hanged.’” I saw at once that it

would not do to seem to be intimidated, so I ordered the coach to be

driven to the Palais Royal. There was such a press of carriages that I

was obliged to wait a full hour before I reached the rue Saint-Honore;

then I heard the people talking: they did not say anything against my

son; they gave me several benedictions, and demanded that Law should be

hanged. When I reached the Palais Royal all was calm again. My son

came to me, and in the midst of my anxiety he was perfectly tranquil,

and even made me laugh.

M. Le Blanc went with great boldness into the midst of the irritated

populace and harangued them. He had the bodies of the men who had been

crushed to death in the crowd brought away, and succeeded in quieting

them.

My son is incapable of being serious and acting like a father with his

children; he lives with them more like a brother than a father.

The Parliament not only opposed the edict, and would not allow it to

pass, but also refused to give any opinion, and rejected the affair

altogether. For this reason my son had a company of the footguard placed

on Sunday morning at the entrance of the palace to prevent their

assembling; and, at the same time, he addressed a letter to the

Premier-President, and to the Parliament a ‘lettre-de-cachet’, ordering

them to repair to Pontoise to hold their sittings. The next day, when

the musketeers had relieved the guards, the young fellows, not knowing

what to do to amuse themselves, resolved to play at a parliament. They

elected a chief and other presidents, the King’s ministers, and the

advocates. These things being settled, and having received a sausage

and a pie for breakfast, they pronounced a sentence, in which they

condemned the sausage to be cooked and the pie to be cut up.

All these things make me tremble for my son. I receive frequently

anonymous letters full of dreadful menaces against him, assuring me that

two hundred bottles of wine have been poisoned for him, and, if this

should fail, that they will make use of a new artificial fire to burn him

alive in the Palais Royal.

It is too true that Madame d’Orleans loves her brother better than her

husband.

The Duc du Maine says that if, by his assistance, the King should obtain

the direction of his own affairs, he would govern him entirely, and would

be more a monarch than the King, and that after my son’s death he would

reign with his sister.

A week ago I received letters in which they threatened to burn my son at

the Palais Royal and me at Saint Cloud. Lampoons are circulated in

Paris.

My son has already slept several times at the Tuileries, but I fear that

the King will not be able to accustom himself to his ways, for my son

could never in his life play with children: he does not like them.

He was once beloved, but since the arrival of that cursed Law he is hated

more and more. Not a week passes without my receiving by the post

letters filled with frightful threats, in which my son is spoken of as a

bad man and a tyrant.

I have just now received a letter in which he is threatened with poison.

When I showed it to him he did nothing but laugh, and said the Persian

poison could not be given to him, and that all that was said about it was

a fable.

To-morrow the Parliament will return to Paris, which will delight the

Parisians as much as the departure of Law.

That old Maintenon has sent the Duc du Maine about to tell the members of

the Royal Family that my son poisoned the Dauphin, the Dauphine, and the

Duc de Berri. The old woman has even done more she has hinted to the

Duchess that she is not secure in her husband’s house, and that she

should ask her brother for a counter-poison, as she herself was obliged

to do during the latter days of the King’s life.

The old woman lives very retired. No one can say that any imprudent

expressions have escaped her. This makes me believe that she has some

plan in her head, but I cannot guess what it is.

SECTION XI.--THE DUCHESSE D’ORLEANS, WIFE OF THE REGENT.

If, by shedding my own blood, I could have prevented my son’s marriage,

I would willingly have done so; but since the thing was done, I have had

no other wish than to preserve harmony. Monsieur behaved to her with

great attention during the first month, but as soon as he suspected that

she looked with too favourable an eye upon the Chevalier du Roye,

[Bartholemi de La Rochefoucauld, at first Chevalier de Roye, but

afterwards better known by the title of Marquis de La Rochefoucauld.

He was Captain of the Duchesse de Berri’s Body-Guards, and he died

in 1721.]

he hated her as the Devil. To prevent an explosion, I was obliged daily

to represent to him that he would dishonour himself, as well as his son,

by exposing her conduct, and would infallibly bring upon himself the

King’s displeasure. As no person had been less favourable to this

marriage than I, he could not suspect but that I was moved, not from any

love for my daughter-in-law, but from the wish to avoid scandal and out

of affection to my son and the whole family. While all eclat was

avoided, the public were at least in doubt about the matter; by an

opposite proceeding their suspicions would have been confirmed.

Madame d’Orleans looks older than she is; for she paints beyond all

measure, so that she is often quite red. We frequently joke her on this

subject, and she even laughs at it herself. Her nose and cheeks are

somewhat pendant, and her head shakes like an old woman: this is in

consequence of the small-pox. She is often ill, and always has a

fictitious malady in reserve. She has a true and a false spleen;

whenever she complains, my son and I frequently rally her about it.

I believe that all the indispositions and weaknesses she has proceed from

her always lying in bed or on a sofa; she eats and drinks reclining,

through mere idleness; she has not worn stays since the King’s death;

she never could bring herself to eat with the late King, her own father,

still less would she with me. It would then be necessary for her to sit

upon a stool, and she likes better to loll upon a sofa or sit in an

arm-chair at a small table with her favourite, the Duchess of Sforza. She

admits her son, and sometimes Mademoiselle d’Orleans. She is so indolent

that she will not stir; she would like larks ready roasted to drop into

her mouth; she eats and walks slowly, but eats enormously. It is

impossible to be more idle than she is: she admits this herself; but she

does not attempt to correct it: she goes to bed early that she may lie

the longer. She never reads herself, but when she has the spleen she

makes her women read her to sleep. Her complexion is good, but less so

than her second daughter’s. She walks a little on one side, which Madame

de Ratzenhausen calls walking by ear. She does not think that there is

her equal in the world for beauty, wit, and perfection of all kinds. I

always compare her to Narcissus, who died of self-admiration. She is so

vain as to think she has more sense than her husband, who has a great

deal; while her notions are not in the slightest degree elevated. She

lives much in the femme-de-chambre style; and, indeed, loves this society

better than that of persons of birth. The ladies are often a week

together without seeing her; for without being summoned they cannot

approach her. She does not know how to live as the wife of a prince

should, having been educated like the daughter of a citizen. A long time

had elapsed before she and her younger brother were legitimated by the

King; I do not know for what reason.

[This legitimation presented great difficulties during the life of

the Marquis de Montespan. M. Achille de Harlai, Procureur-General

du Parliament, helped to remove them by having the Chevalier de

Longueville, son of the Duke of that name and of the Marechale de la

Feste, recognized without naming his mother. This once done, the

children of the King and of Madame de Montespan were legitimated in

the same manner.]

When they arrived at Court their conversation was exactly like that of

the common people.

In my opinion my son’s wife has no charms at all; her physiognomy does

not please me. I don’t know whether my son loves her much, but I know

she does what she pleases with him. The populace and the femmes de

chambre are fond of her; but she is not liked elsewhere. She often goes

to the Salut at the Quinze Vingts; and her women are ordered to say that.

she is a saint, who suffers my son to be surrounded by mistresses without

complaining. This secures the pity of the populace and makes her pass

for one of the best of wives, while, in fact; she is, like her elder

brother, full of artifice.

She is very superstitious. Some years ago a nun of Fontevrault, called

Madame de Boitar, died. Whenever Madame d’Orleans loses anything she

promises to this nun prayers for the redemption of her soul from

purgatory, and then does not doubt that she shall find what she has lost.

She piques herself upon being extremely pious; but does not consider

lying and deceit are the works of the Devil and not of God. Ambition,

pride and selfishness have entirely spoilt her. I fear she will not make

a good end. That I may live in peace I seem to shut my eyes to these

things. My son often, in allusion to her pride, calls her Madame

Lucifer. She is not backward in believing everything complimentary that

is said to her. Montespan, old Maintenon, and all the femmes de chambre

have made her believe that she did my son honour in marrying him; and she

is so vain of her own birth and that of her brothers and sisters that she

will not hear a word said against them; she will not see any difference

between legitimate and illegitimate children.

She wishes to reign; but she knows nothing of true grandeur, having been

educated in too low a manner. She might live well as a simple duchess;

but not as one of the Royal Family of France. It is too true that she

has always been ambitious of possessing, not my son’s heart, but his

power; she is always in fear lest some one else should govern him. Her

establishment is well regulated; my son has always let her be mistress in

this particular. As to her children, I let them go on in their own way;

they were brought here without my consent, and it is for others to take

care of them. Sometimes she displays more affection for her brother than

even for her children. An ambitious woman as she is, having it put into

her head by her brother that she ought to be the Regent, can love none

but him. She would like to see him Regent better than her husband,

because he has persuaded her that she shall reign with him; she believes

it firmly, although every one else knows that his own wife is too

ambitious to permit any one but herself to reign. Besides her ambition

she has a great deal of ill-temper. She will never pardon either the nun

of Chelles or Mademoiselle de Valois, because they did not like her

nephew with the long lips. Her anger is extremely bitter, and she will

never forgive. She loves only her relations on the maternal side.

Madame de Sforza, her favourite, is the daughter of Madame de Thianges,

Madame de Montespan’s sister, and therefore a cousin of Madame d’Orleans,

who hates her sister and her nephew worse than the Devil.

I could forgive her all if she were not so treacherous. She flatters me

when I am present, but behind my back she does all in her power to set

the Duchesse de Berri against me; she tells her not to believe that I

love her, but that I wish to have her sister with me. Madame d’Orleans

believes that her daughter, Madame de Berri, loves her less than her

father. It is true that the daughter has not a very warm attachment to

her mother, but she does her duty to her; and yet the more they are full

of mutual civilities the more they quarrel. On the 4th of October, 1718,

Madame de Berri having invited her father to go and sleep at La Muette,

to see the vintage feast and dance which were to be held on the next day.

Madame d’Orleans wrote to Madame de Berri, and asked her if she thought

it consistent with the piety of the Carmelites that she should ask her

father to sleep in her house. Madame de Berri replied that it had never

been thought otherwise than pious that a parent should sleep in his

daughter’s house. The mother did this only to annoy her husband and

daughter, and when she chooses she has a very cutting way. It may be

imagined how this letter was received by the father and daughter. I

arrived at La Muette just as it had come. My son dare not complain to

me, for as often as he does, I say to him, “George Dandin, you would have

it so:”--[Moliere]--he therefore only laughed and said nothing. I did

not wish to add to the bitterness which this had occasioned, for that

would have been to blow a fire already too hot; I confined myself,

therefore, to observing that when she wrote it she probably had the

spleen.

She is not very fond of her children, and, as I think, she carries her

indifference too far; for the children see she does not love them, and

this makes them fond of being with me. This angers the mother, and she

reproaches them for it, which only makes them like her less.

Although she loves her son, she does not in general care so much for her

children as for her brothers, and all who belong to the House of

Mortemart.

I was the unintentional cause of making a quarrel between her and the nun

of Chelles. At the commencement of the affair of the Duc du Maine, I

received a letter from my daughter addressed to Madame d’Orleans; and not

thinking that it was for the Abbess, who bears the same title with her

mother, I sent it to the latter. This letter happened, unluckily, to be

an answer to one of our Nun’s, in which she had very plainly said what

she thought of the Duc and Duchesse du Maine, and ended by pitying her

father for being the Duke’s brother-in-law, and for having contracted an

alliance so absurd and injurious. It may be guessed whether my

daughter’s answer was palatable to my daughter-in-law. I am very sorry

that I made the mistake; but what right had she to read a letter which

was not meant for her?

The new Abbess of Chelles has had a great difference with her mother,

who says she will never forgive her for having agreed with her father to

embrace the religious profession without her knowledge. The daughter

said that, as her mother had always taken the side of the former Abbess

against her, she had not confided this secret to her, from a conviction

that she would oppose it to please the Abbess. This threw the mother

into a paroxysm of grief. She said she was very unhappy both in her

husband and her children; that her husband was the most unjust person in

the world, for that he kept her brother-in-law in prison, who was one of

the best and most pious of men--in short, a perfect saint; and that God

would punish such wickedness. The daughter replied it was respect for

her mother that kept her silent; and the latter became quite furious.

This shows that she hates us like the very Devil, and that she loves none

but her lame brother, and those who love him or are nearly connected with

him.

She thinks there never was so perfect a being in the world as her mother.

She cannot quite persuade herself that she was ever Queen, because she

knew the Queen too well, who always called her daughter, and treated her

better than her sisters; I cannot tell why, because she was not the most

amiable of them.

It is quite true that there is little sympathy between my son’s wife and

me; but we live together as politely as possible. Her singular conduct

shall never prevent me from keeping that promise which I made to the late

King in his last moments. He gave some good Christian exhortations to

Madame d’Orleans; but, as the proverb says, it is useless to preach to

those who have no heart to act.

In the spring of this year (1718) her brothers and relations said that

but for the antidotes which had been administered to Madame d’Orleans,

without the knowledge of me or my son, she must have perished.

I had resolved not to interfere with anything respecting this affair; but

had the satisfaction of speaking my mind a little to Madame du Maine.

I said to her: “Niece” (by which appellation I always addressed her),

“I beg you will let me know who told you that Madame d’Orleans had taken

a counterpoison unknown to us. It is the greatest falsehood that ever

was uttered, and you may say so from me to whoever told it you.”

She looked red, and said, “I never said it was so.”

“I am very glad of it, niece,” I replied; “for it would be very

disgraceful to you to have said so, and you ought not to allow people to

bring you such tales.” When she heard this she went off very quickly.

Madame d’Orleans is a little inconstant in her friendship. She is very

fond of jewels, and once wept for four-and-twenty hours because my son

gave a pair of beautiful pendants to Madame de Berri.

My son has this year (1719) increased his wife’s income by 160,000

livres, the arrears of which have been paid to her from 1716, so that she

received at once the sum of 480,000 livres. I do not envy her this

money, but I cannot bear the idea that she is thus paid for her

infidelity. One must, however, be silent.

SECTION XII.--MARIE-ANNE CHRISTINE VICTOIRE OF BAVARIA, THE FIRST DAUPHINE.

She was ugly, but her extreme politeness made her very agreeable. She

loved the Dauphin more like a son than a husband. Although he loved her

very well, he wished to live with her in an unceremonious manner, and she

agreed to it to please him. I used often to laugh at her superstitious

devotion, and undeceived her upon many of her strange opinions. She

spoke Italian very well, but her German was that of the peasants of the

country. At first, when she and Bessola were talking together, I could

not understand a word.

She always manifested the greatest friendship and confidence in me to the

end of her days. She was not haughty, but as it had become the custom to

blame everything she did, she was somewhat disdainful. She had a

favourite called Bessola--a false creature, who had sold her to

Maintenon. But for the infatuated liking she had for this woman, the

Dauphine would have been much happier. Through her, however, she was

made one of the most wretched women in the world.

This Bessola could not bear that the Dauphine should speak to any person

but herself: she was mercenary and jealous, and feared that the

friendship of the Dauphine for any one else would discredit her with

Maintenon, and that her mistress’s liberality to others would diminish

that which she hoped to experience herself. I told this person the truth

once, as she deserved to be told, in the presence of the Dauphine; from

which period she has neither done nor said anything troublesome to me.

I told the Dauphine in plain German that it was a shame that she should

submit to be governed by Bessola to such a degree that she could not

speak to whom she chose. I said this was not friendship, but a slavery,

which was the derision of the Court.

Instead of being vexed at this, she laughed, and said, “Has not everybody

some weakness? Bessola is mine.”

This wench often put me in an ill-humour: at last I lost all patience,

and could no longer restrain myself. I would often have told her what I

thought, but that I saw it would really distress the poor Dauphine: I

therefore restrained myself, and said to her, “Out of complaisance to

you, I will be silent; but give such orders that Bessola may not again

rouse me, otherwise I cannot promise but that I may say something she

will not like.”

The Dauphine thanked me affectionately, and thus more than ever engaged

my silence.

When the Dauphine arrived from Bavaria, the fine Court of France was on

the decline: it was at the commencement of Maintenon’s reign, which

spoilt and degraded everything. It was not, therefore, surprising that

the poor Dauphine should regret her own country. Maintenon annoyed her

immediately after her marriage in such a manner as must have excited

pity. The Dauphine had made her own marriage; she had hoped to be

uncontrolled, and to become her own mistress; but she was placed in that

Maintenon’s hands, who wanted to govern her like a child of seven years

old, although she was nineteen. That old Maintenon, piqued at the

Dauphine for wishing to hold a Court, as she should have done, turned the

King against her. Bessola finished this work by betraying and selling

her; and thus was the Dauphine’s misery accomplished! By selecting me

for her friend, she filled up the cup of Maintenon’s hatred, who was

paying Bessola; because she knew she was jealous of me, and that I had

advised the Dauphine not to keep her, for I was quite aware that she had

secret interviews with Maintenon.

That lady had also another creature in the Dauphine’s household: this was

Madame de Montchevreuil, the gouvernante of the Dauphine’s filles

d’honneur. Madame de Maintenon had engaged her to place the Dauphin upon

good terms with the filles d’honneur, and she finished by estranging him

altogether from his wife. During her pregnancy, which, as well as her

lying-in, was extremely painful, the Dauphine could not go out; and this

Montchevreuil took advantage of the opportunity thus afforded her to

introduce the filles d’honneur to the Dauphin to hunt and game with him.

He became fond, in his way, of the sister of La Force, who was afterwards

compelled to marry young Du Roure. The attachment continued,

notwithstanding this marriage; and she procured the Dauphin’s written

promise to marry her in case of the death of the Dauphine and her

husband. I do not know how the late King became acquainted with this

fact; but it is certain that he was seriously angered at it, and that he

banished Du Roure to Gascony, his native country. The Dauphin had an

affair of gallantry with another of his wife’s filles d’honneur called

Rambures. He did not affect any dissimulation with his wife; a great

uproar ensued; and that wicked Bessola, following the directions of old

Maintenon, who planned everything, detached the Dauphin from his wife

more and more. The latter was not very fond of him; but what displeased

her in his amours was that they exposed her to be openly and constantly

ridiculed and insulted. Montchevreuil made her pay attention to all that

passed, and Bessola kept up her anger against her husband.

Maintenon had caused it to be reported among the people by her agents

that the Dauphine hated France, and that she urged the imposition of new

taxes.

The Dauphine was so ill-treated in her accouchement of the Duc de Berri

that she became quite deformed, although previous to this her figure had

been remarkably good. On the evening before she died, as the little Duke

was sitting on her bed, she said to him, “My dear Berri, I love you very

much, but I have paid dearly for you.” The Dauphin was not grieved at

her death; old Montchevreuil had told him so many lies of his wife that

he could not love her. That old Maintenon hoped, when this event

happened, that she should be able to govern the Duke by means of his

mistresses, which could not have been if he had continued to be attached

to his wife. This old woman had conceived so violent a hatred against

the poor Princess, that I do believe she prevailed on Clement, the

accoucheur, to treat her ill in her confinement; and what confirms me in

this is that she almost killed her by visiting her at that time in

perfumed gloves. She said it was I who wore them, which was untrue.

I would not swear that the Dauphine did not love Bessola better than her

husband; she deserved no such attachment. I often apprised her mistress

of her perfidy, but she would not believe me.

The Dauphine used to say, “We are two unhappy persons, but there is this

difference between us: you endeavoured, as much as you could, to avoid

coming here; while I resolved to do so at all events. I have therefore

deserved my misery more than you.”

They wanted to make her pass for crazy, because she was always

complaining. Some hours before her death she said to me, “I shall

convince them to-day that I was not mad in complaining of my sufferings.”

She died calmly and easily; but she was as much put to death as if she

had been killed by a pistol-shot.

When her funeral service was performed I carried the taper (nota bene)

and some pieces of gold to the Bishop who performed the grand mass, and

who was sitting in an arm-chair near the altar. The prelate intended to

have given them to his assistants, the priests of the King’s chapel; but

the monks of Saint Denis ran to him with great eagerness, exclaiming that

the taper and the gold belonged to them. They threw themselves upon the

Bishop, whose chair began to totter, and made his mitre fall from his

head. If I had stayed there a moment longer the Bishop, with all the

monks, would have fallen upon me. I descended the four steps of the

altar in great haste, for I was nimble enough at that time, and looked on

the battle at a distance, which appeared so comical that I could not but

laugh, and everybody present did the same.

That wicked Bessola, who had tormented the Dauphine day and night, and

had made her distrust every one who approached her, and thus separated

her from all the world, returned home a year after her mistress’s death.

Before her departure she played another trick by having a box made with a

double bottom, in which she concealed jewels and ready money to the

amount of 100,000 francs; and all this time she went about weeping and

complaining that, after so many years of faithful service, she was

dismissed as poor as a beggar. She did not know that her contrivance had

been discovered at the Customhouse and that the King had been apprised of

it. He ordered her to be sent for, showed her the things which she had

prepared to carry away, and said he thought she had little reason to

complain of the Dauphine’s parsimony. It may be imagined how foolish she

looked. The King added that, although he might withhold them from her,

yet to show her that she had done wrong in acting clandestinely, and in

complaining as she had done, he chose to restore her the whole.

SECTION XIII.--ADELAIDE OF SAVOY, THE SECOND DAUPHINE.

The Queen of Spain stayed longer with her mother than our Dauphine, and

therefore was better educated. Maintenon, who understood nothing about

education, permitted her to do whatever she pleased, that she might gain

her affections and keep her to herself. This young lady had been well

brought up by her virtuous mother; she was genteel and humorous, and

could joke very pleasantly: when she had a colour she did not look ugly.

No one can imagine what mad-headed people were about this Princess, and

among the number was the Marechale d’Estrees. Maintenon was very

properly recompensed for having given her these companions; for the

consequence was that the Dauphine no longer liked her society. Maintenon

was very desirous to know the reason of this, and teased the Princess to

tell her. At length she did; and said that the Marechale d’Estrees was

continually asking her, “What are you always doing with that old woman?

Why do you not associate with folks who would amuse you more than that

old skeleton?” and that she said many other uncivil things of her.

Maintenon told me this herself, since the death of the Dauphine, to prove

that it was only the Marechale’s fault that the Dauphine had been on such

bad terms with me. This may be partly true; but it is no less certain

that Maintenon had strongly prepossessed her against me. Almost all the

foolish people who were about her were relations or friends of the old

woman; and it was by her order that they endeavoured to amuse her and

employ her, so that she might want no other society.

The young Dauphine was full of pantomime tricks. * * * * She was fond,

too, of collecting a quantity of young persons about her for the King’s

amusement, who liked to see their sports; they, however, took care never

to display any but innocent diversions before him: he did not learn the

rest until after her death. The Dauphine used to call old Maintenon her

aunt, but only in jest; the fines d’honneur called her their gouvernante,

and the Marechale de La Mothe, mamma; if the Dauphine had also called

the old woman her mamma, it would have been regarded as a declaration of

the King’s marriage; for this reason she only called her aunt.

It is not surprising that the Dauphine, even when she was Duchess of

Burgundy, should have been a coquette. One of Maintenon’s maxims was

that there was no harm in coquetry, but that a grande passion only was a

sin. In the second place, she never took care that the Duchess of

Burgundy behaved conformably to her rank; she was often left quite alone

in her chateau with the exception of her people; she was permitted to run

about arm-in-arm with one of her young ladies, without esquires, or dames

d’honneur or d’atour. At Marly and Versailles she was obliged to go to

chapel on foot and without her stays, and seat herself near the femmes de

chambre. At Madame de Maintenon’s there was no observance of ranks;

every one sat down there promiscuously; she did this for the purpose of

avoiding all discussion respecting her own rank. At Marly the Dauphine

used to run about the garden at night with the young people until two or

three o’clock in the morning. The King knew nothing of these nocturnal

sports. Maintenon had forbidden the Duchesse de Lude to tease the

Duchess of Burgundy, or to put her out of temper, because then she would

not be able to divert the King. Maintenon had threatened, too, with her

eternal vengeance whoever should be bold enough to complain of the

Dauphine to the King. It was for this reason that no one dared tell the

King what the whole Court and even strangers were perfectly well

acquainted with. The Dauphine liked to be dragged along the ground by

valets, who held her feet. These servants were in the habit of saying to

each other, “Come, shall we go and play with the Duchess of Burgundy?”

for so she was at this time. She was dreadfully nasty,

.............................

She made the Dauphin believe whatever she chose, and he was so fond of

her that one of her glances would throw him into an ecstacy and make him

forget everything. When the King intended to scold her she would put on

an air of such deep dejection that he was obliged to console her instead;

the aunt, too, used to affect similar sorrow, so that the King had enough

to do with consoling them both. Then, for quietness’ sake, he used to

lean upon the old aunt, and think nothing more about the matter.

The Dauphine never cared for the Duc de Richelieu, although he boasted of

the contrary, and was sent to the Bastille for it. She was a coquette,

and chatted with all the young men; but if she loved any of them it was

Nangis, who commanded the King’s regiment. She had commanded him to

pretend to be in love with little La Vrilliere, who, though not so pretty

nor with so good a presence as the Dauphine, had a better figure and was

a great coquette. This badinage, it is said, afterwards became reality.

The good Dauphin was like the husbands of all frail wives, the last to

perceive it. The Duke of Burgundy never imagined that his wife thought

of Nangis, although it was visible to all the world besides that she did.

As he was very much attached to Nangis, he believed firmly that his wife

only behaved civilly to him on his account; and he was besides convinced

that his favourite had at the same time an affair of gallantry with

Madame la Vrilliere.

The Dauphin had good sense, but he suffered his wife to govern him; he

loved only such persons as she loved, and he hated all who were

disagreeable to her. It was for this reason that Nangia enjoyed so much

of his favour, that he, with all his sense, became so perfectly

ridiculous.

The Dauphine of Burgundy was the person whom the King loved above all

others, and whom Maintenon had taught to do whatever was agreeable to

him. Her natural wit made her soon learn and practise everything. The

King was inconsolable for her death; and when La Maintenon saw that all

she could say had no effect upon his grief, it is said that she told the

King all that she had before concealed with respect to the Dauphine’s

life, and by this means dissipated his great affliction.

[This young lady, so fascinating and so dear to the King, betrayed,

nevertheless, the secrets of the State by informing her father, then

Duke of Savoy, and our enemy, of all the military projects which she

found means to read. The King had the proofs of this by the letters

which were found in the Princess’s writing case after her death.

“That little slut,” said he to Madame Maintenon, “has deceived us.”

Memoires de Duclos, tome i.]

Three years before her death, however, the Dauphine changed greatly for

the better; she played no more foolish tricks, and left off drinking to

excess. Instead of that untameable manner which she had before, she

became polite and sensible, kept up her dignity, and did not permit the

younger ladies to be too familiar with her, by dipping their fingers into

her dish, rolling upon the bed, and other similar elegancies. She used

to converse with people, and could talk very well. It was the marriage

of Madame de Berri that effected this surprising change in the Dauphine.

Seeing that young lady did not make herself beloved, and began things in

the wrong way, she was desirous to make herself more liked and esteemed

than she was. She therefore changed her behaviour entirely; she became

reserved and reasonable, and, having sense enough to discover her

defects, she set about correcting them, in which she succeeded so as to

excite general surprise. Thus she continued until her death, and often

expressed regret that she had led so irregular a life. She used to

excuse herself by saying it was mere childishness, and that she had

little to thank those young ladies for who had given her such bad advice

and set her such bad examples. She publicly manifested her contempt for

them, and prevailed on the King not to invite them to Marly in future.

By this conduct she gained everybody’s affection.

She was delicate and of rather a weak constitution. Dr. Chirac said in

her last illness that she would recover; and so she probably would have

done if they had not permitted her to get up when the measles had broken

out upon her, and she was in a copious perspiration. Had they not

blooded her in the foot she might have been alive now (1716).

Immediately after the bleeding, her skin, before as red as fire, changed

to the paleness of death, and she became very ill. When they were

lifting her out of bed I told them it was better to let the perspiration

subside before they blooded her. Chirac and Fagon, however, were

obstinate and laughed at me.

Old Maintenon said to me angrily, “Do you think you know better than all

these medical men?”

“No, Madame,” I replied; “and one need not know much to be sure that the

inclination of nature ought to be followed; and since that has displayed

itself it would be better to let it have way, than to make a sick person

get up in the midst of a perspiration to be blooded.”

She shrugged up her shoulders ironically. I went to the other side and

said nothing.

SECTION XIV.--THE FIRST DAUPHIN.

All that was good in the first Dauphin came from his preceptor; all that

was bad from himself. He never either loved or hated any one much, and

yet he was very wicked. His greatest pleasure was to do something to vex

a person; and immediately afterwards, if he could do something very

pleasing to the same person, he would set about it with great

willingness. In every respect he was of the strangest temper possible:

when one thought he was good-humoured, he was angry; and when one

supposed him to be ill-humoured, he was in an amiable mood. No one could

ever guess him rightly, and I do not believe that his like ever was or

ever will be born. It cannot be said that he had much wit; but still

less was he a fool. Nobody was ever more prompt to seize the ridiculous

points of anything in himself or in others; he told stories agreeably;

he was a keen observer, and dreaded nothing so much as to be one day

King: not so much from affection for his father, as from a dread of the

trouble of reigning, for he was so extremely idle that he neglected all

things; and he would have preferred his ease to all the kingdoms and

empires of the earth. He could remain for a whole day, sitting on a sofa

or in an arm-chair, beating his cane against his shoes, without saying a

word; he never gave an opinion upon any subject; but when once, in the

course of the year, he did speak, he could express himself in terms

sufficiently noble. Sometimes when he spoke one would say he was

stupidity itself; at another time he would deliver himself with

astonishing sense. At one time you would think he was the best Prince in

the world; at another he would do all he could to give people pain.

Nobody seemed to be so ill with him but he would take the trouble of

making them laugh at the expense of those most dear to him. His maxim

was, never to seem to like one man in the Court better than another.

He had a perfect horror of favourites, and yet he sought favour himself

as much as the commonest courtier could do. He did not pride himself

upon his politeness, and was enraged when any one penetrated his

intentions. As I had known him from his infancy I could sometimes guess

his meaning, which angered him excessively. He was not very fond of

being treated respectfully; he liked better not to be put to any trouble.

He was rather partial than just, as may be shown by the regulations he

made as to the rank of my son’s daughter. He never liked or hated any

Minister. He laughed often and heartily. He was a very obedient son,

and never opposed the King’s will in any way, and was more submissive to

Maintenon than any other person. Those who say that he would have

retired, if the King had declared his marriage with that old woman, did

not know him; had he not an old mistress of his own, to whom he was

believed to be privately married? What prevented Maintenon from being

declared Queen was the wise reasons which the Archbishop of Cambray, M.

de Fenelon, urged to the King, and for which she persecuted that worthy

man to the day of his death.

If the Dauphin had chosen, he might have enjoyed greater credit with his

father. The King had offered him permission to go to the Royal Treasury

to bestow what favours he chose upon the persons of his own Court; and at

the Treasury orders were given that he should have whatever he asked for.

The Dauphin replied that it would give him so much trouble. He would

never know anything about State affairs lest he should be obliged to

attend the Privy Councils, and have no more time to hunt. Some persons

thought he did this from motives of policy and to make the King believe

he had no ambition; but I am persuaded it was from nothing but indolence

and laziness; he loved to live a slothful life, and to interfere with

nothing.

At the King of Spain’s departure our King wept a good deal; the Dauphin

also wept much, although he had never before manifested the least

affection for his children. They were never seen in his apartment

morning and evening. When he was not at the chase the Dauphin passed his

time with the great Princesse de Conti, and latterly with the Duchess.

One must have guessed that the children belonged to him, for he lived

like a stranger among them. He never called them his sons, but the Duke

of Burgundy, the Duc d’Anjou, the Duc de Berri; and they, in turn, always

called him Monseigneur.

I lived upon a very good understanding with him for more than twenty

years, and he had great confidence in me until the Duchess got possession

of him; then everything with regard to me was changed: and as, after my

husband’s death, I never went to the chase with the Dauphin, I had no

further relation with him, and he behaved as if he had never seen or

known me. If he had been wise he would have preferred the society of the

Princesse de Conti to that of the Duchess, because the first, having a

good heart, loved him for himself; while the other loved nothing in the

world, and listened to nothing but her taste for pleasure, her interest,

and her ambition. So that, provided she attained her ends, she cared

little for the Dauphin, who by his condescension for this Princess gave a

great proof of weakness.

In general, his heart was not correct enough to discern what real

friendship was; he loved only those who afforded him amusement, and

despised all others. The Duchess was very agreeable and had some

pleasant notions; she was fond of eating, which was the very thing for

the Dauphin, because he found a good breakfast at her house every morning

and a collation in the afternoon. The Duchess’s daughters were of the

same character as their mother; so that the Dauphin might be all the day

in the company of gay people.

He was strongly attached to his son’s wife; but when she quarrelled with

the Duchess her father-in-law changed his opinion of her. What

displeased him besides was that the Duchess of Burgundy married his

younger son, the Duc de Berri, against his inclination. He was not wrong

in that, because, although the marriage was to our advantage, I must

confess that the Dauphin was not even treated with decency in the

business.

Neither of the two Dauphins or the Dauphines ever interested themselves

much about their children. The King had them educated without consulting

them, appointed all their servants, and was even displeased if they

interfered with them in any way. The Dauphin knows nothing of good

breeding; he and his sons are perfect clowns.

The women of La Halle had a real passion for the first Dauphin; they had

been made to believe that he would take the part of the people of Paris,

in which there was not a word of truth. The people believed that he was

better hearted than he was. He would not, in fact, have been wicked if

the Marechal d’Uxelles, La Chouin and Montespan, with whom he was in his

youth, as well as the Duchess, had not spoiled him, and made him believe

that malice was a proof of wit.

He did not grieve more than a quarter of an hour at the death of his

mother or of his wife; and when he wrapped himself up in his long

mourning cloak he was ready to choke with laughter.

He had followed his father’s example in taking an ugly, nasty mistress,

who had been fille d’honneur to the elder Princess de Conti: her name is

Mademoiselle de Chouin, and she is still living at Paris (1719). It was

generally believed that he had married her clandestinely; but I would lay

a wager he never did. She had the figure of a duenna; was of very small

stature; had very short legs; large rolling eyes; a round face; a short

turned-up nose; a large mouth filled with decayed teeth, which made her

breath so bad that the room in which she sat could hardly be endured.

.........................

And yet this short, fat woman had a great deal of wit; and I believe the

Dauphin accustomed himself to take snuff that he might not be annoyed by

her bad teeth. He was very civil to the Marechal d’Uxelles, because he

pretended to be the intimate with this lady; but as soon as the Dauphin

was caught, the Marechal ceased to see her, and never once set foot in

her house, although before that he had been in the habit of visiting her

daily.

The Dauphin had a daughter by Raisin the actress, but he would never

acknowledge her, and after his death the Princess Conti took care of her,

and married her to a gentleman of Vaugourg. The Dauphin was so tired of

the Duc du Maine that he had sworn never to acknowledge any of his

illegitimate children. This Raisin must have had very peculiar charms to

make an impression upon a heart so thick as that of the Dauphin, who

really loved her. One day he sent for her to Choisy, and hid her in a

mill without anything to eat or drink; for it was a fast day, and the

Dauphin thought there was no greater sin than to eat meat on a fast day.

After the Court had departed, all that he gave her for supper was some

salad and toast with oil. Raisin laughed at this very much herself, and

told several persons of it. When I heard of it I asked the Dauphin what

he meant by making his mistress fast in this manner.

“I had a mind,” he said, “to commit one sin, but not two.”

I cannot bear that any one should touch me behind; it makes me so angry

that I do not know what I do. I was very near giving the Dauphin a blow

one day, for he had a wicked trick of coming behind one for a joke, and

putting his fist in the chair just where one was going to sit down. I

begged him, for God’s sake, to leave off this habit, which was so

disagreeable to me that I would not answer for not one day giving him a

sound blow, without thinking of what I was doing. From that time he left

me alone.

The Dauphin was very much like the Queen; he was not tall, but

good-looking enough. Our King was accustomed to say: “Monseigneur (for

so he always called him) has the look of a German prince.” He had,

indeed, something of a German air; but it was only the air; for he had

nothing German besides. He did not dance well. The Queen-Dowager of

Spain flattered herself with the hope of marrying him.

He thought he should recommend himself to the King by not appearing to

care what became of his brothers.

When the Dauphin was lying sick of the small-pox, I went on the Wednesday

to the King.

He said to me, sarcastically, “You have been frightening us with the

great pain which Monseigneur would have to endure when the suppuration

commences; but I can tell you that he will not suffer at all, for the

pustules have already begun to dry.”

I was alarmed at this, and said, “So much the worse; if he is not in pain

his state is the more dangerous, and he soon will be.”

“What!” said the King, “do you know better than the doctors?”

“I know,” I replied, “what the small-pox is by my own experience, which

is better than all the doctors; but I hope from my heart that I may be

mistaken.”

On the same night, soon after midnight, the Dauphin died.

SECTION XV.--THE DUKE OF BURGUNDY, THE SECOND DAUPHIN.

He was quite humpbacked. I think this proceeded from his having been

made to carry a bar of iron for the purpose of keeping himself upright,

but the weight and inconvenience of which had had a contrary effect.

I often said to the Duke de Beauvilliers he had very good parts, and was

sincerely pious, but so weak as to let his wife rule him like a child.

In spite of his good sense, she made him believe whatever she chose.

She lived upon very good terms with him, but was not outrageously fond,

and did not love him better than many other persons; for the good

gentleman had a very disagreeable person, and his face was not the most

beautiful. I believe, however, she was touched with his great affection

for her; and indeed it would be impossible for a man to entertain a more

fervent passion than he did for his wife. Her wit was agreeable, and she

could be very pleasant when she chose: her gaiety dissipated the

melancholy which sometimes seized upon the devout Dauphin. Like almost

all humpbacked men, he had a great passion for women; but at the same

time was so pious that he feared he committed a grievous sin in looking

at any other than his own wife; and he was truly in love with her.

I saw him once, when a lady had told him that he had good eyes, squint

immediately that he might appear ugly. This was really an unnecessary

trouble; for the good man was already sufficiently plain, having a very

ill-looking mouth, a sickly appearance, small stature, and a hump at his

back.

He had many good qualities: he was charitable, and had assisted several

officers unknown to any one. He certainly died of grief for the loss of

his wife, as he had predicted. A learned astrologer of Turin, having

cast the nativity of the Dauphine, told her that she would die in her

twenty-seventh year.

She often spoke of it, and said one day to her husband, “The time is

approaching when I shall die; you cannot remain without a wife as well on

account of your rank as your piety; tell me, then, I beg of you, whom you

will marry?”

“I hope,” he replied, “that God will not inflict so severe a punishment

on me as to deprive me of you; but if this calamity should befall me, I

shall not marry again, for I shall follow you to the grave in a week.”

This happened exactly as he said it would; for, on the seventh day after

his wife’s death, he died also. This is not a fiction, but perfectly

true.

While the Dauphine was in good health and spirits she often said, “I must

enjoy myself now. I shall not be able to do so long, for I shall die

this year.”

I thought it was only a joke, but it turned out to be too true. When she

fell sick she said she should never recover.

SECTION XVI.--PETITE MADAME.

A cautery which had been improperly made in the nape of the neck had

drawn her mouth all on one side, so that it was almost entirely in her

left cheek. For this reason talking was very painful to her, and she

said very little. It was necessary to be accustomed to her way of

speaking to understand her. Just when she was about to die her mouth

resumed its proper place, and she did not seem at all ugly. I was

present at her death. She did not say a word to her father, although a

convulsion had restored her mouth. The King, who had a good heart and

was very fond of his children, wept excessively and made me weep also.

The Queen was not present, for, being pregnant, they would not let her

come.

It is totally false that the Queen was delivered of a black child. The

late Monsieur, who was present, said that the young Princess was ugly,

but not black. The people cannot be persuaded that the child is not still

alive, and say that it is in a convent at Moret, near Fontainebleau. It

is, however, quite certain that the ugly child is dead, for all the Court

saw it die.

BOOK 3.

Henrietta of England, Monsieur’s First Consort

The Due de Berri

The Duchesse de Berri

Mademoiselle d’Orleans, Louise-Adelaide de Chartres

Mademoiselle de Valois, Consort of the Prince of Modena

The Illegitimate Children of the Regent, Duc d’Orleans

The Chevalier de Lorraine

Philip V., King of Spain

The Duchess, Consort of the Duc de Bourbon

The Younger Duchess

Duc Louis de Bourbon

Francois-Louis, Prince de Conti

La Grande Princesse de Conti

The Princess Palatine, Consort of Prince Francois-Louis de Conti

The Princesse de Conti, Louise-Elizabeth, Consort of Louis-Armand

Louis-Armand, Prince de Conti

The Abbe Dubois

Mr. Law