Birth of the Duc d’Anjou.--The Present to the Mother.--The Casket of
Patience.--Departure of the King for the Army.--The King Turns a Deaf
Ear.--How That Concerns Madame de Maintenon.--The Prisoner of the
Bastille.--The Danger of Caricatures.--The Administrative
Thermometer.--Actors Who Can neither Be Applauded nor Hissed.--Relapse of
the Prisoner.--Scarron’s Will.--A Fine Subject for Engraving.--Madame de
Maintenon’s Opinion upon the Jesuits.--The Audience of the Green
Salon.--Portions from the Refectory.--Madame de Maintenon’s Presence of
Mind.--I Will Make You Schoolmaster.
Madame la Dauphine, greatly pleased with her new position, in that she
represented the person of the Queen, had already given birth to M. le Duc
de Bourgogne; she now brought into the world a second son, who was at
once entitled Duc d’Anjou. The King, to thank her for this gift, made
her a present of an oriental casket, which could only be opened by a
secret spring, and that not before one had essayed it for half an hour.
Madame la Dauphine found in it a superb set of pearls and four thousand
new louis d’or. As she had no generosity in her heart, she bestowed no
bounties on her entourage. The King this year made an expedition to
Flanders. Before getting into his carriage he came and passed half an
hour or forty minutes with me, and asked me if I should not go and pass
the time of his absence at the Petit-Bourg.
“At Petit-Bourg and at Bourbon,” I answered, “unless you allow me to
accompany you.” He feigned not to have heard me, and said: “Lauzun, who,
eleven or twelve years ago, refused the baton of a marshal of France,
asks to accompany me into Flanders as aide-de-camp. Purge his mind of
such ideas, and give him to understand that his part is played out with
me.”
“What business is it of mine,” I asked with vivacity, “to teach M. de
Lauzun how to behave? Let Madame de Maintenon charge herself with these
homilies; she is in office, and I am there no longer.”
These words troubled the King; he said to me:
“You will do well to go to Bourbon until my return from Flanders.”
He left on the following day, and the same day I took my departure. I
went to spend a week at my little convent of Saint Joseph, where the
ladies, who thought I was still in favour, received me with marks of
attention and their accustomed respect. On the third day, the prioress,
announcing herself by my second waiting-woman, came to present me with a
kind of petition or prayer, which, I confess, surprised me greatly, as I
had never commissioned any one to practise severity in my name.
A man, detained at the Bastille for the last twelve years, implored me in
this document to have compassion on his sufferings, and to give orders
which would strike off his chains and irons.
“My intention,” he said, “was not, madame, to offend or harm you. Artists
are somewhat feather-headed, and I was then only twenty.” This petition
was signed “Hathelin, prisoner of State.” I had my horses put in my
carriage at once, and betook myself to the chateau of the Bastille, the
Governor of which I knew.
When I set foot in this formidable fortress, in spite of myself I
experienced a thrill of terror.
The attentions of public men are a thermometer, which, instead of our own
notions, is very capable of letting us know the just degree of our
favour. The Governor of the Bastille, some months before, would have
saluted me with his artillery; perhaps he still received me with a
certain ceremony, but without putting any ardour into his politeness, or
drawing too much upon himself. In such circumstances one must see
without regarding these insults of meanness, and, by a contrivance of
distraction, escape from vile affronts. The object of my expedition
being explained, the Governor found on his register that poor Hathelin,
aged thirty-two to thirty-four years, was an engraver by profession. The
lieutenant-general of police had arrested him long ago for a comic or
satirical engraving on the subject of M. le Marquis de Montespan and the
King.
I desired to see Hathelin, quite determined to ask his pardon for all his
sufferings, with which I was going to occupy myself exclusively until I
was successful. The Governor, a man all formality and pride, told me
that he had not the necessary authority for this communication; I was
obliged to return to my carriage without having tranquillised my poor
captive.
The same evening I called upon the lieutenant-general of police, and,
after having eloquently pleaded the cause of this forgotten young man, I
discovered that there was no ‘lettre de cachet’ to his prejudice, and
procured his liberation.
He came to pay his respects and thanks to me, in my parlour at Saint
Joseph, on the very day of his liberation. He seemed to me much younger
than his age, which astonished me greatly after his misfortunes. I gave
him six thousand francs, in order to indemnify him slightly for that
horrible Bastille. At first he hesitated to take them.
“Let your captivity be a lesson to you,” I said to him; “the affairs of
kings do not concern us. When such actors occupy the scene, it is
permissible neither to applaud nor to hiss.”
Hathelin promised me to be good, and for the future to concern himself
only with his graver and his private business. He wished me a thousand
good wishes, with an expansion of heart which caused his tears and mine
to flow. But artists are not made like other men; he, for all his good
heart, was gifted with one of those ardent imaginations which make
themselves critics and judges of notable personages, and, above all, of
favourites of fortune. Barely five or six months had elapsed when
Hathelin published a new satirical plate, in which Madame de Maintenon
was represented as weeping, or pretending to weep, over the sick-bed of
M. Scarron. The dying man was holding an open will in his hand, in which
one could read these words: “I leave you my permission to marry again--a
rich and serious man--more so than I am.”
The print had already been widely distributed when the engraver and his
plate were seized. This time Hathelin had not the honour of the
Bastille; he was sent to some depot. And although his action was
absolutely fresh and unknown to me, all Paris was convinced that I had
inspired his unfortunate talent. Madame de Maintenon was convinced of
it, and believes it still. The King has done me the honour to assure me
lately that he had banished the idea from his mind; but he was so
persuaded of it at first that he could not pardon me for so black an
intrigue, and, but for the fear of scandal, would have hanged the
engraver, Hathelin, in order to provide my gentlemen, the engravers, with
a subject for a fine plate.
About the same time, the Jesuits caused Madame de Maintenon a much more
acute pain than that of the ridiculous print. She endured this blow with
her accustomed courage; nevertheless, she conceived such a profound
aversion to the leaders of this ever-restless company, that she has never
been seen in their churches, and was at the greatest pains to rob them of
the interior of Saint Cyr. “They are men of intrigue,” she said to
Madame de Montchevreuil, her friend and confidante. “The name of Jesus
is always in their mouths, he is in their solemn device, they have taken
him for their banner and namesake; but his candour, his humility are
unknown to them. They would like to order everything that exists, and
rule even in the palaces of kings. Since they have the privilege and
honour of confessing our monarch, they wish to impose the same bondage
upon me. Heaven preserve me from it! I do not want rectors of colleges
and professors to direct my unimportant conscience. I like a confessor
who lets you speak, and not those who put words into your mouth.”
With the intention of mortifying her and then of being able to publish
the adventure, they charged one of their instruments to seek her out at
Versailles in order to ask an audience of her, not as a Jesuit, but as a
plain churchman fallen upon adversity.
The petition of this man having been admitted, he received a printed form
which authorised him to appear before madame at her time of good works,
for she had her regular hours for everything. He was introduced into the
great green salon, which was destined, as one knows, for this kind of
audience. There were many people present, and before all this company
this old fox thus unfolded himself:
“Madame, I bless the Sovereign Dispenser of all things for what he has
done for you; you have merited his protection from your tenderest youth.
When, after your return from Martinique, you came to dwell in the little
town of Niort, with your lady mother, I saw you often in our Jesuit
church, which was at two paces from your house. Your modesty, your
youth, your respectful tenderness towards Madame la Baronne d’Aubigne,
your excellent mother, attracted the attention of our community, who saw
you every day in the temple with a fresh pleasure, as you can well
imagine. Madame la Baronne died; and we learnt that those tremendous
lawsuits with the family not having been completed before her death, she
left you, and M. Charles, your brother, in the most frightful poverty. At
that news, our Fathers (who are so charitable, so compassionate) ordered
me to reserve every day, for the two young orphans, two large portions
from the refectory, and to bring them to you myself in your little
lodging.
“To-day, being no longer, owing to my health, in the congregation of the
Jesuit Fathers, I should be glad to obtain a place conformable with my
ancient occupations. My good angel has inspired me with the thought,
madame, to come and solicit your powerful protection and your good
graces.”
Madame de Maintenon, having sustained this attack with fortitude, and it
was not without vigour, replied to the petitioner: “I have had the honour
of relating to his Majesty, not so very long ago, the painful and
afflicting circumstance which you have just recalled to me. Your
companions, for one fortnight, were at the pains to send to my little
brother and to me a portion of their food. Our relations; who enjoyed
all our property, had reduced us to indigence. But, as soon as my
position was ameliorated, I sent fifteen hundred francs to the Reverend
Father Superior of the Jesuits for his charities. That manner of
reimbursement has not acquitted me, and I could not see an unfortunate
man begging me for assistance without remembering what your house once
did for me. I do not remember your face, monsieur, but I believe your
simple assertion. If you are in holy orders I will recommend you to the
Archbishop of Rouen, who will find you a place suitable for you. Are you
in holy orders?”
“No, madame,” replied the ex-Jesuit; “I was merely a lay brother.”
“In that case,” replied the Marquise, “we can offer you a position as
schoolmaster; and the Jesuit Fathers, if they have any esteem for you,
should have rendered you this service, for they have the power to do
that, and more.”
BOOK 7.
CHAPTER XXXVII
The King Takes Luxembourg Because It Is His Will.--Devastation of the
Electorate of Treves.--The Marquis de Louvois.--His Portrait.--The
Marvels Which He Worked.--The Le Tellier and the Mortemart.--The King
Destines De Mortemart to a Colbert.--How One Manages Not to Bow.--The
Dragonades.--A Necessary Man.--Money Makes Fat.--Meudon.--The Horoscope.
This journey to Flanders did not keep the King long away from his
capital. And, withal, he made two fine and rich conquests, short as the
space of time was. The important town of Luxembourg was necessary to
him. He wanted it. The Marechal de Crequi invested this place with an
army of thirty thousand men, and made himself master of it at the end of
a week.
Immediately after the King marched to the Electorate of Treves, which had
belonged, he said, to the former kingdom of Austrasia. He had no trouble
in mastering it, almost all the imperial forces being in Hungary,
Austria, and in those cantons where the Ottomans had called for them. The
town of Treves humbly recognised the King of France as its lord and
suzerain. Its fine fortifications were levelled at once, and our
victories were, unhappily, responsible for the firing, pillage, and
devastation of almost the whole Electorate. For the Duke of Crequi,
faithful executor of the orders of Louvois, imagined that a sovereign is
only obeyed when he proves himself stern and inflexible.
In the first years of my favour, the Marquis de Louvois enjoyed my entire
confidence, and, I must admit, my highest esteem. Independently of his
manners, which are, when he wishes, those of the utmost amiability, I
remarked in him an industrious and indefatigable minister, an intelligent
man, as well instructed in the mass as in details; a mind fertile in
resources, means, and expedients; an administrator, a jurist, a
theologian, a man of letters and of affairs, an artist, an agriculturist,
a soldier.
Loving pleasure, yet knowing how to despise it in favour of the needs of
the State and the care of affairs, this minister concentrated in his own
person all the other ministries, which moved only by his impulse and
guiding hand.
Did the King, followed by his whole Court, arrive in fearful weather by
the side of some vast and swollen river, M. de Louvois, alighting from
his carriage, would sweep the horizon with a single glance. He would
designate on the spot the farms, granaries, mills, and chateaux necessary
to the passage of a fastidious king on his travels. A general repast,
appropriate and sufficient, issued at his voice as it had been from the
bowels of the earth. An abundance of mattresses received provisionally
the more or less delicate forms, stretched out in slumber or fatigue. And
in the depth of the night, by the light of a thousand flaring torches, a
vast bridge, constructed hastily, in spite of wind and rain, permitted
the royal carriage and the host of other vehicles to cross the stream,
and find on the further bank succulent dishes and voluptuous apartments.
This prodigious energy, which created results by pulverising obstacles,
had rendered the minister not only agreeable but precious to a young
sovereign, who, unable to tolerate delays and resistance, desired in all
things to attain and succeed. The King, without looking too closely at
the means, loved the results which were the consequences of such a
genius, and he rewarded with a limitless confidence the intrepid and
often culpable zeal of a minister who procured him hatred.
When the passions of the conqueror, owing to success, grew calm, he
studied more tranquilly both his own desires and his coadjutor’s. The
King by nature is neither inhuman nor savage, and he knew that Louvois
was like Phalaris in these points. Then he was at as much pains to
repress this unpopular humour as he had shown indifference before in
allowing it to act.
The Marquis de Louvois (who did not like me) had lavished his incense
upon me, in order that some fumes of it might float up to the prince. He
saw me beloved and, as it were, almost omnipotent; he sought my alliance
with ardour. The family of Le Tellier is good enough for a judicial and
legal family; but what bonds are there between the Louvois and the
Mortemart? No matter: ambition puts a thick bandage over the eyes of
those whom it inspires; the Marquis wished to marry his daughter to my
nephew, De Mortemart!!!
I communicated this proposition to the King. His Majesty said to me: “I
am delighted that he has committed the grave fault of approaching any one
else than me about this marriage. Answer him, if you please, that it is
my province alone to marry the daughters, and even the sons of my
ministers. Louvois has thus far helped me to spend enormous sums. M.
Colbert has assisted me to heap up treasure. It is for one of the
Colberts that I destine your nephew; for I have made up my mind that the
three sisters shall be duchesses.”
In effect, his Majesty caused this marriage; and the Marquis de Louvois
had the jaundice over it for more than a fortnight.
Since that time his assiduities have been enlightened. He puts respect
into his reverences; and when our two coachmen carried our equipages past
each other on the same, road, he read some documents in order to avoid
saluting me.
In the affair of the Protestants, he caused what was at first only
anxiety, religious zeal, and distrust to turn into rebellion. In order
to make himself necessary, he proposed his universal and permanent
patrols and dragoons. He caused certain excesses to be committed in
order to raise a cry of disorder; and a measure which could have been
effective without ceasing to be paternal became, in his hands, an
instrument of dire persecution.
Madame de Maintenon, having learnt that Louvois, to exonerate himself,
was secretly designating her as the real author of these rigorous and
lamentable counsels, made complaint of it to the King, and publicly
censured his own brother, who, in order to make himself agreeable to the
Jesuits, to Bossuet, and to Louvois, had made himself a little hero in
his provincial government.
The great talents of M. de Louvois, and the difficulty of replacing him,
became his refuge and safeguard. But, from the moment that he no longer
received the intimate confidence of the King, and the esteem of the lady
in waiting who sits upon the steps of the throne, he can only look upon
himself at Versailles as a traveller with board and lodging.
His revenues are incalculable. The people, seeing his enormous
corpulence, maintain, or pretend, that he is stuffed with gold. His
general administration of posts alone is worth a million. His other
offices are in proportion.
His chateau of Meudon-Fleury, a magical and quite ideal site, is the
finest pleasure-house that ever yet the sun shone on. The park and the
gardens are in the form of an amphitheatre, and are, in my opinion,
sublime, in a far different way from those of Vaux. M. Fouquet,
condemned to death, in punishment for his superb chateau, died slowly in
prison; the Marquis de Louvois will not, perhaps, die in a stronghold;
but his horoscope has already warned that minister to be prepared for
some great adversity. He knows it; sometimes he is concerned about it;
and everything leads one to believe that he will come to a bad end. He
has done more harm than people believe.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The Reformed Religion and Painting on Enamel--Petitot and
Heliogabalus.--Theological Discussion with the Marquise.--The King’s
Intervention.--Louis XIV. Renders His Account to the Christian and Most
Christian Painter.--The King’s Word Is Not to Be Resisted.--Revocation of
the Edict of Nantes.
At the moment when the first edicts, were issued against the public
exercise of the Reformed Religion, the famous and incomparable Petitot,
refusing all the supplications of France and of Europe, executed for me,
in my chateau of Clagny, five infinitely precious portraits, upon which
it was his caprice only to work alternately, and which still demanded
from him a very great number of sittings. One of these five portraits
was that of the King, copied from that great and magnificent picture of
Mignard, where he was represented at the age of twenty, in the costume of
a Greek hero, in all the lustre of his youth. His Majesty had given me
this little commission for more than a year, and I desired, with all my
heart, to be able soon to fulfil his expectation. He destined this
miniature for the Emperor of China or the Sultan.
I went to see M. Petitot at Clagny. When he saw me he came to me with a
wrathful air, and, presenting me his unfinished enamel, he said to me:
“Here, madame, is your Greek hero; his new edicts finish us, but, as for
me, I shall not finish him. With the best intentions in the world, and
all the respect that is due to him, my just resentment would pass into my
brush; I should give him the traits of Heliogabalus, which would probably
not delight him.”
“Do you think so, monsieur?” said I to my artist. “Is it thus you speak
of the King, our master,--of a King who has affection for you, and has
proved it to: you so many times?”
“My memory, recalls to me all that his munificence: has done for my
talent in a thousand instances,” went on the painter; “but his edicts,
his cruel decrees, have upset my heart, and the persecutor of the true
Christians no longer merits my consideration or good-will.”
I had been ignorant hitherto of the faith which this able man professed;
he informed me that he worshipped God in another fashion than ours, and
made common cause with the Protestants.
“Well,” said I to him then, “what have you to complain of in the new
edicts and decrees? They only concern, so far, your ministers,--I should
say, your priests; you are not one, and are never likely to be; what do
these new orders of the Council matter to you?”
“Madame,” resumed Petitot, “our ministers, by preaching the holy gospel,
fulfil the first of their duties. The King forbids them to preach; then,
he persecutes them and us. In the thousand and one religions which
exist, the cause of the priests and the sanctuary becomes the cause of
the faithful. Our priests are not imbecile Trappists and Carthusians, to
be reduced to inaction and silence. Since their tongues are tied, they
are resolved to depart; and their departure becomes an exile which it is
our duty to share. If you will entrust me with your portraits which have
been commenced, with the exception of that of Heliogabalus, I will finish
them in a hospitable land, and shall have the honour of sending them to
you, already fired and in all their perfection.”
Petitot, until this political crisis, had only exhibited himself to me
beneath an appearance of simplicity and good-nature. Now his whole face
was convulsed and almost threatening; when I looked at him he made me
afraid. I did not amuse myself by discussing with him matters upon which
we were, both of us, more or less ignorant. I did all that could be done
to introduce a little calm into his superstitious head, and to gain the
necessary time for the completion of my five portraits. I was careful
not to confide to the King this qualification of Heliogabalus; but as his
intervention was absolutely necessary to me, I persuaded him to come and
spend half an hour at this chateau of Clagny, which he had deserted for a
long time past.
“Your presence,” I said to him, “will perhaps take the edge off the
theological irritation of your fanatical painter. A little royal
amenity, a little conversation and blandishment, a la Louis XIV., will
seduce his artistic vanity. At the cost of that, your portrait, Sire,
will be terminated. It would not be without.”
The surprise of his Majesty was extreme when he had to learn and
comprehend that the prodigious talent of Petitot was joined to a Huguenot
conscience, and this talent spoke of expatriating itself. “I will go to
Clagny to-morrow,” replied the prince to me; and he went there, in fact,
accompanied by the Marquise de Montchevreuil and Madame la Dauphine, in
an elaborate neglige.
“Good-day, Monsieur Petitot,” said the monarch to our artist, who rose on
seeing him enter. “I come to contemplate your new masterpieces. Is my
little miniature near completion?”
“Sire,” replied Petitot, “it will not be for another six weeks. All
these affairs and decrees have deprived me of many hours; my heart is
heavy over it!”
“And why do you busy yourself with these discussions, with which your
great talent has no concern?” said the King to him, gently.
“Sire, it is my religion that is more concerned than ever. I am a
Christian, and my law is dear to me.”
“And I am Most Christian,” answered his Majesty, smiling. “I profess the
religion, I keep the law that your ancestors and mine kept before the
Reformation.”
“Sire, this reform has been adopted by a great number of monarchs,--a
proof that the Reformation is not the enemy of kings, as is said.”
“Yes, in the case of wise and honest men like yourself, my good friend
Petitot; but just as all your brothers have not your talents, so they
have not your rectitude and loyalty, which are known to me.”
“Sire, your Majesty overwhelms me; but I beg you to be persuaded that my
brothers have been calumniated.”
“Yes, if one is to accuse them in the mass, my dear Petitot; but there
are spoil-alls amongst your theologians; intercepted correspondences
depose to it. The allied princes, having been unable to crush me by
their invasions and artillery, have recourse to internal and clandestine
manoeuvres. Having failed to corrupt my soldiers, they have essayed to
corrupt my clergy, as they did at Montauban and La Rochelle, in the days
of Cardinal Richelieu.”
“Sire, do not believe in any such manoeuvres; all your subjects love and
admire you, whatever be their faith and communion.”
“Petitot, you are an admirable painter and a most worthy man. Do not
answer me, I beg you. If I believed you had as much genius and aptitude
for great affairs as for the wonders of the brush, I would make you a
Counsellor of State on the instant, and a half-hour spent with me and my
documents and papers of importance would be sufficient to make you
believe and think as I do touching what has been discussed between us.
Madame de Montespan, in great alarm, has told me that you wished to leave
me. You leave me, my good friend! Where will you find a sky so pure and
soft as the sky of France? Where will you find a King more tenderly
attached to men of merit, more particularly, to my dear and illustrious
Petitot?”
At these words, pronounced with emotion, the artist felt the tears come
into his eyes. He bent one knee to the ground, respectfully kissed the
hand of the monarch, and promised to complete his portrait immediately.
He kept his word to us. The King’s miniature and my four portraits were
finished without hesitation or postponement; and Petitot also consented
to copy, for his Majesty, a superb Christine of Sweden, a full-length
picture, painted by Le Bourdon. But at the final revocation of the Edict
of Nantes, he thought his conscience, or rather his vanity, compromised,
and quitted France, although the King offered to allow him a chaplain of
his communion, and a dispensation from all the oaths, to Petitot himself,
to Boyer, his brother-in-law, and the chaplain whom they had retained
with them.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Lovers’ Vows.--The Body-guards.--Racine’s Phedre.--The
Pit.--Allusions.--The Duel.--M. de Monclar.--The Cowled Spy.--He Escapes
with a Fright.--M. de Monclar in Jersey.--Gratitude of the
Marquise.--Happy Memory.
Lovers, in the effervescence of their passion, exaggerate to themselves
the strength and intensity of their sentiments. The momentary, pleasure
that this agreeable weakness causes them to feel, brings them, in spite
of themselves, to promise a long duration of it, so that they swear
eternal fidelity, a constancy, proof against all, two days after that one
which shone on their most recent infidelity. I had seen the King neglect
and abandon the amiable La Valliere, and I listened to him none the less
credulously and confidently when he said to me: “Athenais, we have been
created for each other: if Heaven were suddenly to deprive me of the
Queen, I would have your marriage dissolved, and, before the altar and
the world, join your destiny, to mine.”
Full of these fantastic ideas, in which my hope and desire and credulity
were centred, I had accepted those body-guards of state who never left my
carriage. The poor Queen had murmured: I had disdained her murmurs. The
public had manifested its disapproval: I had hardened myself and fought
against the insolent opinion of that public. I could not renounce my
chimera of royalty, based on innumerable probabilities, and I used my
guards in anticipation, and as a preliminary.
One of them, one day, almost lost his life in following my carriage,
which went along like a whirlwind. His horse fell on the high road to
Versailles; his thigh was broken, and his body horribly bruised. I
descended from my carriage to see after him. I confided him, with the
most impressive recommendations, to the physician or surgeon of Viroflai,
who lavished on him his attentions, his skill and zeal, and who sent him
back quite sound after a whole month of affectionate care.
The young Baron de Monclar (such was the name of this guard) thought
himself happy in having merited my favour by this accident, and he
remained sincerely and finally attached to me.
At the time of the temporary triumph of Mademoiselle de Fontanges, the
spell which was over my eyes was dissipated. The illusions of my youth
were lost, and I saw, at last, the real distance which divided me from
the steps of the throne. The health of a still youthful Queen seemed to
me as firm and unalterable then as it appeared to me weak and uncertain
before. The inconstancy of the monarch warned me of what might be still
in store for me, and I resolved to withdraw myself, voluntarily and with
prudence, within the just limits of my power.
M. le Prince de Luxembourg was one of my friends, and in command; I
begged him to send me his guards no longer, but to reserve them for the
reigning divinity, who had already more than once obtained them.
In these latter days, that is to say, since the eminent favour of the
lady in waiting, having become the friend, and no longer the spouse of
the prince, I frequently retired from this sight, so repugnant to me, and
went and passed entire weeks at Paris, where the works on my large hotel,
that had been suspended for divers reasons, were being resumed.
A debutante, as beautiful as she was clever, was drawing the entire
capital to the Comedie Francaise. She obtained especial applause in the
difficult part of Phedre. My friends spoke marvels of it, and wished to
take me there with them. Their box was engaged. We arrived as the
curtain was going up. As I took my seat I noticed a certain stir in the
orchestra and pit. The majority of glances were directed at my box, in
which my apparition had attracted curiosity. I carried my fan to my
face, under the pretext of the excessive glow of the lights. Immediately
several voices were to be heard: “Take away the fan, if you please.” The
young and foolish applauded this audacity; but all the better part
disapproved.
The actress mentioned came on the scene and brought the incident to an
end. Although deeply moved by what had occurred, I paid great attention
to the magnificent part of Phedre, which often excited my admiration and
profound pity. At some passages, which every one knows by heart, two or
three insolent persons abandoned themselves to a petty war of allusions,
and accenting these aggressive phrases with their applause, succeeded in
directing general attention to me. Officers of the service noticed this
beginning of disorder, and probably were concerned at my embarrassment.
Some Gardes Francais were called within the barrier of the parterre in
order to restrain the disturbers. Suddenly a very lively quarrel broke
out in the centre. Two young men with great excitement had come to
blows, and soon we saw them sally forth with the openly expressed
intention of settling their quarrel on the field.
Was it my name, or a contest as to the talent of the actress, which
caused this commotion? My nephew, De Mortemart, was concerned for me,
and the Comte de Marcilly assured us that all these wrangles were solely
with regard to the wife of Theseus.
Between the two pieces our company learnt that a gentleman from the
provinces had insulted my name, and a body-guard, out of uniform, had
taken this insult for himself; they had gone out to have an explanation.
The following day a religious minim of the House of Chaillot came to
inform me of the state of affairs. The Baron de Monclar, of the
body-guards of the King, had taken sanctuary in their monastery, after
having killed, in lawful duel, beneath the outer walls of the Bois du
Boulogne, the imprudent young man who, the night before, at the play, had
exposed me to the censure of the public. M. de Monclar was quite
prepared for the inflexible severity of the King, as well as for the
uselessness of my efforts. He only begged me to procure him a disguise
of a common sort, so that he might immediately embark from the
neighbourhood of Gainville or Bordeaux, and make for England or Spain;
every moment was precious.
The sad position in which M. de Monclar had put himself in my behalf
filled me with sorrow. I gave a long sigh, and dried my first tears. I
racked my sick and agitated head for the reply I ought to make to the
good monk, and, to my great astonishment, my mind, ordinarily so prompt
and active, suggested and offered me no suitable plan. This indecision,
perhaps, rendered the worthy ambassador impatient and humiliated me;
when, to end it, I made up my mind to request that M. de Monclar be
secretly transferred from the House of Chaillot to my dwelling, where I
should have time and all possible facilities to take concert with him as
to the best means of action.
Suddenly raising my eyes to the monk of Chaillot, I surprised in his a
ferocious look of expectation. This horrible discovery unnerved me,--I
gave a cry of terror; all my lackeys rushed in. I ordered the traitor to
be seized and precipitated from the height of my balcony into the
gardens. His arms were already bound ruthlessly, and my people were
lifting him to throw him down, when he eluded their grasp, threw himself
at my feet, and confessed that his disguise was assumed with the intent
to discover the sanctuary of the Baron de Monclar, the assassin of his
beloved brother. “It is asserted, madame,” added this man, rising, “that
the Baron is confided to the Minim Fathers of Chaillot. I imagined that
you were informed of it, and that by this means my family would succeed
in reaching him.”
“If he has killed the nobody who yesterday insulted me so unjustly,” I
said then to this villain who was ready for death, “he has done a
virtuous act, but one which I condemn. I condemn it because of the law
of the Prince, which is formal, and because of the dire peril into which
he has run; for that my heart could almost praise and thank him. I was
ignorant of his offence; I am ignorant of his place of refuge. Whoever
you may be,--the agent of a family in mourning, or of a magistrate who
forgets what is due to me,--leave my house before my wrath is rekindled.
Depart, and never forget what one gains by putting on the livery of
deceit in order to surprise and betray innocence.”
My people conducted this unworthy man to the outer gate, and refused to
satisfy some prayers which he addressed to them to be released from his
disagreeable bonds. The public, with its usual inconsequence, followed
the monk with hooting, without troubling as to whether it were abusing a
vile spy or a man of worth.
We waited for a whole month without receiving any news of our guard. At
last he wrote to me from the island of Jersey, where he had been cast by
a storm. I despatched the son of my intendant, who knew him perfectly; I
sent him a letter of recommendation to his Majesty the King of England,
who had preserved me in his affections, and to those matters of pure
obligation, which I could not refrain from without cruelty, I added a
present of a hundred thousand livres, which was enough to furnish an
honourable condition for my noble and generous cavalier in the land of
exile.
The humour of my heart is of the kind which finishes by forgetting an
injury and almost an outrage; but a service loyally rendered is graven
upon it in uneffaceable characters, and when (at the solicitation of the
King of England) our monarch shall have pardoned M. de Monclar, I will
search all through Paris to find him a rich and lovely heiress, and will
dower him myself, as his noble conduct and my heart demand.
I admire great souls as much as I loathe ingratitude and villainy.
CHAPTER XL.
Parallel between the Diamond and the Sun.--Taste of the Marquise for
Precious Stones.--The King’s Collection of Medals.--The Crown of
Agrippina.--The Duchess of York.--Disappointment of the Marquise.--To
Lend Is Not to Give.--The Crown Well Guarded.--Fright of the
Marquise.--The Thief Recognised.--The Marquise Lets Him Hang.--The
Difference between Cromwell and a Trunkmaker.--Delicate
Restitutions.--The Bourbons of Madame de Montespan.
The diamond is, beyond contradiction, the most beautiful creation of the
hands of God, in the order of inanimate objects. This precious stone, as
durable as the sun, and far more accessible than that, shines with the
same fire, unites all its rays and colours in a single facet, and
lavishes its charms, by night and day, in every clime, at all seasons;
whilst the sun appears only when it so pleases; sometimes shining,
sometimes misty, and shows itself off with innumerable pretensions.
From my tenderest childhood, I was notable amongst all my brothers and
sisters for my distinct fondness for precious stones and diamonds. I have
made a collection of them worthy of the Princes of Asia; and if my whole
fortune were to fail me to-day, my pearls and diamonds, being left to me,
would still give me opulence. The King, by a strange accident, shares
this taste with me. He has in his third closet two huge pedestals,
veneered in rosewood, and divided within, like cabinets of coins, into
several layers. It is there that he has conveyed, one by one, all the
finest diamonds of the Crown. He consecrates to their examination, their
study, and their homage, the brief moments that his affairs leave him.
And when, by his ambassadors, he comes to discover some new apparition of
this kind in Asia or Europe, he does all that is possible to distance his
competitors.
When he loved me with a tender love, I had only to wish and I obtained
instantly all that could please me, in rare pearls, in superfine
brilliants, sapphires, emeralds, and rubies. One day, his Majesty
allowed me to carry home the famous crown of Agrippina, executed with
admirable art, and formed of eight sprays of large brilliants handsomely
mounted. This precious object occupied me for several days in
succession, and the more I examined the workmanship, the more I marvelled
at its lightness and excellence, which was so great that our jewellers,
compared with those of Nero and Agrippina, were as artisans and workmen.
The King, having never spoken to me again of this ornament, I persuaded
myself that he had made me a present of it,--a circumstance which
confirmed me in the delusions of my hope. I thought then that I ought
not to leave in its light case an article of such immense value, and
ordered a strong and solid casket in which to enshrine my treasure.
The imperial crown having been encased and its clasps well adjusted by as
many little locks of steel, I shut the illustrious valuable in a cupboard
in which I had a quantity of jewelry and precious stones. This beautiful
crown was the constant object of my thoughts, my affections and my
preference; but I only looked at it myself at long intervals, every six
months, very briefly, for fear of exciting the cupidity of servants, and
exposing the glory of Agrippina to some danger.
When the Princess of Mantua passed through France on her way to marry the
Duke of York, whose first wife had left him a widower, the King gave a
brilliant reception to this young and lovely creature, daughter of a
niece of Cardinal Mazarin.
The conversation was uniformly most agreeable, for she spoke French with
fluency, and employed it with wit. There was talk of open-work crowns
and shut crowns. The Marquis de Dangeau, something of a savant and
antiquary, happened to remark that, under Nero, that magnificent prince,
the imperial crown had first been wrought in the form of an arch, such as
is seen now.
The King said then: “I was ignorant of that fact; but the crown of the
Empress, his mother, was not closed at all. The one which belongs to me
is authentic; Madame la Marquise will show it to us:”
A gracious invitation in dumb show completed this species of summons, and
I was obliged to execute it. I returned to the King in the space of a
few minutes, bringing back in its new case the fugitive present, which a
monarch asked back again so politely and with such a good grace.
The crown of Agrippina, being placed publicly on a small round table,
excited general attention and admiration. The Italian Princess, Madame
de Maintenon, the Duc de Saint Aignan, and Dangeau himself went into
raptures over the rare perfection of these marvellously assorted
brilliants. The King, drawing near, in his turn examined the masterpiece
with pleasure. Suddenly, looking me in the face, he cried:
“But, madame, this is no longer my crown of Agrippina; all the diamonds
have been changed!”
Imagine my trouble, and, I must say, my confusion! Approaching the
wretched object, and casting my eyes over it with particular attention, I
was not slow in verifying the King’s assertion. The setting of this fine
work had remained virtually the same; but some bold hand had removed the
antique diamonds and substituted--false!
I was pale and trembling, and on the verge of swooning. The ladies were
sorry for me. The King did me the honour of declaring aloud that I had
assuredly been duped, and I was constrained to explain this removal of
the crown into a more solid and better case for its preservation.
At this naive explanation the King fell to laughing, and said to the
young Princess: “Madame, you will relate, if you please, this episode to
the Court of London, and you will tell the King, from me, that nothing is
so difficult to preserve now as our crowns; guards and locks are no more
of use.”
Then, addressing me, his Majesty said, playfully:
“You should have entrusted it to me sooner; I should have saved it. It
is said that I understand that well.”
My amour-propre, my actual honour, forbade me to put a veil over this
domestic indignity. I assembled all my household, without excepting my
intendant himself. I was aggrieved at the affront which I had met with
at the King’s, and I read grief and consternation on all faces. After
some minutes’ silence, my intendant proposed the immediate intervention
of authority, and made me understand with ease that only the casket-maker
could be the culprit.
This man’s house was visited; he had left Paris nearly two years before.
Further information told us that, before disposing of his property, he
had imprudently indulged in a certain ostentation of fortune, and had
embarked for the new settlements of Pondicherry.
M. Colbert, who is still living, charged our governor to discover the
culprit for him; and he was sent back to us with his hands and feet
bound.
Put to the question, he denied at first, then confessed his crime. One
of my chamber--maids, to whom he had made feigned love, introduced him
into my house while I was away, and by the aid of this imprudent woman he
had penetrated into my closets. The crown of Agrippina, which it had
been necessary to show him because of the measures, had become almost as
dear to him as to myself; and his ambition of another kind inspired him
with his criminal and fatal temerity.
He did no good by petitioning me, and having me solicited after the
sentence; I let him hang, as he richly deserved.
The King said on this occasion: “This casketmaker has, at least, left us
the setting, but M. Cromwell took all.”
The fortunate success of this affair restored me, not to cheerfulness,
but to that honourable calm which had fled far away from me. I made a
reflection this time on my extreme imprudence, and understood that all
the generosities of love are often no more than loans. I noticed amongst
my jewels a goblet of gold, wrought with diamonds and rubies, which came
from the first of the Medici princesses. I waited for the King’s fete to
return this magnificent ornament to him nobly. I had a lily executed,
all of emeralds and fine pearls; I poured essence of roses into the cup,
placed in it the stem of the lily, in the form of a bouquet for the
prince, and that was my present for Saint Louis’s day.
I gave back to the King, by degrees, at least three millions’ worth of
important curiosities, which were like drops of water poured into the
ocean. But I was anxious that, if God destined me to perish by a sudden
death, objects of this nature should not be seen and discovered amid my
treasure.
As to my other diamonds, either changed in form or acquired and collected
by myself, I destine them for my four children by the King. These pomps
will have served to delight my eyes, which are pleased with them, and
then they will go down to their first origin and source, belonging again
to the Bourbons whom I have made.
CHAPTER XLI.
The Duchesse de Lesdiguieres.--Her Jest.--“The Chaise of
Convenience.”--Anger of the Jesuits.--They Ally Themselves with the
Archbishop of Paris.--The Forty Hours’ Prayers.--Thanks of the Marquise
to the Prelate.--His Visit to Saint Joseph.--Anger of the Marquise.--Her
Welcome to the Prelate.
The insult offered me at the Comedie Francaise by a handful of the
thoughtless immediately spread through the capital, and became, as it is
easy to imagine, the talk of all the salons. I was aware that the
Duchesse de Lesdiguieres was keenly interested in this episode, and had
embellished and, as it were, embroidered it with her commentaries and
reflections. All these women who misconduct themselves are pitiless and
severe. The more their scandalous conduct brands them on the forehead,
the more they cry out against scandal. Their whole life is bemired with
vice, and their mouth articulates no other words than prudence and
virtue, like those corrupt and infected doctors who have no indulgence
for their patients.
The Duchesse de Lesiguieres, for a long time associated with the
Archbishop of Paris, and known to live with that prelate like a miller
with his wife, dared to say, in her salon that my presence at Racine’s
tragedy was, at the least, very useless, and the public having come there
to see a debutante, certainly did not expect me.
The phrase was repeated to me, word for word by my sister De Thianges,
who did not conceal her anger, and wished to avenge me, if I did not
avenge myself. The Marquise then informed me of another thing, which she
had left me in ignorance of all along, from kind motives chiefly, and to
prevent scandal.
“You remember, my sister,” said the Marquise to me, “a sort of jest which
escaped you when Pere de la Chaise made the King communicate, in spite of
all the noise of his new love affair and the follies of Mademoiselle de
Fontanges? You nicknamed that benevolent Jesuit ‘the Chaise of
Convenience.’ Your epigram made all Paris laugh except the hypocrites
and the Jesuits. Those worthy men resolved to have full satisfaction for
your insult by stirring up the whole of Paris against you. The
Archbishop entered readily into their plot, for he thought you
supplanted; and he granted them the forty Hours’ Prayers, to obtain from
God your expulsion from Court. Harlay, who is imprudent only in his
debauches, preserved every external precaution, because of the King,
whose temper he knows; he told the Jesuits that they must not expect
either his pastoral letter or his mandate, but he allowed them secret
commentaries, the familiar explanations of the confessional; he charged
them to let the other monks and priests into the secret, and the field of
battle being decided, the skirmishes began. With the aid and assistance
of King David, that trivial breastplate of every devotional insult, the
preachers announced to their congregations that they must fast and
mortify themselves for the cure of King David, who had fallen sick. The
orators favoured with some wit embellished their invectives; the ignorant
and coarse amongst the priests spoiled everything. The Blessed Sacrament
was exposed for a whole week in the churches, and it ended by an
announcement to Israel, that their cry had reached the firmament, that
David had grown cold to Bathsheba (they did not add, nevertheless, that
David preferred another to Bathsheba with his whole heart). But the
Duchesse de Fontanges gave offence neither to the Archbishop of Paris nor
to the Jesuits. Her mind showed no hostility. The beauty was quite
incapable of saying in the face of the world that a Jesuit resembled a
‘Chaise of Convenience.’
“The Duchesse de Lesdiguieres, covered with rouge and crimes, has put
herself at the head of all these intrigues,” added my sister; “and
without having yet been able to subdue herself to the external parade of
devotion, she has allowed herself to use against you all the base tricks
of the most devout hypocrites.”
“Let me act,” I said to my sister; “this lady’s good offices call for a
mark of my gratitude. The Forty Hours’ Prayer is an attention that is
not paid to every one; I owe M. de Paris my thanks.”
I went and sat down at my writing-table, and wrote this fine prelate the
following honeyed missive:
I have only just been informed, monseigneur, of the pains you have been
at with God for the amelioration of the King and of myself. The gratitude
which I feel for it cannot be expressed. I pray you to believe it to be
as pure and sincere as your intention. A good bishop, as perfect and
exemplary as yourself, is worthy of taking a passionate interest in the
regularity of monarchs, and ours must owe you the highest rewards for
this new mark of respect which it has pleased you to give him. I will
find expressions capable of making him feel all that he owes to your
Forty Hours’ Prayer, and to that Christian and charitable emotion cast in
the midst of a capital and a public. To all that only your mandate of
accusation and allegorical sermons are lacking. Cardinals’ hats, they
say, are made to the measure of strong heads; we will go seek, in the
robing-rooms of Rome, if there be one to meet the proportions of your
ability. If ladies had as much honourable influence over the Vicar of
Jesus Christ as simple bishops allow them, I should solicit, this very
day, your wished-for recompense and exaltation. But it is the monarch’s
affair; he will undertake it. I can only offer you, in my own person, M.
Archbishop of Paris, my prayers for yours. My little church of Saint
Joseph has not the same splendour as your cathedral; but the incense that
we burn there is of better quality than yours, for I get it from the
Sultan of Persia. I will instruct my little community to-morrow to hold
our Forty Hours’ Prayer, that God may promptly cure you of your Duchesse
de Lesdiguieres, who has been damning you for fourteen years.
Deign to accept these most sincere reprisals, and believe me, without
reserve, Monsieur the Archbishop,
THE MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN.
This letter cast the camp into alarm. There were goings and comings
between the Episcopal Palace and the Jesuits of the Rue Saint Antoine,
and from this professed house to their College of Louis le Grand. The
matadores of the society were of opinion that I should be conciliated by
every possible means, and it was arranged that the Archbishop should pay
me a visit at Saint Joseph’s, on the earliest possible occasion, to
exculpate his virtuous colleagues and make me accept his disclaimers. He
came, in effect, the following week. I made him wait for half an hour in
the chapel, for half an hour in my parlour, and I ascended into my
carriage, almost in his presence, without deigning either to see or
salute him.
The mother of four legitimised princes was not made to support such
outrages, nor to have interviews with their insolent authors.
Alarms, anxieties of consciences, weak but virtuous, have always found me
gentle, and almost resigned; the false scruples of hypocrites and
libertines will never receive from me aught but disdain and contempt.
CHAPTER XLII.
The Verse of Berenice.--Praises of Boileau.--The King’s Aversion to
Satirical Writers.--The Painter Le Brun.--His Bacchus.--The
Waterbottle.--The Pyramid of Jean Chatel Injurious to the Jesuits.--They
Solicit Its Demolition.--Madame de Maintenon’s Opposition.--Political
Views of Henri IV. on This Matter.--The Jesuits of Paris Proclaim the
Dedication of Their College to Louis the Great.--The Gold Pieces.
Whatever be the issue of a liaison which cannot probably be eternal, I
have too much judgment and equity to deny the King the great talents
which are his by nature, or to dispute the surname of Great which has
been given him in his lifetime, and which the ages to come must surely
preserve. But here I am writing secret Memoirs, where I set down, as in
a mirror, the most minute traits of the personages whom I bring on the
stage, and I wish to relate in what manner and with what aim this
apotheosis affected the mind of those who flattered the prince in their
own interest.
The painters and sculptors, most artful of courtiers in their calling,
had already represented the King, now with the attributes of Apollo, now
in the costume of the god Mars, of Jupiter Tonans, Neptune, lord of the
waves; now with the formidable and vigorous appearance of the great
Hercules, who strangled serpents even in his cradle.
His Majesty saw all these ingenious allegories, examined them without
vanity, with no enthusiasm, and seemed to regard them as accessories
inherent to the composition, as conventional ornaments, the good and
current small change of art. The adulations of Racine, in his
“Berenice,” having all a foundation of truth, please him, but chiefly for
the grace of the poetry; and he sometimes recited them, when he wished to
recall and quote some fine verse.
The praises of Boileau, although well versified, had not, however, the
fortune to please him. He found those verses too methodical for poetry;
and the poet, moreover, seemed to him somewhat a huckster, and in bad
taste. The satirists might do what they liked, they never had his
friendship. Perhaps he feared them.
When Le Brun started preparing the magnificent cradle of the great
gallery, he composed for the ceiling rich designs or cartoons, which in
their entirety should represent the victories and great military or
legislative achievements of the prince. His work being finished, he came
to present it to his Majesty, who on that day was dining with me. In one
of the compartments the painter had depicted his hero in the guise of
Bacchus; the King immediately took up a bottle of clear water and drank a
big glass. I gave a great peal of laughter, and said to M. le Brun, “You
see, monsieur, his Majesty’s decision in that libation of pure water.”
M. le Brun changed his design, seeing the King had no love for Bacchus,
but he left the Thundering Jove, and all the other mythological
flatteries, in regard to which no opinion had been given.
The Jesuits for a long time past had groaned at seeing, exactly opposite
the Palace,--[In the midst of the semicircle in front of the Palais de
Justice.]--in the centre of Paris, that humiliating pyramid which
accused them of complicity with, or inciting, the famous regicide of the
student, Jean Chatel, assassin of Henri IV. Pere de la Chaise, many
times and always in vain, had prayed his Majesty to render justice to the
virtues of his order, and to command the destruction of this slanderous
monument. The King had constantly refused, alleging to-day one motive,
to-morrow another. One day, when the professed House of Paris came to
hand him a respectful petition on the subject, his Majesty begged Madame
de Maintenon to read it to him, and engaged us to listen to it with
intelligence, in order to be able to give an opinion.
The Jesuits said in this document that the Parliament, with an excessive
zeal, had formerly pushed things much too far in this matter. “For that
Jean Chatel, student with the Jesuit Fathers, having been heard to say to
his professor that the King of Navarre, a true Huguenot, ought not to
reign over France, which was truly Catholic, the magistrates were not,
therefore, justified in concluding that that Jesuit, and all the Jesuits,
had directed the dagger of Jean Chatel, a madman.”
The petition further pointed out that “the good King Henri IV., who was
better informed, had decided to recall the Society of Jesus, had
reestablished it in all his colleges, and had even chosen a confessor
from their ranks.
“This fearful pyramid, surcharged with wrathful inscriptions,” added the
petition, “designates our Society as a perpetual hotbed of regicidal
conspiracy, and presents us to credulous people as an association of
ambitious, thankless and corrupt assassins!”
[This monument represented a sort of small square temple, built of
Arcueil stone and marble. Corinthian fluted pillars formed its general
decoration, and enshrined the four fulminatory inscriptions.
Independently of the obelisk, the cupola of this temple bore eight
allegorical statues, of which the one was France in mourning; the second,
Justice raising her sword, and the others the principal virtues of the
King. On the principal side these words occurred: “Passer-by, whosoever
thou be, abhor Jean Chatel, and the Jesuits who beguiled his youth and
destroyed his reason.”--EDITOR’S NOTE.]
“In the name of God, Sire, do away with this criminal and dangerous
memento of old passions, unjust hatreds, and the spirit of impiety which,
after having led astray magistrates devoid of light, serves to-day only
to beguile new generations, whom excess of light blinds,” etc., etc.
When this letter was finished, the King said:
“I have never seen, the famous pyramid; one of these days I will escape,
so that I can see it without being observed.” And then his Majesty asked
me what I thought of the petition. I answered that I did not understand
the inconsistency of M. de Sully, who, after consenting to the return of
the Jesuits, had left in its place the monument which accused and branded
them. I put it on Sully, the minister, because I dared not attack Henri
IV. himself.
The King answered me: “There are faults of negligence such as that in
every government and under the best administrations. King Henri my
grandfather was vivacity itself. He was easily irritated; he grew calm
in the same way. For my part, I think that he pardoned the Jesuits, as
he had the Leaguers, in the hope that his clemency would bring them all
into peaceful disposition; in which he was certainly succeeding when a
miscreant killed him.”
Madame de Maintenon, begged to give her opinion, expressed herself in
these terms: “Sire, this petition cannot be other than extremely well
done, since a society of clever minds have taken the work in hand. We
have not the trial of Jean Chatel before our eyes, with his
interrogatories; it is impossible for us, then, to pronounce on the
facts. In any case, there is one thing very certain: the Jesuits who are
living at present are innocent, and most innocent of the faults of their
predecessors.
“The sentences and anathemas which surcharge the pyramid, as they say,
can in no way draw down upon them the anger of passers-by and the
populace, for these inscriptions, which I have read, are in bad Latin.
This monument, which is very rich and even elegant in itself, is placed
upon the site of the destroyed house of the assassin Chatel. The most
ignorant of your Parisians knows this circumstance, which he has learnt
from family traditions. It is good that the people see every day before
their eyes this solitary pyramid, which teaches how King’s assassins are
punished and what is done with the houses in which they were born.
“King Henri IV., for all his gaiety, had wits enough for four; he left
the pyramid standing, like those indulgent people who compromise a great
lawsuit, but do not on that account destroy the evidence and documents.
“This monument, besides, is the work of the Parliament of Paris; that
illustrious assembly has raised it, and perhaps your Majesty might seem
to accuse justice by destroying what it has once done for a good cause.”
The King smiled at the conclusions of the lady in waiting, and said to
both of us: “This is between us three, I pray you, ladies; I will keep
Pere de la Chaise amused with promises some day.”
Madame de Maintenon, for a brief time in her first youth a Calvinist,
cherished always in the bottom of her heart a good share of those
suspicions that Calvin’s doctrine is careful to inspire against the
Jesuits.
On the other hand, she retained amongst the Parliament a large number of
friends whom she had known formerly at M. Scarron’s, the son of a
counsellor of the chamber. I understood that in those circumstances she
was well pleased to prove to the gentlemen of Parliament that the
interests of their house were kept in good hands, and that she would not
abandon her friends of the Place Royale and the Marais for all the
Jesuits and all the pyramids in the world.
The Parliament, which was informed of her conduct and fidelity, bore her
infinite good-will for it. The first president, decorated with his blue
riband, came; to express his formal thanks, and begged her to accept in
perpetuity a key of honour to the High Chamber.
[In famous and unusual causes, princes, ambassadors, and keys of honour
came and occupied the lanterns, that is to say, elegant and well
furnished tribunes, from which all that passed in the grand hall of the
Parliament could be seen.]
The Jesuits, for perseverance and tenacity, can be compared with spiders
who repair, or start again every instant at a damaged or broken thread.
When these good fathers knew that their petition had not triumphed
offhand, they struck out for some new road to reach the generous heart of
the monarch. Having learnt that an alderman, full of enthusiasm, had
just proposed in full assembly at the Hotel de Ville to raise a triumphal
monument to the Peacemaker of Europe, and to proclaim him Louis the Great
at a most brilliant fete, the Jesuit Fathers cleverly took the
initiative, and whilst the Hotel de Ville was deliberating to obtain his
Majesty’s consent, the College of Clermont, in the Rue Saint Jacques,
brought out its annual thesis, and dedicated it to the King,--Louis the
Great (Ludovico Magno).
On the following day the masons raised scaffolding before the great door
of the college, erased the original inscription--which consisted of the
words: “College of Clermont”--to substitute for it, in letters of gold:
“Royal College of Louis the Great.” These items of news reached
Versailles one after the other. The King received them with visible
satisfaction, and if only Pere de la Chaise had known how to profit at
the time by the emotion and sentiment of the prince, he would have
carried off the tall pyramid as an eagle does a sparrow. The confessor,
a man of great circumspection, dared not force his penitent’s hand; he
was tactful with him in all things, and the society had the trouble of
its famous cajolery without gaining anything more at the game than
compliments and gold pieces in sufficient plenty.