eight o'clock in the evening, and went at once to the King, who was in
the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, and who received him well, and
made him relate all his adventures. But the King was not pleased when he
found the officers of the stable in a state of great delight, and
preparing fireworks to welcome Beringhen back. He prohibited all these
marks of rejoicing, and would not allow the fireworks to be let off. He
had these little jealousies. He wished that all should be devoted to him
alone, without reserve and without division. All the Court, however,
showed interest in this return, and Beringhen was consoled by the public
welcome he received for his fatigue.
Guetem and his officers, while waiting the pleasure of the King, were
lodged in Beringhen's house in Paris, where they were treated above their
deserts. Beringhen obtained permission for Guetem to see the King. He
did more; he presented Guetem to the King, who praised him for having so
well treated his prisoner, and said that war always ought to be conducted
properly. Guetem, who was not without wit, replied, that he was so
astonished to find himself before the greatest King in the world, and to
find that King doing him the honour of speaking to him, that he had not
power enough to answer. He remained ten or twelve days in Beringhen's
house to see Paris, the Opera and the Comedy, and became the talk of the
town. People ran after him everywhere, and the most distinguished were
not ashamed to do likewise. On all sides he was applauded for an act of
temerity, which might have passed for insolence. Beringhen regaled him,
furnished him with carriages and servants to accompany him, and, at
parting, with money and considerable presents. Guetem went on his parole
to Rheims to rejoin his comrades until exchanged, and had the town for
prison. Nearly all the others had escaped. The project was nothing less
than to carry off Monseigneur, or one of the princes, his sons.
This ridiculous adventure gave rise to precautions, excessive in the
first place, and which caused sad obstructions of bridges and gates. It
caused, too, a number of people to be arrested. The hunting parties of
the princes were for some time interfered with, until matters resumed
their usual course. But it was not bad fun to see, during some time, the
terror of ladies, and even of men, of the Court, who no longer dared go
abroad except in broad daylight, even then with little assurance, and
imagining themselves everywhere in marvellous danger of capture.
I have related in its proper place the adventure of Madame la Princesse
de Conti with Mademoiselle Choin and the attachment of Monseigneur for
the latter. This attachment was only augmented by the difficulty of
seeing each other.
Mademoiselle Choin retired to the house of Lacroix, one of her relatives
at Paris, where she lived quite hidden. She was informed of the rare
days when Monseigneur dined alone at Meudon, without sleeping there. She
went there the day before in a fiacre, passed through the courts on foot,
ill clad, like a common sort of woman going to see some officer at
Meudon, and, by a back staircase, was admitted to Monseigneur who passed
some hours with her in a little apartment on the first floor. In time
she came there with a lady's-maid, her parcel in her pocket, on the
evenings of the days that Monseigneur slept there.
She remained in this apartment without seeing anybody, attended by her
lady's-maid, and waited upon by a servant who alone was in the secret.
Little by little the friends of Monseigneur were allowed to see her;
and amongst these were M. le Prince de Conti, Monseigneur le Duc de
Bourgogne, Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, and M. le Duc de Berry.
There was always, however, an air of mystery about the matter. The
parties that took place were kept secret, although frequent, and were
called parvulos.
Mademoiselle Choin remained in her little apartment only for the
convenience of Monseigneur. She slept in the bed and in the grand
apartment where Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne lodged when the King was
at Meudon. She always sat in an arm-chair before Monseigneur; Madame de
Bourgogne sat on a stool. Mademoiselle Choin never rose for her; in
speaking of her, even before Monseigneur and the company, she used to say
"the Duchesse de Bourgogne," and lived with her as Madame de Maintenon
did excepting that "darling" and "my aunt," were terms not exchanged
between them, and that Madame de Bourgogne was not nearly so free, or so
much at her ease, as with the King and Madame de Maintenon. Monsieur de
Bourgogne was much in restraint. His manners did not agree with those of
that world. Monseigneur le Duc de Berry, who was more free, was quite at
home.
Mademoiselle Choin went on fete-days to hear mass in the chapel at six
o'clock in the morning, well wrapped up, and took her meals alone, when
Monseigneur did not eat with her. When he was alone with her, the doors
were all guarded and barricaded to keep out intruders. People regarded
her as being to Monseigneur, what Madame de Maintenon was to the King.
All the batteries for the future were directed and pointed towards her.
People schemed to gain permission to visit her at Paris; people paid
court to her friends and acquaintances, Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne
sought to please her, was respectful to her, attentive to her friends,
not always with success. She acted towards Monseigneur le Duc de
Bourgogne like a mother-in-law, and sometimes spoke with such authority
and bluntness to Madame de Bourgogne as to make her cry.
The King and Madame de Maintenon were in no way ignorant of all this, but
they held their tongues, and all the Court who knew it, spoke only in
whispers of it. This is enough for the present; it will serve to explain
many things, of which I shall speak anon.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
On Wednesday, the 27th of May, 1707, at three o'clock in the morning,
Madame de Montespan, aged sixty, died very suddenly at the waters of
Bourbon. Her death made much stir, although she had long retired from
the Court and from the world, and preserved no trace of the commanding
influence she had so long possessed. I need not go back beyond my own
experience, and to the time of her reign as mistress of the King. I will
simply say, because the anecdote is little known, that her conduct was
more the fault of her husband than her own. She warned him as soon as
she suspected the King to be in love with her; and told him when there
was no longer any doubt upon her mind. She assured him that a great
entertainment that the King gave was in her honour. She pressed him,
she entreated him in the most eloquent manner, to take her away to his
estates of Guyenne, and leave her there until the King had forgotten her
or chosen another mistress. It was all to no purpose; and Montespan was
not long before repentance seized him; for his torment was that he loved
her all his life, and died still in love with her--although he would
never consent to see her again after the first scandal.
Nor will I speak of the divers degrees which the fear of the devil at
various times put to her separation from the Court; and I will elsewhere
speak of Madame de Maintenon, who owed her everything, who fed her on
serpents, and who at last ousted her from the Court. What no one dared
to say, what the King himself dared not, M. du Maine, her son, dared.
M. de Meaux (Bossuet) did the rest. She went in tears and fury, and
never forgave M. du Maine, who by his strange service gained over for
ever to his interests the heart and the mighty influence of Madame de
Maintenon.
The mistress, retired amongst the Community of Saint Joseph, which she
had built, was long in accustoming herself to it. She carried about her
idleness and unhappiness to Bourbon, to Fontevrault, to D'Antin; she was
many years without succeeding in obtaining mastery over herself. At last
God touched her. Her sin had never been accompanied by forgetfulness;
she used often to leave the King to go and pray in her cabinet; nothing
could ever make her evade any fast day or meagre day; her austerity in
fasting continued amidst all her dissipation. She gave alms, was
esteemed by good people, never gave way to doubt of impiety; but she was
imperious, haughty and overbearing, full of mockery, and of all the
qualities by which beauty with the power it bestows is naturally
accompanied. Being resolved at last to take advantage of an opportunity
which had been given her against her will, she put herself in the hands
of Pere de la Tour, that famous General of the Oratory. From that moment
to the time of her death her conversion continued steadily, and her
penitence augmented. She had first to get rid of the secret fondness she
still entertained for the Court, even of the hopes which, however
chimerical, had always flattered her. She was persuaded that nothing but
the fear of the devil had forced the King to separate himself from her,
that it was nothing but this fear that had raised Madame de Maintenon to
the height she had attained; that age and ill-health, which she was
pleased to imagine, would soon clear the way; that when the King was a
widower, she being a widow, nothing would oppose their reunion, which
might easily be brought about by their affection for their children.
These children entertained similar hopes, and were therefore assiduous in
their attention to her for some time.
Pere de la Tour made her perform a terrible act of penitence. It was to
ask pardon of her husband, and to submit herself to his commands. To all
who knew Madame de Montespan this will seem the most heroic sacrifice.
M. de Montespan, however, imposed no restraint upon his wife. He sent
word that he wished in no way to interfere with her, or even to see her.
She experienced no further trouble, therefore, on this score.
Little by little she gave almost all she had to the poor. She worked for
them several hours a day, making stout shirts and such things for them.
Her table, that she had loved to excess, became the most frugal; her
fasts multiplied; she would interrupt her meals in order to go and pray.
Her mortifications were continued; her chemises and her sheets were of
rough linen, of the hardest and thickest kind, but hidden under others of
ordinary kind. She unceasingly wore bracelets, garters, and a girdle,
all armed with iron points, which oftentimes inflicted wounds upon her;
and her tongue, formerly so dangerous, had also its peculiar penance
imposed on it. She was, moreover, so tormented with the fear of death,
that she employed several women, whose sole occupation was to watch her.
She went to sleep with all the curtains of her bed open, many lights in
her chamber, and her women around her. Whenever she awoke she wished to
find them chatting, playing, or enjoying themselves, so as to re-assure
herself against their drowsiness.
With all this she could never throw off the manners of a queen. She had
an arm-chair in her chamber with its back turned to the foot of the bed.
There was no other in the chamber, not even when her natural children
came to see her, not even for Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans. She was
oftentimes visited by the most distinguished people of the Court, and she
spoke like a queen to all. She treated everybody with much respect, and
was treated so in turn. I have mentioned in its proper place, that a
short time before her death, the King gave her a hundred thousand francs
to buy an estate; but this present was not gratis, for she had to send
back a necklace worth a hundred and fifty thousand, to which the King
made additions, and bestowed it on the Duchesse de Bourgogne.
The last time Madame de Montespan went to Bourbon she paid all her
charitable pensions and gratuities two years in advance and doubled her
alms. Although in good health she had a presentiment that she should
return no more. This presentiment, in effect, proved correct. She felt
herself so ill one night, although she had been very well just before,
that she confessed herself, and received the sacrament. Previous to this
she called all her servants into her room and made a public confession of
her public sins, asking pardon for the scandal she had caused with a
humility so decent, so profound, so penitent, that nothing could be more
edifying. She received the last sacrament with an ardent piety. The
fear of death which all her life had so continually troubled her,
disappeared suddenly, and disturbed her no more. She died, without
regret, occupied only with thoughts of eternity, and with a sweetness and
tranquillity that accompanied all her actions.
Her only son by Monsieur de Montespan, whom she had treated like a
mother-in-law, until her separation from the King, but who had since
returned to her affection, D'Antin, arrived just before her death. She
looked at him, and only said that he saw her in a very different state to
what he had seen her at Bellegarde. As soon as she was dead he set out
for Paris, leaving orders for her obsequies, which were strange, or were
strangely executed. Her body, formerly so perfect, became the prey of
the unskilfulness and the ignorance of a surgeon. The obsequies were at
the discretion of the commonest valets, all the rest of the house having
suddenly deserted. The body remained a long time at the door of the
house, whilst the canons of the Sainte Chapelle and the priests of the
parish disputed about the order of precedence with more than indecency.
It was put in keeping under care of the parish, like the corpse of the
meanest citizen of the place, and not until a long time afterwards was it
sent to Poitiers to be placed in the family tomb, and then with an
unworthy parsimony. Madame de Montespan was bitterly regretted by all
the poor of the province, amongst whom she spread an infinity of alms, as
well as amongst others of different degree.
As for the King, his perfect insensibility at the death of a mistress he
had so passionately loved, and for so many years, was so extreme, that
Madame de Bourgogne could not keep her surprise from him. He replied,
tranquilly, that since he had dismissed her he had reckoned upon never
seeing her again, and that thus she was from that time dead to him. It
is easy to believe that the grief of the children he had had by her did
not please him. Those children did not dare to wear mourning for a
mother not recognised. Their appearance, therefore, contrasted with that
of the children of Madame de la Valliere, who had just died, and for whom
they were wearing mourning. Nothing could equal the grief which Madame
la Duchesse d'Orleans, Madame la Duchesse, and the Comte de Toulouse
exhibited. The grief of Madame la Duchesse especially was astonishing,
for she always prided herself on loving nobody; still more astonishing
was the grief of M. le Duc, so inaccessible to friendship. We must
remember, however, that this death put an end to many hopes. M. du
Maine, for his part, could scarcely repress his joy at the death of his
mother, and after having stopped away from Marly two days, returned and
caused the Comte de Toulouse to be recalled likewise. Madame de
Maintenon, delivered of a former rival, whose place she had taken, ought,
it might have been thought, to have felt relieved. It was otherwise;
remorse for the benefits she had received from Madame de Montespan, and
for the manner in which those benefits had been repaid, overwhelmed her.
Tears stole down her cheeks, and she went into a strange privacy to hide
them. Madame de Bourgogne, who followed, was speechless with
astonishment.
The life and conduct of so famous a mistress, subsequent to her forced
retirement, have appeared to me sufficiently curious to describe at
length; and what happened at her death was equally characteristic of the
Court.
The death of the Duchesse de Nemours, which followed quickly upon that of
Madame de Montespart, made still more stir in the world, but of another
kind. Madame de Nemours was daughter, by a first marriage, of the last
Duc de Longueville. She was extremely rich, and lived in great
splendour. She had a strange look, and a droll way of dressing, big
eyes, with which she could scarcely see, a shoulder that constantly
twitched, grey hairs that she wore flowing, and a very imposing air.
She had a very bad temper, and could not forgive. When somebody asked
her if she said the Pater, she replied, yes, but that she passed by
without saying it the clause respecting pardon for our enemies. She did
not like her kinsfolk, the Matignons, and would never see nor speak to
any of them. One day talking to the King at a window of his cabinet,
she saw Matignon passing in the court below. Whereupon she set to
spitting five or six times running, and then turned to the King and
begged his pardon, saying, that she could never see a Matignon without
spitting in that manner. It may be imagined that devotion did not
incommode her. She herself used to tell a story, that having entered one
day a confessional, without being followed into the church, neither her
appearance nor her dress gave her confessor an idea of her rank. She
spoke of her great wealth, and said much about the Princes de Conde and
de Conti. The confessor told her to pass by all that. She, feeling that
the case was a serious one, insisted upon explaining and made allusion to
her large estates and her millions. The good priest believed her mad,
and told her to calm herself; to get rid of such ideas; to think no more
of them; and above all to eat good soups, if she had the means to procure
them. Seized with anger she rose and left the place. The confessor out
of curiosity followed her to the door. When he saw the good lady, whom
he thought mad, received by grooms, waiting women, and so on, he had like
to have fallen backwards; but he ran to the coach door and asked her
pardon. It was now her turn to laugh at him, and she got off scot-free
that day from the confessional.
Madame de Nemours had amongst other possessions the sovereignty of
Neufchatel. As soon as she was dead, various claimants arose to dispute
the succession. Madame de Mailly laid claim to it, as to the succession
to the principality of Orange, upon the strength of a very doubtful
alliance with the house of Chalons, and hoped to be supported by Madame
de Maintenon. But Madame de Maintenon laughed at her chimeras, as they
were laughed at in Switzerland.
M. le Prince de Conti was another claimant. He based his right upon the
will of the last Duc de Longueville, by which he had been called to all
the Duke's wealth, after the Comte de Saint Paul, his brother, and his
posterity. In addition to these, there were Matignon and the dowager
Duchesse de Lesdiguieres, who claimed Neufchatel by right of their
relationship to Madame de Nemours.
Matignon was an intimate friend of Chamillart, who did not like the
Prince de Conti, and was the declared enemy of the Marechal de Villeroy,
the representative of Madame de Lesdiguieres, in this affair.
Chamillart, therefore, persuaded the King to remain neutral, and aided
Matignon by money and influence to get the start of the other claimants.
The haughty citizens of Neufchatel saw then all these suitors begging for
their suffrages, when a minister of the Elector of Brandenbourg appeared
amongst them, and disputed the pretensions of the Prince de Conti in
favour of his master, the Elector of Brandenbourg (King of Prussia), who
drew his claim from the family of Chalons. It was more distant; more
entangled if possible, than that of Madame de Mailly. He only made use
of it, therefore, as a pretext. His reasons were his religion, in
conformity with that of the country; the support of the neighbouring
Protestant cantons, allies, and protectors of Neufchatel; the pressing
reflection that the principality of Orange having fallen by the death of
William III. to M. le Prince de Conti, the King (Louis XIV.) had
appropriated it and recompensed him for it: and that he might act
similarly if Neufchatel fell to one of his subjects; lastly, a treaty
produced in good form, by which, in the event of the death of Madame de
Nemours, England and Holland agreed to declare for the Elector of
Brandenbourg, and to assist him by force in procuring this little state.
This minister of the Elector was in concert with the Protestant cantons,
who upon his declaration at once sided with him; and who, by the money
spent, the conformity of religion, the power of the Elector, the
reflection of what had happened at Orange, found nearly all the suffrages
favourable. So striking while the iron was hot, they obtained a
provisional judgment from Neufchatel, which adjudged their state to the
Elector until the peace; and in consequence of this, his minister was put
into actual possession, and M. le Prince de Conti saw himself constrained
to return more shamefully than he had returned once before, and was
followed by the other claimants.
Madame de Mailly made such an uproar at the news of this intrusion of the
Elector, that at last the attention of our ministers was awakened. They
found, with her, that it was the duty of the King not to allow this
morsel to be carried off from his subjects; and that there was danger in
leaving it in the hands of such a powerful Protestant prince, capable of
making a fortified place of it so close to the county of Burgundy, and on
a frontier so little protected. Thereupon, the King despatched a courier
to our minister in Switzerland, with orders to go to Neufchatel, and
employ every means, even menaces, to exclude the Elector, and to promise
that the neutrality of France should be maintained if one of her subjects
was selected, no matter which one. It was too late. The affair was
finished; the cantons were engaged, without means of withdrawing. They,
moreover, were piqued into resistance, by an appeal to their honour by
the electoral minister, who insisted on the menaces of Puysieux, our
representative, to whose memoir the ministers of England and Holland
printed a violent reply. The provisional judgment received no
alteration. Shame was felt; and resentment was testified during six
weeks; after which, for lack of being able to do better, this resentment
was appeased of itself. It may be imagined what hope remained to the
claimants of reversing at the peace this provisional judgment, and of
struggling against a prince so powerful and so solidly supported. No
mention of it was afterwards made, and Neufchatel has remained ever since
fully and peaceably to this prince, who was even expressly confirmed in
his possession at the peace by France.
The armies assembled this year towards the end of May, and the campaign
commenced. The Duc de Vendome was in command in Flanders, under the
Elector of Bavaria, and by his slothfulness and inattention, allowed
Marlborough to steal a march upon him, which, but for the failure of some
of the arrangements, might have caused serious loss to our troops. The
enemy was content to keep simply on the defensive after this, having
projects of attack in hand elsewhere to which I shall soon allude.
On the Rhine, the Marechal de Villars was in command, and was opposed by
the Marquis of Bayreuth, and afterwards by the Duke of Hanover, since
King of England. Villars was so far successful, that finding himself
feebly opposed by the Imperials, he penetrated into Germany, after having
made himself master of Heidelberg, Mannheim, and all the Palatinate, and
seized upon a number of cannons, provisions, and munitions of war. He
did not forget to tax the enemy wherever he went. He gathered immense
sums--treasures beyond all his hopes. Thus gorged, he could not hope
that his brigandage would remain unknown. He put on a bold face and
wrote to the King, that the army would cost him nothing this year.
Villars begged at the same time to be allowed to appropriate some of the
money he had acquired to the levelling of a hill on his estate which
displeased him. Another than he would have been dishonoured by such a
request. But it made no difference in his respect, except with the
public, with whom, however, he occupied himself but little. His booty
clutched, he thought of withdrawing from the enemy's country, and passing
the Rhine.
He crossed it tranquilly, with his army and his immense booty, despite
the attempts of the Duke of Hanover to prevent him, and as soon as he was
on this side, had no care but how to terminate the campaign in repose.
Thus finished a campaign tolerably brilliant, if the sordid and
prodigious gain of the general had not soiled it. Yet that general, on
his return, was not less well received by the King.
At sea we had successes. Frobin, with vessels more feeble than the four
English ones of seventy guns, which convoyed a fleet of eighteen ships
loaded with provisions and articles of war, took two of those vessels of
war and the eighteen merchantmen, after four hours' fighting, and set
fire to one of the two others. Three months after he took at the mouth
of the Dwiria seven richly-loaded Dutch merchant-ships, bound for
Muscovy. He took or sunk more than fifty during this campaign.
Afterwards he took three large English ships of war that he led to Brest,
and sank another of a hundred guns. The English of New England and of
New York were not more successful in Acadia; they attacked our colony
twelve days running, without success, and were obliged to retire with
much loss.
The maritime year finished by a terrible tempest upon the coast of
Holland, which caused many vessels to perish in the Texel, and submerged
a large number of districts and villages. France had also its share of
these catastrophes. The Loire overflowed in a manner hitherto unheard
of, broke down the embankments, inundated and covered with sand many
parts of the country, carried away villages, drowned numbers of people
and a quantity of cattle, and caused damage to the amount of above eight
millions. This was another of our obligations to M. de la Feuillade--an
obligation which we have not yet escaped from. Nature, wiser than man,
had placed rocks in the Loire above Roanne, which prevented navigation to
that place, the principal in the duchy of M. de la Feuillade. His
father, tempted by the profit of this navigation, wished to get rid of
the rocks. Orleans, Blois, Tours, in one word, all the places on the
Loire, opposed this. They represented the danger of inundations; they
were listened to, and although the M. de la Feuillade of that day was a
favourite, and on good terms with M. Colbert, he was not allowed to carry
out his wishes with respect to these rocks. His son, the M. de la
Feuillade whom we have seen figuring with so little distinction at the
siege of Turin, had more credit. Without listening to anybody, he blew
up the rocks, and the navigation was rendered free in his favour; the
inundations that they used to prevent have overflowed since at immense
loss to the King and private individuals. The cause was clearly seen
afterwards, but then it was too late.
The little effort made by the enemy in Flanders and Germany, had a cause,
which began to be perceived towards the middle of July. We had been
forced to abandon Italy. By a shameful treaty that was made, all our
troops had retired from that country into Savoy. We had given up
everything. Prince Eugene, who had had the glory of driving us out of
Italy, remained there some time, and then entered the county of Nice.
Forty of the enemy's vessels arrived at Nice shortly afterwards, and
landed artillery. M. de Savoie arrived there also, with six or seven
thousand men. It was now no longer hidden that the siege of Toulon was
determined on. Every preparation was at once made to defend the place.
Tesse was in command. The delay of a day on the part of the enemy saved
Toulon, and it may be said, France. M. de Savoie had been promised money
by the English. They disputed a whole day about the payment, and so
retarded the departure of the fleet from Nice. In the end, seeing M. de
Savoie firm, they paid him a million, which he received himself. But in
the mean time twenty-one of our battalions had had time to arrive at
Toulon. They decided the fortune of the siege. After several
unsuccessful attempts to take the place, the enemy gave up the siege and
retired in the night, between the 22nd and 23rd of August, in good order,
and without being disturbed. Our troops could obtain no sort of
assistance from the people of Provence, so as to harass M. de Savoie in
his passage of the Var. They refused money, militia, and provisions
bluntly, saying that it was no matter to them who came, and that M. de
Savoie could not torment them more than they were tormented already.
The important news of a deliverance so desired arrived at Marly on
Friday, the 26th of August, and overwhelmed all the Court with joy. A
scandalous fuss arose, however, out of this event. The first courier who
brought the intelligence of it, had been despatched by the commander of
the fleet, and had been conducted to the King by Pontchartrain, who had
the affairs of the navy under his control. The courier sent by Tesse,
who commanded the land forces, did not arrive until some hours after the
other. Chamillart, who received this second courier, was piqued to
excess that Pontchartrain had outstripped him with the news. He declared
that the news did not belong to the navy, and consequently Pontchartrain
had no right to carry it to the King. The public, strangely enough,
sided with Chamillart, and on every side Pontchartrain was treated as a
greedy usurper. Nobody had sufficient sense to reflect upon the anger
which a master would feel against a servant who, having the information
by which that master could be relieved from extreme anxiety, should yet
withhold the information for six or eight hours, on the ground that to
tell it was the duty of another servant!
The strangest thing is, that the King, who was the most interested, had
not the force to declare himself on either side, but kept silent. The
torrent was so impetuous that Pontchartrain had only to lower his head,
keep silent, and let the waters pass. Such was the weakness of the King
for his ministers. I recollect that, in 1702, the Duc de Villeroy
brought to Marly the important news of the battle of Luzzara. But,
because Chamillart was not there, he hid himself, left the King and the
Court in the utmost anxiety, and did not announce his news until long
after, when Chamillart, hearing of his arrival, hastened to join him and
present him to the King. The King was so far from being displeased, that
he made the Duc de Villeroy Lieutenant-General before dismissing him.
There is another odd thing that I must relate before quitting this
affair. Tesse, as I have said, was charged with the defence of Toulon by
land. It was a charge of no slight importance. He was in a country
where nothing was prepared, and where everything was wanting; the fleet
of the enemy and their army were near at hand, commanded by two of the
most skilful captains of the day: if they succeeded, the kingdom itself
was in danger, and the road open to the enemy even to Paris. A general
thus situated would have been in no humour for jesting, it might have
been thought. But this was not the case with Tesse. He found time to
write to Pontchartrain all the details of the war and all that passed
amongst our troops in the style of Don Quixote, of whom he called himself
the wretched squire and the Sancho; and everything he wrote he adapted to
the adventures of that romance. Pontchartrain showed me these letters;
they made him die with laughing, he admired them so; and in truth they
were very comical, and he imitated that romance with more wit than I
believed him to possess. It appeared to me incredible, however, that a
man should write thus, at such a critical time, to curry, favour with a
secretary of state. I could not have believed it had I not seen it.
VOLUME 6.
CHAPTER XXXIX
I went this summer to Forges, to try, by means of the waters there, to
get rid of a tertian fever that quinquina only suspended. While there I
heard of a new enterprise on the part of the Princes of the blood, who,
in the discredit in which the King held them, profited without measure by
his desire for the grandeur of the illegitimate children, to acquire new
advantages which were suffered because the others shared them. This was
the case in question.
After the elevation of the mass--at the King's communion--a folding-chair
was pushed to the foot of the altar, was covered with a piece of stuff,
and then with a large cloth, which hung down before and behind. At the
Pater the chaplain rose and whispered in the King's ear the names of all
the Dukes who were in the chapel. The King named two, always the oldest,
to each of whom the chaplain advanced and made a reverence. During the
communion of the priest the King rose, and went and knelt down on the
bare floor behind this folding seat, and took hold of the cloth; at the
same time the two Dukes, the elder on the right, the other on the left,
each took hold of a corner of the cloth; the two chaplains took hold of
the other two corners of the same cloth, on the side of the altar, all
four kneeling, and the captain of the guards also kneeling and behind the
King. The communion received and the oblation taken some moments
afterwards, the King remained a little while in the same place, then
returned to his own, followed by the two Dukes and the captain of the
guards, who took theirs. If a son of France happened to be there alone,
he alone held the right corner of the cloth, and nobody the other; and
when M. le Duc d'Orleans was there, and no son of France was present, M.
le Duc d'Orleans held the cloth in like manner. If a Prince of the blood
were alone present, however, he held the cloth, but a Duke was called
forward to assist him. He was not privileged to act without the Duke.
The Princes of the blood wanted to change this; they were envious of the
distinction accorded to M. d'Orleans, and wished to put themselves on the
same footing. Accordingly, at the Assumption of this year, they managed
so well that M. le Duc served alone at the altar at the King's communion,
no Duke being called upon to come and join him. The surprise at this was
very great. The Duc de la Force and the Marechal de Boufflers, who ought
to have served, were both present. I wrote to this last to say that such
a thing had never happened before, and that it was contrary to all
precedent. I wrote, too, to M. d'Orleans, who was then in Spain,
informing him of the circumstance. When he returned he complained to the
King. But the King merely said that the Dukes ought to have presented
themselves and taken hold of the cloth. But how could they have done so,
without being requested, as was customary, to come forward? What would
the king have thought of them if they had? To conclude, nothing could be
made of the matter, and it remained thus. Never then, since that time,
did I go to the communions of the King.
An incident occurred at Marly about the same time, which made much stir.
The ladies who were invited to Marly had the privilege of dining with the
King. Tables were placed for them, and they took up positions according
to their rank. The non-titled ladies had also their special place. It
so happened one day; that Madame de Torcy (an untitled lady) placed
herself above the Duchesse de Duras, who arrived at table a moment after
her. Madame de Torcy offered to give up her place, but it was a little
late, and the offer passed away in compliments. The King entered, and
put himself at table. As soon as he sat down, he saw the place Madame de
Torcy had taken, and fixed such a serious and surprised look upon her,
that she again offered to give up her place to the Duchesse de Duras; but
the offer was again declined. All through the dinner the King scarcely
ever took his eyes off Madame de Torcy, said hardly a word, and bore a
look of anger that rendered everybody very attentive, and even troubled
the Duchesse de Duras.
Upon rising from the table, the King passed, according to custom, into
the apartments of Madame de Maintenon, followed by the Princesses of the
blood, who grouped themselves around him upon stools; the others who
entered, kept at a distance. Almost before he had seated himself in his
chair, he said to Madame de Maintenon, that he had just been witness of
an act of "incredible insolence" (that was the term he used) which had
thrown him into such a rage that he had been unable to eat: that such an
enterprise would have been insupportable in a woman of the highest
quality; but coming, as it did, from a mere bourgeoise, it had so
affected him, that ten times he had been upon the point of making her
leave the table, and that he was only restrained by consideration for her
husband. After this outbreak he made a long discourse upon the genealogy
of Madame de Torcy's family, and other matters; and then, to the
astonishment of all present, grew as angry as ever against Madame de
Torcy. He went off then into a discourse upon the dignity of the Dukes,
and in conclusion, he charged the Princesses to tell Madame de Torcy to
what extent he had found her conduct impertinent. The Princesses looked
at each other, and not one seemed to like this commission; whereupon the
King, growing more angry, said; that it must be undertaken however, and
left the robes; The news of what had taken place, and of the King's
choler, soon spread all over the Court. It was believed, however, that
all was over, and that no more would be heard of the matter. Yet the
very same evening the King broke out again with even more bitterness than
before. On the morrow, too, surprise was great indeed, when it was found
that the King, immediately after dinner, could talk of nothing but this
subject, and that, too, without any softening of tone. At last he was
assured that Madame de Torcy had been spoken to, and this appeased him a
little. Torcy was obliged to write him a letter, apologising for the
fault of Madame de Torcy; and the King at this grew content. It may be
imagined what a sensation this adventure produced all through the Court.
While upon the subject of the King, let me relate an anecdote of him,
which should have found a place ere this. When M. d'Orleans was about to
start for Spain, he named the officers who were to be of his suite.
Amongst others was Fontpertius. At that name the King put on a serious
look.
"What! my nephew," he said. "Fontpertius! the son of a Jansenist--of
that silly woman who ran everywhere after M. Arnould! I do not wish that
man to go with you."
"By my faith, Sire," replied the Duc d'Orleans, "I know not what the
mother has done; but as for the son, he is far enough from being a
Jansenist, I'll answer for it; for he does not believe in God."
"Is it possible, my nephew?" said the King, softening.
"Nothing more certain, Sire, I assure you."
"Well, since it is so," said the King, "there is no harm: you can take
him with you."
This scene--for it can be called by no other name--took place in the
morning. After dinner M. d'Orleans repeated it to me, bursting with
laughter, word for word, just as I have written it. When we had both
well laughed at this, we admired the profound instruction of a discreet
and religious King, who considered it better not to believe in God than
to be a Jansenist, and who thought there was less danger to his nephew
from the impiety of an unbeliever than from the doctrines of a sectarian.
M. d'Orleans could not contain himself while he told the story, and never
spoke of it without laughing until the tears came into his eyes. It ran
all through the Court and all over the town, and the marvellous thing
was, that the King was not angry at this. It was a testimony of his
attachment to the good doctrine which withdrew him further and further
from Jansenism. The majority of people laughed with all their heart.
Others, more wise, felt rather disposed to weep than to laugh, in
considering to what excess of blindness the King had reached.
For a long time a most important project had knocked at every door,
without being able to obtain a hearing anywhere. The project was this:--
Hough, an English gentleman full of talent and knowledge, and who, above
all, knew profoundly the laws of his country, had filled various posts in
England. As first a minister by profession, and furious against King
James; afterwards a Catholic and King James's spy, he had been delivered
up to King William, who pardoned him. He profited by this only to
continue his services to James. He was taken several times, and always
escaped from the Tower of London and other prisons. Being no longer able
to dwell in England he came to France, where he occupied himself always
with the same line of business, and was paid for that by the King (Louis
XIV.) and by King James, the latter of whom he unceasingly sought to re-
establish. The union of Scotland with England appeared to him a
favourable conjuncture, by the despair of that ancient kingdom at seeing
itself reduced into a province under the yoke of the English. The
Jacobite party remained there; the vexation caused by this forced union
had increased it, by the desire felt to break that union with the aid of
a King that they would have reestablished. Hough, who was aware of the
fermentation going on, made several secret journeys to Scotland, and
planned an invasion of that country; but, as I have said, for a long time
could get no one to listen to him.
The King, indeed, was so tired of such enterprises, that nobody dared to
speak to him upon this. All drew back. No one liked to bell the cat.
At last, however, Madame de Maintenon being gained over, the King was
induced to listen to the project. As soon as his consent was gained to
it, another scheme was added to the first. This was to profit by the
disorder in which the Spanish Low Countries were thrown, and to make them
revolt against the Imperialists at the very moment when the affair of
Scotland would bewilder the allies, and deprive them of all support from
England. Bergheyck, a man well acquainted with the state of those
countries, was consulted, and thought the scheme good. He and the Duc de
Vendome conferred upon it in presence of the King.
After talking over various matters, the discussion fell, upon the Meuse,
and its position with reference to Maastricht. Vendome held that the
Meuse flowed in a certain direction. Bergheyck opposed him. Vendome,
indignant that a civilian should dare to dispute military movements with
him, grew warm. The other remained respectful and cool, but firm.
Vendome laughed at Bergheyck, as at an ignorant fellow who did not know
the position of places. Bergheyck maintained his point. Vendome grew
more and more hot. If he was right, what he proposed was easy enough; if
wrong, it was impossible. It was in vain that Vendome pretended to treat
with disdain his opponent; Bergheyck was not to be put down, and the
King, tired out at last with a discussion upon a simple question of fact,
examined the maps. He found at once that Bergheyck was right. Any other
than the King would have felt by this what manner of man was this general
of his taste, of his heart, and of his confidence; any other than Vendome
would have been confounded; but it was Bergheyck in reality who was so,
to see the army in such hands and the blindness of the King for him! He
was immediately sent into Flanders to work up a revolt, and he did it so
well, that success seemed certain, dependent, of course, upon success in
Scotland.
The preparations for the invasion of that country were at once commenced.
Thirty vessels were armed at Dunkerque and in the neighbouring ports.
The Chevalier de Forbin was chosen to command the squadron. Four
thousand men were brought from Flanders to Dunkerque; and it was given
out that this movement was a mere change of garrison. The secret of the
expedition was well kept; but the misfortune was that things were done
too slowly. The fleet, which depended upon Pontchartrain, was not ready
in time, and that which depended upon Chamillart, was still more
behindhand. The two ministers threw the fault upon each other; but the
truth is, both were to blame. Pontchartrain was more than accused of
delaying matters from unwillingness; the other from powerlessness.
Great care was taken that no movement should be seen at Saint Germain.
The affair, however, began in time to get noised abroad. A prodigious
quantity of arms and clothing for the Scotch had been embarked; the
movements by sea and land became only too visible upon the coast. At
last, on Wednesday, the 6th of March, the King of England set out from
Saint Germain. He was attended by the Duke of Perth, who had been his
sub-preceptor; by the two Hamiltons, by Middleton, and a very few others.
But his departure had been postponed too long. At the moment when all
were ready to start, people learned with surprise that the English fleet
had appeared in sight, and was blockading Dunkerque. Our troops, who
were already on board ship, were at once landed. The King of England
cried out so loudly against this, and proposed so eagerly that an attempt
should be made to pass the enemy at all risks, that a fleet was sent out
to reconnoitre the enemy, and the troops were re-embarked. But then a
fresh mischance happened. The Princess of England had had the measles,
and was barely growing convalescent at the time of the departure of the
King, her brother. She had been prevented from seeing him, lest he
should be attacked by the same complaint. In spite of this precaution,
however, it declared itself upon him at Dunkerque, just as the troops
were re-embarked. He was in despair, and wished to be wrapped up in
blankets and carried on board. The doctors said that it would kill him;
and he was obliged to remain. The worst of it was, that two of five
Scotch deputies who had been hidden at Montrouge near Paris, had been
sent into Scotland a fortnight before, to announce the immediate arrival
of the King with arms and troops. The movement which it was felt this
announcement would create, increased the impatience for departure. At
last, on Saturday, the 19th of March, the King of England, half cured and
very weak, determined to embark in spite of his physicians, and did so.
The enemy's vessels hats retired; so, at six o'clock in the morning, our
ships set sail with a good breeze, and in the midst of a mist, which hid
them from view in about an hour.
Forty-eight hours after the departure of our squadron, twenty-seven
English ships of war appeared before Dunkerque. But our fleet was away.
The very first night it experienced a furious tempest. The ship in which
was the King of England took shelter afterwards behind the works of
Ostend. During the storm, another ship was separated from the squadron,
and was obliged to take refuge on the coast of Picardy. This vessel, a
frigate, was commanded by Rambure, a lieutenant. As, soon as he was able
he sailed after the squadron that he believed already in Scotland. He
directed his course towards Edinburgh, and found no vessel during all the
voyage. As he approached the mouth of the river, he saw around him a
number of barques and small vessels that he could not avoid, and that he
determined in consequence to approach with as good a grace as possible.
The masters of these ships' told him that the King was expected with
impatience, but that they had no news of him, that they had come out to
meet him, and that they would send pilots to Rambure, to conduct him up
the river to Edinburgh, where all was hope and joy. Rambure, equally
surprised that the squadron which bore the King of England had not
appeared, and by the publicity of his forthcoming arrival, went up
towards Edinburgh more and more surrounded by barques, which addressed to
him the same language. A gentleman of the country passed from one of
these barques upon the frigate. He told Rambure that the principal
noblemen of Scotland had resolved to act together, that these noblemen
could count upon more than twenty thousand men ready to take up arms, and
that all the towns awaited only the arrival of the King to proclaim him.
More and more troubled that the squadron did not appear, Rambure, after a
time, turned back and went in search of it. As he approached the mouth
of the river, which he had so lately entered, he heard a great noise of
cannon out at sea, and a short time afterwards he saw many vessels of war
there. Approaching more and more, and quitting the river, he
distinguished our squadron, chased by twenty-six large ships of war and a
number of other vessels, all of which he soon lost sight of, so much was
our squadron in advance. He continued on his course in order to join
them; but he could not do so until all had passed by the mouth of the
river. Then steering clear of the rear-guard of the English ships, he
remarked that the English fleet was hotly chasing the ship of the King of
England, which ran along the coast, however, amid the fire of cannon and
oftentimes of musketry. Rambure tried, for a long time, to profit by the
lightness of his frigate to get ahead; but, always cut off by the enemy's
vessels, and continually in danger of being taken, he returned to
Dunkerque, where he immediately despatched to the Court this sad and
disturbing news. He was followed, five or six days after, by the King of
England, who returned to Dunkerque on the 7th of April, with his vessels
badly knocked about.
It seems that the ship in which was the Prince, after experiencing the
storm I have already alluded to, set sail again with its squadron, but
twice got out of its reckoning within forty-eight hours; a fact not easy
to understand in a voyage from Ostend to Edinburgh. This circumstance
gave time to the English to join them; thereupon the King held a council,
and much time was lost in deliberations. When the squadron drew near the
river, the enemy was so close upon us, that to enter, without fighting
either inside or out, seemed impossible. In this emergency it was
suggested that our ships should go on to Inverness, about eighteen or
twenty leagues further off. But this was objected to by Middleton and
the Chevalier Forbin, who declared that the King of England was expected
only at Edinburgh, and that it was useless to go elsewhere; and
accordingly the project was given up, and the ships returned to France.
This return, however, was not accomplished without some difficulty. The
enemy's fleet attacked the rear guard of ours, and after an obstinate
combat, took two vessels of war and some other vessels. Among the
prisoners made by the English were the Marquis de Levi, Lord Griffin, and
the two sons of Middleton; who all, after suffering some little bad
treatment, were conducted to London.
Lord Griffin was an old Englishman, who deserves a word of special
mention. A firm Protestant, but much attached to the King of England, he
knew nothing of this expedition until after the King's departure. He
went immediately in quest of the Queen. With English freedom he
reproached her for the little confidence she had had in him, in spite of
his services and his constant fidelity, and finished by assuring her that
neither his age nor his religion would hinder him from serving the King
to the last drop of his blood. He spoke so feelingly that the Queen was
ashamed. After this he went to Versailles, asked M. de Toulouse for a
hundred Louis and a horse, and without delay rode off to Dunkerque, where
he embarked with the others. In London he was condemned to death; but
he showed so much firmness and such disdain of death, that his judges
were too much ashamed to avow the execution to be carried out. The Queen
sent him one respite, then another, although he had never asked for
either, and finally he was allowed to remain at liberty in London on
parole. He always received fresh respites, and lived in London as if it
his own country, well received everywhere. Being informed that these
respites would never cease, he lived thus several years, and died very
old, a natural death. The other prisoners were equally well treated. It
was in this expedition that the King of England first assumed the title
of the Chevalier de Saint George, and that his enemies gave him that of
the Pretender; both of which have remained to him. He showed much will
and firmness, which he spoiled by a docility, the result of a bad
education, austere and confined, that devotion, ill understood, together
with the desire of maintaining him in fear and dependence, caused the
Queen (who, with all her sanctity, always wished to dominate) to give
him. He asked to serve in the next campaign in Flanders, and wished to
go there at once, or remain near Dunkerque. Service was promised him,
but he was made to return to Saint Germain. Hough, who had been made a
peer of Ireland before starting, preceded him with the journals of the
voyage, and that of Forbin, to whom the King gave a thousand crowns
pension and ten thousand as a recompense.
The King of England arrived at Saint Germain on Friday, the 20th of
April, and came with the Queen, the following Sunday, to Marly, where our
King was. The two Kings embraced each other several times, in the
presence of the two Courts. But the visit altogether was a sad one. The
Courts, which met in the garden, returned towards the Chateau, exchanging
indifferent words in an indifferent way.
Middleton was strongly suspected of having acquainted the English with
our project. They acted, at all events, as if they had been informed of
everything, and wished to appear to know nothing. They made a semblance
of sending their fleet to escort a convoy to Portugal; they got in
readiness the few troops they had in England and sent them towards
Scotland; and the Queen, under various pretexts, detained in London,
until the affair had failed, the Duke of Hamilton, the most powerful
Scotch lord; and the life and soul of the expedition. When all was over,
she made no arrests, and wisely avoided throwing Scotland into despair.
This conduct much augmented her authority in England, attached all hearts
to her, and took away all desire of stirring again by taking away all
hope of success. Thus failed a project so well and so secretly conducted
until the end, which was pitiable; and with this project failed that of
the Low Countries, which was no longer thought of.
The allies uttered loud cries against this attempt on the part of a power
they believed at its last gasp, and which, while pretending to seek
peace, thought of nothing less than the invasion of Great Britain. The
effect of our failure was to bind closer, and to irritate more and more
this formidable alliance.
CHAPTER XL
Brissac, Major of the Body-guards, died of age and ennui about this time,
more than eighty years old, at his country-house, to which he had not
long retired. The King had made use of him to put the Guards upon that
grand military footing they have reached. He had acquired the confidence
of the King by his inexorable exactitude, his honesty, and his aptitude.
He was a sort of wild boar, who had all the appearance of a bad man,
without being so in reality; but his manners were, it must be admitted,
harsh and disagreeable. The King, speaking one day of the majors of the
troops, said that if they were good, they were sure to be hated.
"If it is necessary to be perfectly hated in order to be a good major,"
replied M. de Duras, who was behind the King with the baton, "behold,
Sire, the best major in France!" and he took Brissac, all confusion, by
the arm. The King laughed, though he would have thought such a sally
very bad in any other; but M. de Duras had put himself on such a free
footing, that he stopped at nothing before the King, and often said the
sharpest things. This major had very robust health, and laughed at the
doctors--very often, even before the King, at Fagon, whom nobody else
would have dared to attack. Fagon replied by disdain, often by anger,
and with all his wit was embarrassed. These short scenes were sometimes
very amusing.
Brissac, a few years before his retirement, served the Court ladies a
nice turn. All through the winter they attended evening prayers on
Thursdays and Sundays, because the King went there; and, under the
pretence of reading their prayer-books, had little tapers before them,
which cast a light on their faces, and enabled the King to recognise them
as he passed. On the evenings when they knew he would not go, scarcely
one of them went. One evening, when the King was expected, all the
ladies had arrived, and were in their places, and the guards were at
their doors. Suddenly, Brissac appeared in the King's place, lifted his
baton, and cried aloud, "Guards of the King, withdraw, return to your
quarters; the King is not coming this evening." The guards withdrew; but
after they had proceeded a short distance, were stopped by brigadiers
posted for the purpose, and told to return in a few minutes. What
Brissac had said was a joke. The ladies at once began to murmur one to
another. In a moment or two all the candles were put out, and the
ladies, with but few exceptions, left the chapel. Soon after the King
arrived, and, much astonished to see so few ladies present, asked how it
was that nobody was there. At the conclusion of the prayers Brissac
related what he had done, not without dwelling on the piety of the Court
ladies. The King and all who accompanied him laughed heartily. The
story soon spread, and these ladies would have strangled Brissac if they
had been able.
The Duchesse de Bourgogne being in the family way this spring, was much
inconvenienced. The King wished to go to Fontainebleau at the
commencement of the fine season, contrary to his usual custom; and had
declared this wish. In the mean time he desired to pay visits to Marly.
Madame de Bourgogne much amused him; he could not do without her, yet so
much movement was not suitable to her state. Madame de Maintenon was
uneasy, and Fagon gently intimated his opinion. This annoyed the King,
accustomed to restrain himself for nothing, and spoiled by having seen
his mistresses travel when big with child, or when just recovering from
their confinement, and always in full dress. The hints against going to
Marly bothered him, but did not make him give them up. All he would
consent to was, that the journey should put off from the day after
Quasimodo to the Wednesday of the following week; but nothing could make
him delay his amusement, beyond that time, or induce him to allow the
Princess to remain at Versailles.
[Illustration: The King's Walk At Versailles--Painted by J. L. Jerome--484]
On the following Saturday, as the King was taking a walk after mass, and
amusing himself at the carp basin between the Chateau and the
Perspective, we saw the Duchesse de Lude coming towards him on foot and
all alone, which, as no lady was with the King, was a rarity in the
morning. We understood that she had something important to say to him,
and when he was a short distance from her, we stopped so as to allow him
to join her alone. The interview was not long. She went away again, and
the King came back towards us and near the carps without saying a word.
Each saw clearly what was in the wind, and nobody was eager to speak. At
last the King, when quite close to the basin, looked at the principal
people around, and without addressing anybody, said, with an air of
vexation, these few words:
"The Duchesse de Bourgogne is hurt."
M. de la Rochefoucauld at once uttered an exclamation. M. de Bouillon,
the Duc de Tresmes, and Marechal de Boufflers repeated in a, low tone the
words I have named; and M. de la Rochefoucauld returning to the charge,
declared emphatically that it was the greatest misfortune in the world,
and that as she had already wounded herself on other occasions, she might
never, perhaps, have any more children.
"And if so," interrupted the King all on a sudden, with anger, "what is
that to me? Has she not already a son; and if he should die, is not the
Duc de Berry old enough to marry and have one? What matters it to the
who succeeds me,--the one or the other? Are the not all equally my
grandchildren?" And immediately, with impetuosity he added, "Thank God,
she is wounded, since she was to be so; and I shall no longer be annoyed
in my journeys and in everything I wish to do, by the representations of
doctors, and the reasonings of matrons. I shall go and come at my
pleasure, and shall be left in peace."
A silence so deep that an ant might be heard to walk, succeeded this
strange outburst. All eyes were lowered; no one hardly dared to breathe.
All remained stupefied. Even the domestics and the gardeners stood
motionless.
This silence lasted more than a quarter of an hour. The King broke it as
he leaned upon a balustrade to speak of a carp. Nobody replied. He
addressed himself afterwards on the subject of these carps to domestics,
who did not ordinarily join in the conversation. Nothing but carps was
spoken of with them. All was languishing, and the King went away some
time after. As soon as we dared look at each other--out of his sight,
our eyes met and told all. Everybody there was for the moment the
confidant of his neighbour. We admired--we marvelled--we grieved, we
shrugged our shoulders. However distant may be that scene, it is always
equally present to me. M. de la Rochefoucauld was in a fury, and this
time without being wrong. The chief ecuyer was ready to faint with
affright; I myself examined everybody with my eyes and ears, and was
satisfied with myself for having long since thought that the King loved
and cared for himself alone, and was himself his only object in life.
This strange discourse sounded far and wide-much beyond Marly.
Let me here relate another anecdote of the King--a trifle I was witness
of. It was on the 7th of May, of this year, and at Marly. The King
walking round the gardens, showing them to Bergheyck, and talking with
him upon the approaching campaign in Flanders, stopped before one of the
pavilions. It was that occupied by Desmarets, who had recently succeeded
Chamillart in the direction of the finances, and who was at work within
with Samuel Bernard, the famous banker, the richest man in Europe, and
whose money dealings were the largest. The King observed to Desmarets
that he was very glad to see him with M. Bernard; then immediately said
to this latter:
"You are just the man never to have seen Marly--come and see it now; I
will give you up afterwards to Desmarets."
Bernard followed, and while the walk lasted the King spoke only to
Bergheyck and to Bernard, leading them everywhere, and showing them
everything with the grace he so well knew how to employ when he desired
to overwhelm. I admired, and I was not the only one, this species of
prostitution of the King, so niggard of his words, to a man of Bernard's
degree. I was not long in learning the cause of it, and I admired to see
how low the greatest kings sometimes find themselves reduced.
Our finances just then were exhausted. Desmarets no longer knew of what
wood to make a crutch. He had been to Paris knocking at every door. But
the most exact engagements had been so often broken that he found nothing
but excuses and closed doors. Bernard, like the rest, would advance
nothing. Much was due to him. In vain Desmarets represented to him the
pressing necessity for money, and the enormous gains he had made out of
the King. Bernard remained unshakeable. The King and the minister were
cruelly embarrassed. Desmarets said to the King that, after all was said
and done, only Samuel Bernard could draw them out of the mess, because it
was not doubtful that he had plenty of money everywhere; that the only
thing needed was to vanquish his determination and the obstinacy--even
insolence--he had shown; that he was a man crazy with vanity, and capable
of opening his purse if the King deigned to flatter him.
It was agreed, therefore, that Desmarets should invite Bernard to dinner
--should walk with him--and that the King should come and disturb them as
I have related. Bernard was the dupe of this scheme; he returned from
his walk with the King enchanted to such an extent that he said he would
prefer ruining himself rather than leave in embarrassment a Prince who
had just treated him so graciously, and whose eulogiums he uttered with
enthusiasm! Desmarets profited by this trick immediately, and drew much
more from it than he had proposed to himself..
The Prince de Leon had an adventure just about this time, which made much
noise. He was a great, ugly, idle, mischievous fellow, son of the Duc de
Rohan, who had given him the title I have just named. He had served in
one campaign very indolently, and then quitted the army, under pretence
of ill-health, to serve no more. Glib in speech, and with the manners of
the great world, he was full of caprices and fancies; although a great
gambler and spendthrift, he was miserly, and cared only for himself. He
had been enamoured of Florence, an actress, whom M. d'Orleans had for a
long time kept, and by whom he had children, one of whom is now
Archbishop of Cambrai. M. de Leon also had several children by this
creature, and spent large sums upon her. When he went in place of his
father to open the States of Brittany, she accompanied him in a coach and
six horses, with a ridiculous scandal. His father was in agony lest he
should marry her. He offered to insure her five thousand francs a-year
pension, and to take care of their children, if M. de Leon would quit
her. But M. de Leon would not hear of this, and his father accordingly
complained to the King. The King summoned M. de Leon into his cabinet;
but the young man pleaded his cause so well there, that he gained pity
rather than condemnation. Nevertheless, La Florence was carried away
from a pretty little house at the Ternes, near Paris, where M. de Leon
kept her, and was put in a convent. M. de Leon became furious; for some
time he would neither see nor speak of his father or mother, and repulsed
all idea of marriage.
At last, however, no longer hoping to see his actress, he not only
consented, but wished to marry. His parents were delighted at this, and
at once looked about for a wife for him. Their choice, fell upon the
eldest daughter of the Duc de Roquelaure, who, although humpbacked and
extremely ugly, she was to be very rich some day, and was, in fact, a
very good match. The affair had been arranged and concluded up to a
certain point, when all was broken off, in consequence of the haughty
obstinacy with which the Duchesse de Roquelaure demanded a larger sum
with M. de Leon than M. de Rohan chose to give.
The young couple were in despair: M. de Leon, lest his father should
always act in this way, as an excuse for giving him nothing; the young
lady, because she, feared she should rot in a convent, through the
avarice of her mother, and never marry. She was more than twenty-four
years, of age; he was more than eight-and-twenty. She was in the convent
of the Daughters of the Cross in the Faubourg Saint Antoine.
As soon as M. de Leon learnt that the marriage was broken off, he
hastened to the convent; and told all to Mademoiselle de Roquelaure;
played the passionate, the despairing; said that if they waited for their
parents' consent they would never marry; and that she would rot in her
convent. He proposed, therefore, that, in spite of their parents, they
should marry and be their own guardians. She agreed to this project; and
he went away in order to execute it.
One of the most intimate friends of Madame de Roquelaure was Madame de la
Vieuville, and she was the only person (excepting Madame de Roquelaure
herself) to whom the Superior of the convent had permission to confide
Mademoiselle de Roquelaure. Madame de la Vieuville often came to see
Mademoiselle de Roquelaure to take her out, and sometimes sent for her.
M. de Leon was made acquainted with this, and took his measures
accordingly. He procured a coach of the same size, shape, and fittings
as that of Madame de la Vieuville, with her arms upon it, and with three
servants in her livery; he counterfeited a letter in her handwriting and
with her seal, and sent this coach with a lackey well instructed to carry
the letter to the convent, on Tuesday morning, the 29th of May, at the
hour Madame de la Vieuville was accustomed to send for her.
Mademoiselle de Roquelaure, who had been let into the scheme, carried the
letter to the Superior of the convent, and said Madame de la Vieuville
had sent for her. Had the Superior any message to send?
The Superior, accustomed to these invitations; did not even look at the
letter, but gave her consent at once. Mademoiselle de Roquelaure,
accompanied solely by her governess, left the convent immediately, and
entered the coach, which drove off directly. At the first turning it
stopped, and the Prince de Leon, who had been in waiting, jumped-in. The
governess at this began to cry out with all her might; but at the very
first sound M. de Leon thrust a handkerchief into her mouth and stifled
the noise. The coachman meanwhile lashed his horses, and the vehicle
went off at full speed to Bruyeres near Menilmontant, the country-house
of the Duc de Lorges, my brother-in-law, and friend of the Prince de
Leon, and who, with the Comte de Rieux, awaited the runaway pair.
An interdicted and wandering priest was in waiting, and as soon as they
arrived married them. My brother-in-law then led these nice young people
into a fine chamber, where they were undressed, put to bed, and left
alone for two or three hours. A good meal was then given to them, after
which the bride was put into the coach, with her attendant, who was in
despair, and driven back to the convent.
Mademoiselle de Roquelaure at once went deliberately to the Superior,
told her all that happened, and then calmly went into her chamber, and
wrote a fine letter to her mother, giving her an account of her marriage,
and asking for pardon; the Superior of the convent, the attendants, and
all the household being, meanwhile, in the utmost emotion at what had
occurred.
The rage of the Duchesse de Roquelaure at this incident may be imagined.
In her first unreasoning fury, she went to Madame de la Vieuville, who,
all in ignorance of what had happened, was utterly at a loss to
understand her stormy and insulting reproaches. At last Madame de
Roquelaure saw that her friend was innocent of all connection with the
matter; and turned the current of her wrath upon M. de Leon, against whom
she felt the more indignant, inasmuch as he had treated her with much
respect and attention since the rupture, and had thus, to some extent,
gained her heart. Against her daughter she was also indignant, not only
for what she had done, but because she had exhibited much gaiety and
freedom of spirit at the marriage repast, and had diverted the company by
some songs.
The Duc and Duchesse de Rohan were on their side equally furious,
although less to be pitied, and made a strange uproar. Their son,
troubled to know how to extricate himself from this affair, had recourse
to his aunt, Soubise, so as to assure himself of the King. She sent him
to Pontchartrain to see the chancellor. M. de Leon saw him the day after
this fine marriage, at five o'clock in the morning, as he was dressing.
The chancellor advised him to do all he could to gain the pardon of his
father and of Madame de Roquelaure. But he had scarcely begun to speak,
when Madame de Roquelaure sent word to say, that she was close at hand,
and wished the chancellor to come and see her. He did so, and she
immediately poured out all her griefs to him, saying that she came not to
ask, his advice, but to state her complaint as to a friend (they were
very intimate), and as to the chief officer of justice to demand justice
of him. When he attempted to put in a word on behalf of M. de Leon, her
fury burst out anew; she would not listen to his words, but drove off to
Marly, where she had an interview with Madame de Maintenon, and by her
was presented to the King.
As soon as she was in his presence, she fell down on her knees before
him, and demanded justice in its fullest extent against M. de Leon. The
King raised her with the gallantry of a prince to whom she had not been
indifferent, and sought to console her; but as she still insisted upon
justice, he asked her if she knew fully what she asked for, which was
nothing less than the head of M. de Leon. She redoubled her entreaties
notwithstanding this information, so that the King at last promised her
that she should have complete justice. With that, and many compliments,
he quitted her, and passed into his own rooms with a very serious air,
and without stopping for anybody.
The news of this interview, and of what had taken place, soon spread
through the chamber. Scarcely had people begun to pity Madame de
Roquelaure, than some, by aversion for the grand imperial airs of this
poor mother,--the majority, seized by mirth at the idea of a creature,
well known to be very ugly and humpbacked, being carried off by such an
ugly gallant,--burst out laughing, even to tears, and with an uproar
completely scandalous. Madame de Maintenon abandoned herself to mirth,
like the rest, and corrected the others at last, by saying it was not
very charitable, in a tone that could impose upon no one.
Madame de Saint-Simon and I were at Paris. We knew with all Paris of
this affair, but were ignorant of the place of the marriage and the part
M. de Lorges had had in it, when the third day after the adventure I was
startled out of my sleep at five o'clock in the morning, and saw my
curtains and my windows open at the same time, and Madame de Saint-Simon
and her brother (M. de Lorges) before me. They related to me all that
had occurred, and then went away to consult with a skilful person what
course to adopt, leaving me to dress. I never saw a man so crestfallen
as M. de Lorges. He had confessed what he had done to a clever lawyer,
who had much frightened him. After quitting him, he had hastened to us
to make us go and see Pontchartrain. The most serious things are
sometimes accompanied with the most ridiculous. M. de Lorges upon
arriving knocked at the door of a little room which preceded the chamber
of Madame de Saint-Simon. My daughter was rather unwell. Madame de
Saint-Simon thought she was worse, and supposing it was I who had
knocked, ran and opened the door. At the sight of her brother she ran
back to her bed, to which he followed her, in order to relate his
disaster. She rang for the windows to be opened, in order that she might
see better. It so happened that she had taken the evening before a new
servant, a country girl of sixteen, who slept in the little room. M. de
Lorges, in a hurry to be off, told this girl to make haste in opening the
windows, and then to go away and close the door. At this, the simple
girl, all amazed, took her robe and her cotillon, and went upstairs to an
old chambermaid, awoke her, and with much hesitation told her what had
just happened, and that she had left by the bedside of Madame de Saint
Simon a fine gentleman, very young, all powdered, curled, and decorated,
who had driven her very quickly out of the chamber. She was all of a
tremble, and much astonished. She soon learnt who he was. The story was
told to us, and in spite of our disquietude, much diverted us.
We hurried away to the chancellor, and he advised the priest, the
witnesses to the signatures of the marriage, and, in fact, all concerned,
to keep out of the way, except M. de Lorges, who he assured us had
nothing to fear. We went afterwards to Chamillart, whom we found much
displeased, but in little alarm. The King had ordered an account to be
drawn up of the whole affair. Nevertheless, in spite of the uproar made
on all sides, people began to see that the King would not abandon to
public dishonour the daughter of Madame de Roquelaure, nor doom to the
scaffold or to civil death in foreign countries the nephew of Madame de
Soubise.
Friends of M. and Madame de Roquelaure tried to arrange matters. They
represented that it would be better to accept the marriage as it was than
to expose a daughter to cruel dishonour. Strange enough, the Duc and
Duchesse de Rohan were the most stormy. They wished to drive a very hard
bargain in the matter, and made proposals so out of the way, that nothing
could have been arranged but for the King. He did what he had never done
before in all his life; he entered into all the details; he begged, then
commanded as master; he had separate interviews with the parties
concerned; and finally appointed the Duc d'Aumont and the chancellor to
draw up the conditions of the marriage.
As Madame de Rohan, even after this, still refused to give her consent,
the King sent for her, and said that if she and her husband did not at
once give in, he would make the marriage valid by his own sovereign
authority. Finally, after so much noise, anguish, and trouble, the
contract was signed by the two families, assembled at the house of the
Duchesse de Roquelaure. The banns were published, and the marriage took
place at the church of the Convent of the Cross, where Mademoiselle de
Roquelaure had been confined since her beautiful marriage, guarded night
and day by five or six nuns. She entered the church by one door, Prince
de Leon by another; not a compliment or a word passed between them; the
curate said mass; married them; they mounted a coach, and drove off to
the house of a friend some leagues from Paris. They paid for their folly
by a cruel indigence which lasted all their lives, neither of them having
survived the Duc de Rohan, Monsieur de Roquelaure, or Madame de
Roquelaure. They left several children.
CHAPTER XLI
The war this year proceeded much as before. M. d'Orleans went to Spain
again. Before taking the field he stopped at Madrid to arrange matters.
There he found nothing prepared, and every thing in disorder. He was
compelled to work day after day, for many hours, in order to obtain the
most necessary supplies. This is what accounted for a delay which was
maliciously interpreted at Paris into love for the Queen. M. le Duc was
angry at the idleness in which he was kept; even Madame la Duchesse, who
hated him, because she had formerly loved him too well, industriously
circulated this report, which was believed at Court, in the city, even in
foreign countries, everywhere, save in Spain, where the truth was too
well known. It was while he was thus engaged that he gave utterance to a
pleasantry that made Madame de Maintenon and Madame des Ursins his two
most bitter enemies for ever afterwards.
One evening he was at table with several French and Spanish gentlemen,
all occupied with his vexation against Madame des Ursins, who governed
everything, and who had not thought of even the smallest thing for the
campaign. The supper and the wine somewhat affected M. d'Orleans. Still
full of his vexation, he took a glass, and, looking at the company, made
an allusion in a toast to the two women, one the captain, the other the
lieutenant, who governed France and Spain, and that in so coarse and yet
humorous a manner, that it struck at once the imagination of the guests.
No comment was made, but everybody burst out laughing, sense of drollery
overcoming prudence, for it was well known that the she-captain was
Madame de Maintenon, and the she-lieutenant Madame des Ursins. The
health was drunk, although the words were not repeated, and the scandal
was strange.
Half an hour at most after this, Madame des Ursins was informed of what
had taken place. She knew well who were meant by the toast, and was
transported with rage. She at once wrote an account of the circumstance
to Madame de Maintenon, who, for her part, was quite as furious. 'Inde
ira'. They never pardoned M. d'Orleans, and we shall see how very nearly
they succeeded in compassing his death. Until then, Madame de Maintenon
had neither liked nor disliked M. d'Orleans. Madame des Ursins had
omitted nothing in order to please him. From that moment they swore the
ruin of this prince. All the rest of the King's life M. d'Orleans did
not fail to find that Madame de Maintenon was an implacable and cruel
enemy. The sad state to which she succeeded in reducing him influenced
him during all the rest of his life. As for Madame des Ursins, he soon
found a change in her manner. She endeavoured that everything should
fail that passed through his hands. There are some wounds that can never
be healed; and it must be admitted that the Duke's toast inflicted one
especially of that sort. He felt this; did not attempt any
reconciliation; and followed his usual course. I know not if he ever,
repented of what he had said, whatever cause he may have had, so droll
did it seem to him, but he has many times spoken of it since to me,
laughing with all his might. I saw all the sad results which might arise
from his speech, and nevertheless, while reproaching M. d'Orleans, I
could not help laughing myself, so well, so simply; and so wittily
expressed was his ridicule of the government on this and the other side
of the Pyrenees.
At last, M. le Duc d'Orleans found means to enter upon his campaign, but
was so ill-provided, that he never was supplied with more than a
fortnight's subsistence in advance. He obtained several small successes;
but these were more than swallowed up by a fatal loss in another
direction. The island of Sardinia, which was then under the Spanish
Crown, was lost through the misconduct of the viceroy, the Duke of
Veragua, and taken possession of by the troops of the Archduke. In the
month of October, the island of Minorca also fell into the hands of the
Archduke. Port Mahon made but little resistance; so that with this
conquest and Gibraltar, the English found themselves able to rule in the
Mediterranean, to winter entire fleets there, and to blockade all the
ports of Spain upon that sea. Leaving Spain in this situation, let us
turn to Flanders.
Early in July, we took Ghent and Bruges by surprise, and the news of
these successes was received with the most unbridled joy at
Fontainebleau. It appeared easy to profit by these two conquests,
obtained without difficulty, by passing the Escaut, burning Oudenarde,
closing the country to the enemies, and cutting them off from all
supplies. Ours were very abundant, and came by water, with a camp that
could not be attacked. M. de Vendome agreed to all this; and alleged
nothing against it. There was only one difficulty in the way; his
idleness and unwillingness to move from quarters where he was
comfortable. He wished to enjoy those quarters as long as possible, and
maintained, therefore, that these movements would be just as good if
delayed. Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne maintained on the contrary,
with all the army--even the favourites of M. de Vendome--that it would be
better to execute the operation at once, that there was no reason for
delay, and that delay might prove disastrous. He argued in vain.
Vendome disliked fatigue and change of quarters. They interfered with
the daily life he was accustomed to lead, and which I have elsewhere
described. He would not move.
Marlborough clearly seeing that M. de Vendome did not at once take
advantage of his position, determined to put it out of his power to do
so. To reach Oudenarde, Marlborough had a journey to make of twenty-five
leagues. Vendome was so placed that he could have gained it in six
leagues at the most. Marlborough put himself in motion with so much
diligence that he stole three forced marches before Vendome had the
slightest suspicion or information of them. The news reached him in
time, but he treated it with contempt according to his custom, assuring
himself that he should outstrip the enemy by setting out the next
morning. Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne pressed him to start that
evening; such as dared represented to him the necessity and the
importance of doing so. All was vain--in spite of repeated information
of the enemy's march. The neglect was such that bridges had not been
thought of for a little brook at the head of the camp, which it was
necessary to cross.
On the next day, Wednesday, the 11th of July, a party of our troops,
under the command of Biron, which had been sent on in advance to the
Escaut, discovered, after passing it as they could, for the bridges were
not yet made, all the army of the enemy bending round towards them, the
rear of their columns touching at Oudenarde, where they also had crossed.
Biron at once despatched a messenger to the Princes and to M. de Vendome
to inform them of this, and to ask for orders. Vendome, annoyed by
information so different to what he expected, maintained that it could
not be true. As he was disputing, an officer arrived from Biron to
confirm the news; but this only irritated Vendome anew, and made him more
obstinate. A third messenger arrived, and then M. de Vendome, still
affecting disbelief of the news sent him, flew in a passion, but
nevertheless mounted his horse, saying that all this was the work of the
devil, and that such diligence was impossible. He sent orders to Biron
to attack the enemy, promising to support him immediately. He told the
Princes, at the same time, to gently follow with the whole of the army,
while he placed himself at the head of his columns, and pushed on briskly
to Biron.
Biron meanwhile placed his troops as well as he could, on ground very
unequal and much cut up. He wished to execute the order he had received,
less from any hopes of success in a combat so vastly disproportioned than
to secure himself from the blame of a general so ready to censure those
who did not follow his instructions. But he was advised so strongly not
to take so hazardous a step, that he refrained. Marechal Matignon, who
arrived soon after, indeed specially prohibited him from acting.
While this was passing, Biron heard sharp firing on his left, beyond the
village. He hastened there, and found an encounter of infantry going on.
He sustained it as well as he could, whilst the enemy were gaining ground
on the left, and, the ground being difficult (there was a ravine there),
the enemy were kept at bay until M. de Vendome came up. The troops he
brought were all out of breath. As soon as they arrived, they threw
themselves amidst the hedges, nearly all in columns, and sustained thus
the attacks of the enemies, and an engagement which every moment grew
hotter, without having the means to arranging themselves in any order.
The columns that arrived from time to time to the relief of these were as
out of breath as the others; and were at once sharply charged by the
enemies; who, being extended in lines and in order, knew well how to
profit by our disorder. The confusion was very great: the new-comers had
no time to rally; there was a long interval between the platoons engaged
and those meant to sustain them; the cavalry and the household troops
were mixed up pell-mell with the infantry, which increased the disorder
to such a point that our troops no longer recognised each other. This
enabled the enemy to fill up the ravine with fascines sufficient to
enable them to pass it, and allowed the rear of their army to make a
grand tour by our right to gain the head of the ravine, and take us in
flank there.
Towards this same right were the Princes, who for some time had been
looking from a mill at so strange a combat, so disadvantageously
commenced. As soon as our troops saw pouring down upon them others much
more numerous, they gave way towards their left with so much promptitude
that the attendants of the Princes became mixed up with their masters,--
and all were hurried away towards the thick of the fight, with a rapidity
and confusion that were indecent. The Princes showed themselves
everywhere, and in places the most exposed, displaying much valour and
coolness, encouraging the men, praising the officers, asking the
principal officers what was to be done, and telling M. de Vendome what
they thought.
The inequality of the ground that the enemies found in advancing, after
having driven in our right, enabled our them to rally and to resist. But
this resistance was of short duration. Every one had been engaged in
hand-to-hand combats; every one was worn out with lassitude and despair
of success, and a confusion so general and so unheard-of. The household
troops owed their escape to the mistake of one of the enemy's officers,
who carried an order to the red coats, thinking them his own men. He was
taken, and seeing that he was about to share the peril with our troops,
warned them that they were going to be surrounded. They retired in some
disorder, and so avoided this.
The disorder increased, however, every moment. Nobody recognised his
troop. All were pell-mell, cavalry, infantry, dragoons; not a battalion,
not a squadron together, and all in confusion, one upon the other.
Night came. We had lost much ground, one-half of the army had not
finished arriving. In this sad situation the Princes consulted with M.
de Vendome as to what was to be done. He, furious at being so terribly
out of his reckoning, affronted everybody. Monseigneur le Duc de
Bourgogne wished to speak; but Vendome intoxicated with choler and
authority; closed his mouth, by saying to him in an imperious voice
before everybody, "That he came to the army only on condition of obeying
him." These enormous words, pronounced at a moment in which everybody
felt so terribly the weight of the obedience rendered to his idleness and
obstinacy, made everybody tremble with indignation. The young Prince to
whom they were addressed, hesitated, mastered himself, and kept silence.
Vendome went on declaring that the battle was not lost--that it could be
recommenced the next morning, when the rest of the army had arrived, and
so on. No one of consequence cared to reply.
From every side soon came information, however, that the disorder was
extreme. Pursegur, Matignon, Sousternon, Cheladet, Purguyon, all brought
the same news. Vendome, seeing that it was useless to resist, all this
testimony, and beside himself with rage, cried, "Oh, very well,
gentlemen! I see clearly what you wish. We must retire, then;" and
looking at Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne, he added, "I know you have
long wished to do so, Monseigneur."
These words, which could not fail to be taken in a double sense, were
pronounced exactly as I relate them, and were emphasized in a manner to
leave no doubt as to their signification. Monseigneur le Duc de
Bourgogne remained silent as before, and for some time the silence was
unbroken. At last, Pursegur interrupted it, by asking how the retreat
was to be executed. Each, then, spoke confusedly. Vendome, in his turn,
kept silence from vexation or embarrassment; then he said they must march
to Ghent, without adding how, or anything else.
The day had been very fatiguing; the retreat was long and perilous. The
Princes mounted their horses, and took the road to Ghent. Vendome set
out without giving any orders, or seeing to anything. The general
officers returned to their posts, and of themselves gave the order to
retreat. Yet so great was the confusion, that the Chevalier Rosel,
lieutenant-general, at the head of a hundred squadrons, received no
orders. In the morning he found himself with his hundred squadrons,
which had been utterly forgotten. He at once commenced his march; but to
retreat in full daylight was very difficult, as he soon found. He had to
sustain the attacks of the enemy during several hours of his march.
Elsewhere, also, the difficulty of retreating was great. Fighting went
on at various points all night, and the enemy were on the alert. Some of
the troops of our right, while debating as to the means of retreat, found
they were about to be surrounded by the enemy. The Vidame of Amiens saw
that not a moment was to be lost. He cried to the light horse, of which
he was captain, "Follow me," and pierced his way through a line of the
enemy's cavalry. He then found himself in front of a line of infantry,
which fired upon him, but opened to give him passage. At the same
moment, the household troops and others, profiting by a movement so bold,
followed the Vidame and his men, and all escaped together to Ghent, led
on by the Vidame, to whose sense and courage the safety of these troops
was owing.
M. de Vendome arrived at Ghent, between seven and eight o'clock in the
morning. Even at this moment he did not forget his disgusting habits,
and as soon as he set foot to ground.... in sight of all the troops as
they came by,--then at once went to bed, without giving any orders, or
seeing to anything, and remained more than thirty hours without rising,
in order to repose himself after his fatigues. He learnt that
Monseigneur de Bourgogne and the army had pushed on to Lawendeghem; but
he paid no attention to it, and continued to sup and to sleep at Ghent
several days running, without attending to anything.
CHAPTER XLII
As soon as Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne arrived at Lawendeghem, he
wrote a short letter to the King, and referred him for details to M. de
Vendome. But at the same time he wrote to the Duchess, very clearly
expressing to her where the fault lay. M. de Vendome, on his side, wrote
to the King, and tried to persuade him that the battle had not been
disadvantageous to us. A short time afterwards, he wrote again, telling
the King that he could have beaten the enemies had he been sustained; and
that, if, contrary to his advice, retreat had not been determined on, he
would certainly have beaten them the next day. For the details he
referred to Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne.
I had always feared that some ill-fortune would fall to the lot of
Monseigneur, le Duc de Bourgogne if he served under M. de Vendome at the
army. When I first learned that he was going to Flanders with M. de
Vendome, I expressed my apprehensions to M. de Beauvilliers, who treated
them as unreasonable and ridiculous. He soon had good cause to admit
that I had not spoken without justice. Our disasters at Oudenarde were
very great. We had many men and officers killed and wounded, four
thousand men and seven hundred officers taken prisoners, and a prodigious
quantity missing and dispersed. All these losses were, as I have shown,
entirely due to the laziness and inattention of M. de Vendome. Yet the
friends of that general--and he had many at the Court and in the army--
actually had the audacity to lay the blame upon Monseigneur le Duc de
Bourgogne. This was what I had foreseen, viz., M. de Vendome, in case
any misfortune occurred, would be sure to throw the burden of it upon
Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne.
Alberoni, who, as I have said, was one of M. de Vendome's creatures,
published a deceitful and impudent letter, in which he endeavoured to
prove that M. de Vendome had acted throughout like a good general, but
that he had been thwarted by Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne. This
letter was distributed everywhere, and well served the purpose for which
it was intended. Another writer, Campistron---a poor, starving poet,
ready to do anything to live--went further. He wrote a letter, in which
Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne was personally attacked in the tenderest
points, and in which Marechal Matignon was said to merit a court-martial
for having counselled retreat. This letter, like the other, although
circulated with more precaution, was shown even in the cafes and in the
theatres; in the public places of gambling and debauchery; on the
promenades, and amongst the news-vendors. Copies of it were even shown
in the provinces, and in foreign countries; but always with much
circumspection. Another letter soon afterwards appeared, apologising for
M. de Vendome. This was written by Comte d'Evreux, and was of much the
same tone as the two others.
A powerful cabal was in fact got up against Monseigneur de Bourgogne.
Vaudeville, verses, atrocious songs against him, ran all over Paris and
the provinces with a licence and a rapidity that no one checked; while at
the Court, the libertines and the fashionables applauded; so that in six
days it was thought disgraceful to speak with any measure of this Prince,
even in his father's house.
Madame de Bourgogne could not witness all this uproar against her
husband, without feeling sensibly affected by it. She had been made
acquainted by Monseigneur de Bourgogne with the true state of the case.
She saw her own happiness and reputation at stake. Though very gentle,
and still more timid, the grandeur of the occasion raised her above
herself. She was cruelly wounded by the insults of Vendome to her
husband, and by all the atrocities and falsehoods his emissaries
published. She gained Madame de Maintenon, and the first result of this
step was, that the King censured Chamillart for not speaking of the
letters in circulation, and ordered him to write to Alberoni and D'Evreux
(Campistron, strangely enough, was forgotten), commanding them to keep
silence for the future.
The cabal was amazed to see Madame de Maintenon on the side of Madame de
Bourgogne, while M. du Maine (who was generally in accord with Madame de
Maintenon) was for M. de Vendome. They concluded that the King had been
led away, but that if they held firm, his partiality for M. de Vendome,
for M. du Maine, and for bastardy in general, would bring him round to
them. In point of fact, the King was led now one way, and now another,
with a leaning always towards M. de Vendome.
Soon after this, Chamillart, who was completely of the party of M. de
Vendome, thought fit to write a letter to Monseigneur le Duc de
Bourgogne, in which he counselled him to live on good terms with his
general. Madame de Bourgogne never forgave Chamillart this letter, and
was always annoyed with her husband that he acted upon it. His religious
sentiments induced him to do so. Vendome so profited by the advances
made to him by the young Prince, that he audaciously brought Alberoni
with him when he visited Monseigneur de Bourgogne. This weakness of
Monseigneur de Bourgogne lost him many friends, and made his enemies more
bold than ever: Madame de Bourgogne, however, did not despair. She wrote
to her husband that for M. de Vendome she had more aversion and contempt
than for any one else in the world, and that nothing would make her
forget what he had done. We shall see with what courage she knew how to
keep her word.
While the discussions upon the battle of Oudenarde were yet proceeding,
a league was formed with France against the Emperor by all the states of
Italy. The King (Louis XIV.) accepted, however, too late, a project he
himself ought to have proposed and executed. He lost perhaps the most
precious opportunity he had had during all his reign. The step he at
last took was so apparent that it alarmed the allies, and put them on
their guard. Except Flanders, they did nothing in any other spot, and
turned all their attention to Italy.
Let us return, however, to Flanders.
Prince Eugene, with a large booty gathered in Artois and elsewhere, had
fixed himself at Brussels. He wished to bear off his spoils, which
required more than five thousand waggons to carry it, and which consisted
in great part of provisions, worth three million five hundred thousand
francs, and set out with them to join the army of the Duke of
Marlborough. Our troops could not, of course, be in ignorance of this.
M. de Vendome wished to attack the convoy with half his troops. The
project seemed good, and, in case of success, would have brought results
equally honourable and useful. Monseigneur de Bourgogne, however,
opposed the attack, I know not why; and M. de Vendome, so obstinate until
then, gave in to him in this case. His object was to ruin the Prince
utterly, for allowing such a good chance to escape, the blame resting
entirely upon him. Obstinacy and audacity had served M. de Vendome at
Oudenarde: he expected no less a success now from his deference.
Some anxiety was felt just about this time for Lille, which it was feared
the enemy would lay siege to. Boufflers went to command there, at his
own request, end found the place very ill-garrisoned with raw troops,
many of whom had never smelt powder. M. de Vendome, however, laughed at
the idea of the siege of Lille, as something mad and ridiculous.
Nevertheless, the town was invested on the 12th of August, as the King
duly learned on the 14th. Even then, flattery did its work. The friends
of Vendome declared that such an enterprise was the best, thing that
could happen to France, as the besiegers, inferior in numbers to our
army, were sure to be miserably beaten. M. de Vendome, in the mean time,
did not budge from the post he had taken up near Ghent. The King wrote
to him to go with his army to the relief of Lille. M. de Vendome still
delayed; another courier was sent, with the same result. At this, the
King, losing temper, despatched another courier, with orders to
Monseigneur de Bourgogne, to lead the army to Lille, if M. de Vendome
refused to do so. At this, M. de Vendome awoke from his lethargy. He
set out for Lille, but took the longest road, and dawdled as long as he
could on the way, stopping five days at Mons Puenelle, amongst other
places.
The agitation, meanwhile, in Paris, was extreme. The King demanded news
of the siege from his courtiers, and could not understand why no couriers
arrived. It was generally expected that some decisive battle had been
fought. Each day increased the uneasiness. The Princes and the
principal noblemen of the Court were at the army. Every one at
Versailles feared for the safety of a relative or friend. Prayers were
offered everywhere. Madame de Bourgogne passed whole nights in the
chapel, when people thought her in bed, and drove her women to despair.
Following her example, ladies who had husbands at the army stirred not
from the churches. Gaming, conversation ceased. Fear was painted upon
every face, and seen in every speech, without shame. If a horse passed a
little quickly, everybody ran without knowing where. The apartments of
Chamillart were crowded with lackeys, even into the street, sent by
people desiring to be informed of the moment that a courier arrived; and
this terror and uncertainty lasted nearly a month. The provinces were
even more troubled than Paris. The King wrote to the Bishop, in order
that they should offer up prayers in terms which suited with the danger
of the time. It may be judged what was the general impression and alarm.
It is true, that in the midst of this trepidation, the partisans of M. de
Vendome affected to pity that poor Prince Eugene, and to declare that he
must inevitably fail in his undertaking; but these discourses did not
impose upon me. I knew what kind of enemies we had to deal with, and I
foresaw the worst results from the idleness and inattention of M. de
Vendome. One evening, in the presence of Chamillart and five or six
others, annoyed by the conversation which passed, I offered to bet four
pistoles that there would be no general battle, and that Lille would be
taken without being relieved. This strange proposition excited much
surprise, and caused many questions to be addressed to me. I would
explain nothing at all; but sustained my proposal in the English manner,
and my bet was taken; Cani, who accepted it, thanking me for the present
of four pistoles I was making him, as he said. The stakes were placed in
the hand of Chamillart.