who was destined to become one of the most remarkable figures of the
eighteenth century--Maurice, "Count of Saxony," celebrated in later
years as Maréchal de Saxe. A natural son of Augustus II., Elector of
Saxony and King of Poland, and Aurora von Königsmark, sister of the
ill-fated lover of George I.'s uncrowned queen, the future victor of
Fontenoy was still at this date only a high-born military adventurer in
search of some promising field for the exercise of his talents. From his
boyhood Maurice had been a soldier. When only twelve years of age, under
the direction of the Count von Schulenburg, one of the ablest generals
of the time, he had been present at the sieges of Tournay and Mons and
the battle of Malplaquet, carrying a musket, like an ordinary
_sous-officier_, in a regiment despatched by Augustus II. to the
assistance of the Emperor. Returning to the camp of the allies in 1710,
he assisted at the sieges of Douai and Béthune, where he displayed such
reckless courage as to call forth from Prince Eugène the admonition not
to confound rashness with bravery. Two years later, he accompanied his
royal father to the siege of Stralsund, and again exhibited the same
impetuosity in an attempt to cut his way through the enemy and engage
Charles XII. in single combat. Delighted by his courage, Augustus
promoted him colonel the following year, and, at the age of seventeen,
gave him the command of a regiment of cuirassiers. The Countess von
Königsmark, on her side, worked to assure her son's fortunes by a
wealthy marriage, and succeeded in securing for him the hand of the
Countess von Löben, the richest heiress in Saxony. This lady's fortune
he quickly dissipated, and other and graver causes of complaint against
him not being wanting, in 1721 the marriage was annulled. In the
meanwhile, Maurice had made a campaign, under Eugène, against the Turks,
and had also contrived to irritate his father by breaches of military
discipline and other irregularities. In consequence, Augustus II., whose
resentment against the young man was artfully fanned by his chief
Minister, Count Flemming, who had conceived a strong antipathy to
Maurice, advised him to leave Germany and take service with France, and
he accordingly set out for Paris. Here he was well received by the
Regent, who appointed him _maréchal de camp_, his father soon afterwards
purchasing for him the command of the Regiment of Greder, one of the
foreign corps in the French Service.
From the moment of his arrival in Paris, Maurice de Saxe claimed a large
share of the attention of both Court and town. Tall and superbly built,
with "circular black eyebrows, eyes glittering bright, partly with
animal vivacity, partly with spiritual," a high complexion, and a frank,
open countenance, he was one of the handsomest men of his time. His
physical strength was extraordinary; no amount of exertion seemed able
to fatigue him; in war and in the chase he was capable of performing
prodigies of endurance; he could break between his fingers crown-pieces
and horseshoes. He was seen everywhere. On the parade ground, he brought
his regiment to the highest pitch of perfection, invented new formations
and tactics, and quickly made himself respected by his superior officers
and adored by the soldiers. In the fashionable world, he was equally
successful; no _roué_ of the Regent's circle could surpass him in
extravagance, folly, and debauchery; while, despite his brusque manners,
which procured him the sobriquet of _sanglier_ (wild boar), he was a
welcome guest in many a salon. Soldier, sportsman, athlete, gambler,
drinker, and lover, he was all things to all men--and all women.
A great patron of the Comédie-Française, it was inevitable that Maurice
de Saxe and Adrienne Lecouvreur should meet, and no less inevitable that
the count should pay the actress assiduous court, for if Maurice
resembled his father, the "Saxon Man of Sin," in appearance, vivacity,
and physical strength, he did so even more closely in his vices. All
poor Adrienne's wise resolutions failed her in the presence of this
young hero, "to whom," says Des Boulmiers, "hearts offered no more
resistance than towns." "From the day that she knew him, she was
charmed, subjugated, ravished; it seemed to her that she only then began
to live. She surrendered herself as she had never surrendered herself
before."[78]
It is not difficult to understand the attraction which Adrienne
possessed for Maurice de Saxe, and which kept him, though very far from
faithful, at least attached to her for nearly ten years. Her beauty and
grace flattered his senses, while her moral qualities appealed to the
better side of his nature, to that instinct of heroism and idealism
which lay at the root of his character, and which, though often obscured
in the midst of his debaucheries, was never wholly extinguished. Less
easy is it to comprehend the absolute devotion which Adrienne cherished
for him; a devotion which remained proof against absence, infidelity,
ill-humour, and indifference, and which endured till the last hour of
her life.
We are inclined, however, to think with M. Paléologue--whose study of
the actress from the psychological point of view is as admirable as M.
Larroumet's from the dramatic--that apart from "that species of
fascination and magnetism which the libertine, when he is not of vulgar
race, exercises over the feminine mind," Adrienne had very early
discovered the really great qualities of Maurice, and that the prospect
of developing them, and of generally exercising a beneficent influence
over such a man, was a temptation which an imagination so generous as
hers found it impossible to resist.
The results of this influence are well summarised by Lemontey in the
_éloge_ of the actress which he read at a _séance_ of the Academy in
1823:--
"She was then thirty, an age favourable to experience and passion, which
renders a woman as skilful to please as prompt to love. As in the time
of chivalry, her cares, her tenderness, her wise counsels, initiated her
friend into the amiable accomplishments, the benevolent virtues, the
polished manners which, in the sequel, made him as much a Frenchman as
his victories. Under her sweet tuition, the Achilles of Homer became
the Achilles of Racine. She adorned his mind without enervating it, and
modified what seemed extraordinary and singular in the turn of his
ideas. She taught him our language, our literature, and inspired him
with the taste for poetry, for music, for all the arts, and with that
passion for the theatre which followed him even into the camp. One might
say of the victor of Fontenoy and his beautiful preceptress that he
learned from her everything save war, which he knew better than any one,
and orthography, which he never knew at all."[79]
For four years--that is to say, from 1721 to 1725--the _liaison_ between
Adrienne and Maurice de Saxe continued without any particular incident;
Maurice pursuing his military studies, making journeys to Dresden and
Warsaw to visit his father, on whose behalf he seems to have acted as a
sort of unofficial ambassador in France, and indulging in a good many
_passades_; Adrienne, though she must have very speedily awakened to the
fact that what was the all-absorbing interest in her life was but a mere
episode in her hero's, loving him none the less devotedly, and deriving
consolation from the thought that, if others disputed with her the
possession of his heart, she alone possessed his confidence. Then came a
long separation. The Duchy of Courland, which for nearly two centuries
had been under the protection of Poland, fell vacant through the death
of Duke Ferdinand, who ruled in the name of his niece, Anne Ivanovna,
afterwards Czarina of Russia, a childless widow. Several candidates for
the ducal crown presented themselves, and the unprepossessing duchess
found herself beset with suitors, eager to strengthen their claims by
securing her hand. Augustus II., however, decided to put forward his
son, and Anne, having been approached on the matter, expressed herself
favourably disposed towards a marriage with the young man.
The prospect of conquering a kingdom for himself with his sword, as,
even should the Diet elect him and Anne accept him as her husband, his
rivals were not likely to abandon their claims without a struggle,
appealed strongly to the adventurous Maurice, and he set out for
Courland. Everything augured well for his success, when, one day in May
1726, he received, to his astonishment and disgust, orders from his
father to renounce his candidature. Diplomatic complications obliged
Augustus to discourage his son's ambition.
Maurice ignored the paternal commands, and some days later found him at
Mitau, paying court to the duchess. But, at the same time, in order to
leave nothing to chance, he carried on, through the medium of the Saxon
ambassador at St. Petersburg, a second matrimonial negotiation, without
prejudice to the first, with the Grand Duchess Elizabeth Petrovna, to
wit. The ambassador sent to Dresden for a portrait of the count, and
showed it to the princess, who was so charmed with the counterfeit
presentment that she straightway declared her willingness to espouse the
original. Both Anne and Elizabeth, it is hardly necessary to observe,
were in blissful ignorance of the double game played by Maurice, who
pursued his negotiations with much address, wooing the one lady in
person and the other by proxy. Once more matters looked hopeful for the
young adventurer, save that now that his father had abandoned him he was
in sore straits for money. His mother sent him all she could, but the
sums he received from her were very far from being sufficient for his
needs, and he accordingly appealed to the generosity of his friends in
France. Adrienne was the first to respond. Though, of course, well aware
that, in the event of Maurice's success, she would lose him for ever,
the devoted woman never hesitated a moment, but sold or pledged her
jewellery and plate, and sent the proceeds--some 40,000 livres[80]--to
her lover.
Her generosity, however, was of no avail. In spite of his courage and
energy, and the assistance of his friends in France, Maurice failed. On
June 28, 1726, he was elected Duke of Courland; "but the problem was to
fall in love with the Dowager Anne Ivanovna, a big, brazen Russian
woman--(such a cheek the pictures give her, in size and somewhat in
expression like a Westphalia ham)--and this, with all his adventurous
audacity, Count Maurice could not do."[81] The result was that, after
maintaining his authority for about a year and performing prodigies of
reckless valour, the new duke, attacked by Russia, proscribed by Poland,
abandoned by his partisans, disavowed by his father, renounced by Anne
("who had discovered that he did not like Westphalia hams in that
particular form, that he only pretended to like them"), and by the Grand
Duchess, who had fathomed his little scheme, was compelled to surrender
his dukedom and shake the dust of Courland off his feet.
That during this long separation Maurice remained faithful to his absent
mistress is very improbable. From the diplomatic correspondence of the
time, it would appear that the handsome adventurer had aroused among
the fair sex of Saxony, Poland, and Courland a veritable enthusiasm. All
the great ladies of Dresden, Warsaw, Mitau, and Riga had espoused his
cause, and compelled their husbands to do likewise. "Count Poicey (Grand
Marshal of Lithuania)," wrote one of the ministers of Augustus II., "has
gone into this affair, like Adam into sin, seduced by his wife." When
the Diet of Mitau elected Maurice duke, the delight of his fair
partisans knew no bounds. "The women cannot sleep for joy," wrote the
Saxon ambassador at St. Petersburg. "As many thousand crowns as our hero
has just made Actaeons would be very welcome to me."
Nevertheless, in spite of his military and political occupations and his
presumed _bonnes fortunes_, Maurice found time to think of Adrienne, to
write to her "twice a week regularly," and to "testify towards her more
affection and confidence than ever." Adrienne, in her turn, passes on
the news to one of her friends in an interesting letter, in which she
shows herself thoroughly conversant with the somewhat complicated state
of affairs in Poland. She deplores the "disgraceful weakness" of
Augustus II., who "allowed himself to be governed by the most cruel
enemy of his glory (his Minister Flemming), and the most bitter enemy of
the son of whom he was unworthy"; severely censures the conduct of the
English Government, "which had promised assistance which it had now no
intention of rendering," and declares that she was "dying of fear" and
"tormented to an extent which she could not describe."
On October 23, 1728, Maurice returned to Paris, and the lovers were
united once more. "A person expected for a very long time arrives this
evening," writes Adrienne to a friend, "apparently in moderately good
health. A courier has come on in advance, because the berlin in which
they were travelling broke down thirty leagues from here. They have
started in a post-chaise, and this evening they will be here." The
_liaison_ was resumed, but it seems to have been troubled by frequent
storms. Maurice returned a disappointed man; the future seemed dark, his
star was temporarily hidden; a life of inaction, always trying to one of
his restless, ambitious temperament, was well-nigh intolerable after the
adventurous years he had spent in Courland. He sought relief in
pleasure--the chase, high play, and gallantry; wearied of that, and
endeavoured to kill time by the study of mathematics and the art of war
and the composition of his curious _Rêveries_. Wearied of that also,
turned to Adrienne for consolation, and vented his ill-humour upon her.
Claiming the utmost liberty for himself, he was, nevertheless,
indisposed to concede even a small measure of it to his mistress. He
grew jealous and suspicious of her friends, and even believed, or
professed to believe, that her relations with one of them were exceeding
the limits of friendship; for we find Adrienne writing to a confidant as
follows:--
* * * * *
"I am worn out with anger and grief; I have been dissolved in tears this
livelong night. Perhaps it is unreasonable of me, since I have nothing
wherewith to reproach myself; but I cannot endure severity so little
deserved. They suspect me; they do more, they accuse me; they do worse
still, they wish to convict me, and that without giving me an
opportunity of defending myself, in such a way that, if chance does not
enable me to ascertain what is happening, I shall be covered with the
most horrible calumny possible to conceive, by a man who has borne the
name of my friend for ten years. They do not wish me to tell you this. I
esteem and love tenderly him who forbids me, but I know not how to keep
it to myself; I am too affected, too wounded, and too alarmed for the
future not to reveal it, at any rate, to you. I need advice. A man
capable of this calumny may very well imagine others; and that which
distresses me the more is the necessity for dissimulation. To exclaim
against deceit is natural, and I would prefer to pardon it rather than
to be compelled to restrain both my grief and my feelings. I have been
told that it is his way of thinking, that he does not intend to do me
any wrong in confounding me with the generality of women. I cannot
entertain this idea. That is not the language he has held to me for ten
years, and ought not to be the reward of my attention to please him and
to make him esteem me, at least, according to my deserts. What can one
do to me, after all, save wound me in the place where I am the most
sensitive? I could destroy in an instant the error in question; but how
am I to console myself for the intention of this calumny? This is not a
chance suspicion; it is a confidence made to a man who has no feeling
for me, save friendship, but whose friendship is worth more than all the
passions in the world, whose esteem is more precious to me than life,
and whose companionship is more necessary for me than all the fortunes
in the universe. It is before him that I am made to appear false and
contemptible. Whatever he says, they attest my supposed crime. _O mon
Dieu!_ What are we to do?"
* * * * *
Seventeen months after Maurice's return to France Adrienne died, under
peculiarly dramatic circumstances; popular rumour ascribing her death to
poison administered by the agents of the Duchesse de Bouillon,[82] a
pretender to the heart of the Saxon hero, who was already under
suspicion of having made an attempt upon her rival's life. To arrive at
a satisfactory conclusion in regard to this very mysterious affair, it
would be necessary to have before us the _dossier_ containing the report
of the autopsy and other important documents of which Sainte-Beuve
speaks in his well-known study of the actress. This _dossier_ has,
however, disappeared, and it is uncertain if it is still in existence;
the probability is that it has been destroyed. Sainte-Beuve's conclusion
was that the Duchesse de Bouillon was guiltless, not only of Adrienne's
death, which he ascribes to natural causes, but of any attempt on her
life. The former opinion was, no doubt, justified by the evidence which
the lost _dossier_ contained. But the latter, which seems to have been
based on an altogether misplaced belief in the veracity of a certain
Abbé Aunillon--who was on terms of the closest intimacy with the accused
duchess, and invented a most ingenious defence on behalf of his friend,
which we need not enter into here--the great critic would probably have
seen cause to alter had he been acquainted with the documents which
have been brought to light of recent years by M. Ravaisson, M.
Campardon, and M. Monval.
Let us, however, borrow the account of the affair given a few days after
Adrienne's death, by Mlle. Aïssé in a letter to Madame Calandrini, and
which, she declares, had been furnished her by "a friend of the
Lecouvreur," probably d'Argental, to whom she was related:--
* * * * *
"Madame de Bouillon is capricious, violent, head-strong, and much
addicted to gallantry. Her tastes extend from the prince to the
actor.[83] She conceived a fancy for the Comte de Saxe, who had none for
her. Not that he piques himself on his fidelity to the Lecouvreur; for,
together with his passion for her, he has a thousand little passing
tastes. But he was neither flattered nor anxious to reply to the
impulsiveness of Madame de Bouillon, who was enraged at seeing her
charms despised, and who had no doubt that the Lecouvreur was the
obstacle that stood in the way of the passion that the Count would
otherwise naturally entertain for her.[84] To destroy this obstacle, she
resolved to get rid of the actress, and, in order to put this horrible
design into execution, chose a young abbé,[85] with whom she was not
personally acquainted, to be the instrument of her vengeance. He was
approached by two men at the Tuileries, who proposed to him, after a
rather lengthy conversation regarding his poverty, to free himself from
his distress by obtaining admission, under favour of his skill in
painting, into Lecouvreur's house, and persuading her to eat some
lozenges, which would be given him. The poor abbé objected strongly, on
account of the heinousness of the crime; but the two men replied that it
no longer depended upon him to refuse, since he would do so on peril of
his life. The abbé, terrified, promised everything; and was conducted to
Madame de Bouillon, who confirmed the promises and threats, and handed
him the lozenges. The abbé begged that a few days might be allowed him
for the execution of these projects; and Mlle. Lecouvreur received one
day, on returning home with one of her friends and an actress named
Lamothe, an anonymous letter, in which she was implored to come
immediately, either alone or with some one on whom she could depend, to
the garden of the Luxembourg, where, at the fifth tree in one of the
main avenues, she would find a man who had something of the last
importance to communicate to her. As it was then precisely the hour
appointed for the rendezvous, she re-entered her coach and set out
thither, accompanied by the two persons who were with her. She found the
abbé, who accosted her and related to her the odious commission with
which he had been entrusted, declaring that he was incapable of
committing such a crime; but that he was at a loss what to do, inasmuch
as he was sure to be assassinated.
"The Lecouvreur told him that, for the safety of both, the whole affair
must be denounced to the Lieutenant of Police. The abbé replied that he
feared that, if he were to do this, he might make himself enemies too
powerful for him to resist; but that, if she believed this precaution
necessary for her safety, he would not hesitate to maintain what he had
told her. The Lecouvreur took him in her coach to M. Hérault (the
Lieutenant of Police), who, on the facts being laid before him, asked
the abbé for the lozenges and threw them to a dog, who died a quarter of
an hour afterwards. He next inquired of him which of the two
Bouillons[86] had given him this commission, and, when the abbé replied
that it was the duchess, showed no surprise. M. Hérault continued to
question him, and asked if he would venture to support this accusation
publicly; to which the abbé replied that he could put him in prison and
afterwards confront him with Madame de Bouillon.
"The Lieutenant of Police sent him away, and informed the cardinal (de
Fleury) of this adventure. The cardinal was very indignant, and desired
in the first instance that the affair should be most strictly
investigated. But the relatives and friends of the Bouillon family
persuaded the cardinal not to give publicity to so scandalous an affair,
and succeeded in appeasing him. Some months later, no one knows how, the
adventure was made public and caused a terrible commotion. Madame de
Bouillon's brother-in-law spoke of it to his brother, and told him that
it was absolutely imperative that his wife should clear herself from
such a suspicion, and that he ought to ask for a _lettre de cachet_ to
shut the abbé up. There was no difficulty in obtaining this _lettre de
cachet_, and the poor wretch was arrested and taken to the Bastille. He
was examined, and maintained with firmness all that he had said. Many
promises and threats were used to induce him to retract. All kinds of
expedients were suggested to him, as, for instance, madness or a passion
for the Lecouvreur, which had prompted him to invent this fable, in
order to please her. Nothing, however, could move him; he never varied
in his answers, and was kept in prison.
"The Lecouvreur wrote to the abbé's father, who lived in the country and
was unaware of his son's misfortune. The poor man came at once to Paris,
and demanded that his son should either be formally brought to trial or
set at liberty. He addressed himself to the cardinal, who inquired of
Madame de Bouillon whether she wished the affair to be tried, as
otherwise the abbé could not be kept in prison. Madame de Bouillon,
dreading publicity and unable to get the abbé assassinated in the
Bastille, consented to his liberation. During the two months that the
father remained in Paris nothing happened to the son. But when the
father had returned to the country, the abbé, having had the imprudence
to stay in Paris, suddenly disappeared. No one knows whether he is dead
or not, but nothing is heard of him."[87]
* * * * *
Incredible as this story may appear, it, nevertheless, accords in all
important details with the documents which M. Monval has extracted from
the Archives of the Bastille, preserved in the Bibliothèque de
l'Arsenal. The interview at the Tuileries, the conversation with the
Duchesse de Bouillon, the suspicious lozenges--all that is true. The
Abbé Bouret, imprisoned at Saint-Lazare, confirmed it in a series of
examinations to which he was subjected.[88]
Bouret had been arrested on July 29, 1729, and he was kept in prison for
three months. During his confinement Adrienne wrote to him, entreating
him to withdraw his charge against the Duchesse de Bouillon, if it were
untrue, and promising, in that event, to obtain his pardon. She also
sent him money, clothes, and books, and did all she could to lighten his
imprisonment.
Thanks to the efforts of his father, who, though ill, had hastened to
Paris so soon as he was informed of his son's arrest, Bouret was
released on October 23, when Adrienne advised him to leave Paris at
once, pointing out that the affair had now become common knowledge, and
that, if he lingered, the Bouillon family would certainly cause him to
be rearrested.
Well would it have been for Bouret had he followed the actress's advice;
but, unfortunately, his father's illness took so serious a turn that it
was impossible for him to undertake the journey to Lorraine, and the
abbé remained to nurse him. Meanwhile, the scandal had assumed such
dimensions that the Duc de Bouillon obtained a new _lettre de cachet_,
by virtue of which, on January 23, 1730, Bouret was again arrested and
conveyed first to For l'Évêque and afterwards back to Saint-Lazare, on a
charge of "poisoning or giving false information to the celebrated
actress Lecouvreur."