Assembly of all the Chambers. Myself and the other Dukes seated
ourselves in court to hear the proceedings. The trial commenced.
All the facts and particulars of the cause were brought forward.
Our advocates spoke, and then few doubted but that we should gain the
victory. M. de Luxembourg’s advocate, Dumont, was next heard. He was
very audacious, and spoke so insolently of us, saying, in Scripture
phraseology, that we honoured the King with our lips, whilst our hearts
were far from him, that I could not contain myself. I was seated between
the Duc de la Rochefoucauld and the Duc d’Estrees. I stood up, crying
out against the imposture of this knave, and calling for justice on him.
M. de la Rochefoucauld pulled me back, made me keep silent, and I plunged
down into my seat more from anger against him than against the advocate.
My movement excited a murmur. We might on the instant have had justice
against Dumont, but the opportunity had passed for us to ask for it, and
the President de Maisons made a slight excuse for him. We complained,
however, afterwards to the King, who expressed his surprise that Dumont
had not been stopped in the midst of his speech.
The summing up was made by D’Aguesseau, who acquitted himself of the task
with much eloquence and impartiality. His speech lasted two days. This
being over, the court was cleared, and the judges were left alone to
deliberate upon their verdict. Some time after we were called in to hear
that verdict given. It was in favour of M. de Luxembourg in so far as
the title dating from 1662 was concerned; but the consideration of his
claim to the title of 1581 was adjourned indefinitely, so that he
remained exactly in the same position as his father.
It was with difficulty we could believe in a decree so unjust and so
novel, and which decided a question that was not under dispute. I was
outraged, but I endeavoured to contain myself. I spoke to M. de la
Rochefoucauld; I tried to make him listen to me, and to agree that we
should complain to the King, but I spoke to a man furious, incapable of
understanding anything or of doing anything. Returning to my own house,
I wrote a letter to the King, in which I complained of the opinion of the
judges. I also pointed out, that when everybody had been ordered to
retire from the council chamber, Harlay and his secretary had been
allowed to remain. On these and other grounds I begged the King to grant
a new trial.
I carried this letter to the Duc de la Tremoille, but I could not get him
to look at it. I returned home more vexed if possible than when I left.
The King, nevertheless, was exceedingly dissatisfied with the judgment.
He explained himself to that effect at his dinner, and in a manner but
little advantageous to the Parliament, and prepared himself to receive
the complaints he expected would be laid before him. But the obstinacy
of M. de la Rochefoucauld, which turned into vexation against himself,
rendered it impossible for us to take any steps in the matter, and so
overwhelmed me with displeasure, that I retired to La Trappe during
Passion Week in order to recover myself.
At my return I learned that the King had spoken of this judgment to the
Chief President, and that that magistrate had blamed it, saying the cause
was indubitably ours, and that he had always thought so! If he thought
so, why oppose us so long? and if he did not think so, what a
prevaricator was he to reply with this flattery, so as to be in accord
with the King? The judges themselves were ashamed of their verdict, and
excused themselves for it on the ground of their compassion for the state
in which M. de Luxembourg would have been placed had he lost the title of
1662, and upon its being impossible that he should gain the one of 1581,
of which they had left him the chimera. M. de Luxembourg was accordingly
received at the Parliament on the 4th of the following May, with the rank
of 1662. He came and visited all of us, but we would have no intercourse
with him or with his judges. To the Advocate-General, D’Aguesseau, we
carried our thanks.
CHAPTER VII
Thus ended this long and important case; and now let me go back again to
the events of the previous year.
Towards the end of the summer and the commencement of the winter of 1695,
negotiations for peace were set on foot by the King. Harlay, son-in-law
of our enemy, was sent to Maestricht to sound the Dutch. But in
proportion as they saw peace desired were they less inclined to listen to
terms. They had even the impudence to insinuate to Harlay, whose
paleness and thinness were extraordinary, that they took him for a sample
of the reduced state of France! He, without getting angry, replied
pleasantly, that if they would give him the time to send for his wife,
they would, perhaps, conceive another opinion of the position of the
realm. In effect, she was extremely fat, and of a very high colour. He
was rather roughly dismissed, and hastened to regain our frontier.
Two events followed each other very closely this winter. The first was
the death of the Princess of Orange, in London, at the end of January.
The King of England prayed our King to allow the Court to wear no
mourning, and it was even prohibited to M. de Bouillon and M. de Duras,
who were both related to the Prince of Orange. The order was obeyed, and
no word was said; but this sort of vengeance was thought petty. Hopes
were held out of a change in England, but they vanished immediately, and
the Prince of Orange appeared more accredited there and stronger than
ever. The Princess was much regretted, and the Prince of Orange, who
loved her and gave her his entire confidence, and even most marked
respect, was for some days ill with grief.
The other event was strange. The Duke of Hanover, who, in consequence of
the Revolution, was destined to the throne of England after the Prince
and Princess of Orange and the Princess of Denmark, had married his
cousin-german, a daughter of the Duke of Zell. She was beautiful, and he
lived happily with her for some time. The Count of Koenigsmarck, young
and very well made, came to the Court, and gave him some umbrage. The
Duke of Hanover became jealous; he watched his wife and the Count, and at
length believed himself fully assured of what he would have wished to
remain ignorant of all his life. Fury seized him: he had the Count
arrested and thrown into a hot oven. Immediately afterwards he sent his
wife to her father, who shut her up in one of his castles, where she was
strictly guarded by the people of the Duke of Hanover. An assembly of
the Consistory was held in order to break off his marriage. It was
decided, very singularly, that the marriage was annulled so far as the
Duke was concerned, and that he could marry another woman; but that it
remained binding on the Duchess, and that she could not marry. The
children she had had during her marriage were declared legitimate. The
Duke of Hanover did not remain persuaded as to this last article.
The King, entirely occupied with the aggrandisement of his natural
children, had heaped upon the Comte de Toulouse every possible favour.
He now (in order to evade a promise he had made to his brother, that the
first vacant government should be given to the Duc de Chartres) forced M.
de Chaulnes to give up the government of Brittany, which he had long
held, and conferred it upon the Comte de Toulouse, giving to the friend
and heir of the former the successorship to the government of Guyenne, by
way of recompense.
M. de Chaulnes was old and fat, but much loved by the people of Brittany.
He was overwhelmed by this determination of the King, and his wife, who
had long been accustomed to play the little Queen, still more so; yet
there was nothing for them but to obey. They did obey, but it was with a
sorrow and chagrin they could not hide.
The appointment was announced one morning at the rising of the King.
Monsieur, who awoke later, heard of it at the drawing of his curtains,
and was extremely piqued. The Comte de Toulouse came shortly afterwards,
and announced it himself. Monsieur interrupted him, and before everybody
assembled there said, “The King has given you a good present; but I know
not if what he has done is good policy.” Monsieur went shortly
afterwards to the King, and reproached him for giving, under cover of a
trick, the government of Brittany to the Comte de Toulouse, having
promised it to the Duc de Chartres. The King heard him in silence: he
knew well how to appease him. Some money for play and to embellish Saint
Cloud, soon effaced Monsieur’s chagrin.
All this winter my mother was solely occupied in finding a good match for
me. Some attempt was made to marry me to Mademoiselle de Royan. It
would have been a noble and rich marriage; but I was alone, Mademoiselle
de Royan was an orphan, and I wished a father-in-law and a family upon
whom I could lean. During the preceding year there had been some talk of
the eldest daughter of Marechal de Lorges for me. The affair had fallen
through, almost as soon as suggested, and now, on both sides, there was a
desire to recommence negotiations. The probity, integrity, the freedom
of Marechal de Lorges pleased me infinitely, and everything tended to
give me an extreme desire for this marriage. Madame de Lorges by her
virtue and good sense was all I could wish for as the mother of my future
wife. Mademoiselle de Lorges was a blonde, with a complexion and figure
perfect, a very amiable face, an extremely noble and modest deportment,
and with I know not what of majesty derived from her air of virtue, and
of natural gentleness. The Marechal had five other daughters, but I
liked this one best without comparison, and hoped to find with her that
happiness which she since has given me. As she has become my wife, I
will abstain here from saying more about her, unless it be that she has
exceeded all that was promised of her, and all that I myself had hoped.
My marriage being agreed upon and arranged the Marechal de Lorges spoke
of it to the King, who had the goodness to reply to him that he could not
do better, and to speak of me very obligingly. The marriage accordingly
took place at the Hotel de Lorges, on the 8th of April, 1695, which I
have always regarded, and with good reason, as the happiest day of my
life. My mother treated me like the best mother in the world. On the
Thursday before Quasimodo the contract was signed; a grand repast
followed; at midnight the cure of Saint Roch said mass, and married us in
the chapel of the house. On the eve, my mother had sent forty thousand
livres’ worth of precious stones to Mademoiselle de Lorges, and I six
hundred Louis in a corbeille filled with all the knick-knacks that are
given on these occasions.
We slept in the grand apartment of the Hotel des Lorges. On the morrow,
after dinner, my wife went to bed, and received a crowd of visitors, who
came to pay their respects and to gratify their curiosity. The next
evening we went to Versailles, and were received by Madame de Maintenon
and the King. On arriving at the supper-table, the King said to the new
Duchess:--“Madame, will you be pleased to seat yourself?”
His napkin being unfolded, he saw all the duchesses and princesses still
standing; and rising in his chair, he said to Madame de Saint-Simon--
“Madame, I have already begged you to be seated;” and all immediately
seated themselves. On the morrow, Madame de Saint-Simon received all the
Court in her bed in the apartment of the Duchesse d’Arpajon, as being
more handy, being on the ground floor. Our festivities finished by a
supper that I gave to the former friends of my father, whose acquaintance
I had always cultivated with great care.
Almost immediately after my marriage the second daughter of the Marechal
de Lorges followed in the footsteps of her sister. She was fifteen years
of age, and at the reception of Madame de Saint-Simon had attracted the
admiration of M. de Lauzun, who was then sixty-three. Since his return
to the Court he had been reinstated in the dignity he had previously
held. He flattered himself that by marrying the daughter of a General he
should re-open a path to himself for command in the army. Full of this
idea he spoke to M. de Lorges, who was by no means inclined towards the
marriage. M. de Lauzun offered, however, to marry without dowry; and M.
de Lorges, moved by this consideration, assented to his wish. The affair
concluded, M. de Lorges spoke of it to the King. “You are bold,” said
his Majesty, “to take Lauzun into your family. I hope you may not repent
of it.”
The contract was soon after signed. M. de Lorges gave no dowry with his
daughter, but she was to inherit something upon the death of M. Fremont.
We carried this contract to the King, who smiled and bantered M. de
Lauzun. M. de Lauzun replied, that he was only too happy, since it was
the first time since his return that he had seen the King smile at him.
The marriage took place without delay: there were only seven or eight
persons present at the ceremony. M. de Lauzun would undress himself
alone with his valet de chambre, and did not enter the apartment of his
wife until after everybody had left it, and she was in bed with the
curtains closed, and nobody to meet him on his passage. His wife
received company in bed, as mine had done. Nobody was able to understand
this marriage; and all foresaw that a rupture would speedily be brought
about by the well-known temper of M. de Lauzun. In effect, this is what
soon happened. The Marechal de Lorges, remaining still in weak health,
was deemed by the King unable to take the field again, and his army given
over to the command of another General. M. de Lauzun thus saw all his
hopes of advancement at an end, and, discontented that the Marechal had
done nothing for him, broke off all connection with the family, took away
Madame de Lauzun from her mother (to the great grief of the latter; who
doted upon this daughter), and established her in a house of his own
adjoining the Assumption, in the Faubourg Saint-Honore. There she had to
endure her husband’s continual caprices, but little removed in their
manifestation from madness. Everybody cast blame upon him, and strongly
pitied her and her father and mother; but nobody was surprised.
A few days after the marriage of M. de Lauzun, as the King was being
wheeled in his easy chair in the gardens at Versailles, he asked me for
many minute particulars concerning the family of the Marechal de Lorges.
He then set himself to joke with me upon the marriage of M. de Lauzun--
and upon mine. He said to me, in spite of that gravity which never
quitted him, that he had learnt from the Marechal I had well acquitted
myself, but that he believed the Marechal had still better news.
The loss of two illustrious men about this time, made more noise than
that of two of our grand ladies. The first of these men was La Fontaine,
so well known by his “Fables” and stories, and who, nevertheless, was so
heavy in conversation. The other was Mignard--so illustrious by his
pencil: he had an only daughter--perfectly beautiful: she is repeated in
several of those magnificent historical pictures which adorn the grand
gallery of Versailles and its two salons, and which have had no slight
share in irritating all Europe against the King, and in leaguing it still
more against his person than his realm.
At the usual time the armies were got ready for active service, and
everybody set out to join them. That of the Rhine, in which I was, was
commanded by the Marechal de Lorges. No sooner had we crossed the river
and come upon the enemy, than the Marechal fell ill. Although we were in
want of forage and were badly encamped, nobody complained--nobody wished
to move. Never did an army show so much interest in the life of its
chief, or so much love for him. M. de Lorges was, in truth, at the last
extremity, and the doctors that had been sent for from Strasbourg gave
him up entirely. I took upon myself to administer to him some “English
Drops.” One hundred and thirty were given him in three doses: the effect
was astonishing; an eruption burst out upon the Marechal’s body, and
saved his life. His illness was not, however, at an end; and the army,
although suffering considerably, would not hear of moving until he was
quite ready to move also. There was no extremity it would not undergo
rather than endanger the life of its chief.
Prince Louis of Baden offered by trumpets all sorts of assistance--
doctors and remedies, and gave his word that if the army removed from its
General, he and those who remained with him should be provided with
forage and provisions--should be unmolested and allowed to rejoin the
main body in perfect safety, or go whithersoever they pleased. He was
thanked, as he merited, for those very kind offers, which we did not
wish, however, to profit by.
Little by little the health of the General was reestablished, and the
army demonstrated its joy by bonfire’s all over the camp, and by salvos,
which it was impossible to prevent. Never was seen testimony of love so
universal or so flattering. The King was much concerned at the illness
of the Marechal; all the Court was infinitely touched by it. M. de
Lorges was not less loved by it than by the troops. When able to support
the fatigues of the journey, he was removed in a coach to Philipsburg,
where he was joined by the Marechal, who had come there to meet him. The
next day he went to Landau, and I, who formed one of his numerous and
distinguished escort, accompanied him there, and then returned to the
army, which was placed under the command of the Marechal de Joyeuse.
We found it at about three leagues from Ketsch, its right at Roth, and
its left at Waldsdorff. We learned that the Marechal de Joyeuse had lost
a good occasion of fighting the enemy; but as I was not in camp at the
time, I will say no more of the matter. Our position was not good:
Schwartz was on our left, and the Prince of Baden on our right, hemming
us in, as it were, between them. We had no forage, whilst they had
abundance of everything, and were able to procure all they wanted. There
was a contest who should decamp the last. All our communications were
cut off with Philipsburg, so that we could not repass the Rhine under the
protection of that place. To get out of our position, it was necessary
to defile before our enemies into the plain of Hockenun, and this was a
delicate operation. The most annoying circumstance was, that M. de
Joyeuse would communicate with nobody, and was so ill-tempered that none
dared to speak to him. At last he determined upon his plans, and I was
of the detachment by which they were to be carried out. We were sent to
Manheim to see if out of the ruins of that place (burned in 1688 by M. de
Louvois) sufficient, materials could be found to construct bridges, by
which we might cross the Rhine there. We found that the bridges could be
made, and returned to announce this to M. de Joyeuse. Accordingly, on
the 20th of July, the army put itself in movement. The march was made in
the utmost confusion. Everything was in disorder; the infantry and
cavalry were huddled together pell-mell; no commands could be acted upon,
and indeed the whole army was so disorganised that it could have been
easily beaten by a handful of men. In effect, the enemy at last tried to
take advantage of our confusion, by sending a few troops to harass us.
But it was too late; we had sufficiently rallied to be able to turn upon
them, and they narrowly escaped falling into our hands. We encamped that
night in the plain on the banks of the Necker--our rear at Manheim, and
our left at Seckenheim, while waiting for the remainder of the army,
still very distant. Indeed, so great had been the confusion, that the
first troops arrived at one o’clock at night, and the last late in the
morning of the next day.
I thought that our headquarters were to be in this village of Seckenheim,
and, in company with several officers took possession of a large house
and prepared to pass the night there. While we were resting from the
fatigues of the day we heard a great noise, and soon after a frightful
uproar. It was caused by a body of our men, who, searching for water,
had discovered this village, and after having quenched their thirst had,
under the cover of thick darkness, set themselves to pillage, to violate,
to massacre, and to commit all the horrors inspired by the most unbridled
licence: La Bretesche, a lieutenant-general, declared to me that he had
never seen anything like it, although he had several times been at
pillages and sackings. He was very grateful that he had not yielded to
my advice, and taken off his wooden leg to be more at ease; for in a
short time we ourselves were invaded, and had some trouble to defend
ourselves. As we bore the livery of M. de Lorges, we were respected,
but those who bore that of M. de Joyeuse were in some cases severely
maltreated. We passed the rest of the night as well as we could in this
unhappy place, which was not abandoned by our soldiers until long after
there was nothing more to find. At daylight we went to the camp.
We found the army beginning to move: it had passed the night as well as
it could without order, the troops constantly arriving, and the last
comers simply joining themselves on to the rest. Our camp was soon,
however, properly formed, and on the 24th July, the bridges being ready,
all the army crossed the Rhine, without any attempt being made by the
enemy to follow us. On the day after, the Marechal de Joyeuse permitted
me to go to Landau, where I remained with the Marechal and the Marechale
de Lorges until the General was again able to place himself at the head
of his army.
Nothing of importance was done by our other armies; but in Flanders an
interesting adventure occurred. The Prince of Orange, after playing a
fine game of chess with our army, suddenly invested Namur with a large
force, leaving the rest of his troops under the command of M. de
Vaudemont. The Marechal de Villeroy, who had the command of our army in
Flanders, at once pressed upon M. de Vaudemont, who, being much the
weaker of the two, tried hard to escape. Both felt that everything was
in their hands: Vaudemont, that upon his safety depended the success of
the siege of Namur; and Villeroy, that to his victory was attached the
fate of the Low Countries, and very likely a glorious peace, with all the
personal results of such an event. He took his measures so well that on
the evening of the 13th of July it was impossible for M. de Vaudemont to
escape falling into his hands on the 14th, and he wrote thus to the King.
At daybreak on the 14th M. de Villeroy sent word to M. du Maine to
commence the action. Impatient that his orders were not obeyed, he sent
again five or six times. M. du Maine wished in the first instance to
reconnoitre, then to confess himself, and delayed in effect so long that
M. de Vaudemont was able to commence his retreat. The general officers
cried out at this. One of them came to M. du Maine and reminded him of
the repeated orders of the Marechal de Villeroy, represented the
importance of victory, and the ease with which it could be obtained: with
tears in his eyes he begged M. du Maine to commence the attack. It was
all in vain; M. du Maine stammered, and could not be prevailed upon to
charge, and so allowed M. de Vaudemont’s army to escape, when by a single
movement it might have been entirely defeated.
All our army was in despair, and officers and soldiers made no scruple of
expressing their anger and contempt. M. de Villeroy, more outraged than
anybody else, was yet too good a courtier to excuse himself at the
expense of M. du Maine. He simply wrote to the King, that he had been
deceived in those hopes of success which appeared certain the day before,
entered into no further details, and resigned himself to all that might
happen. The King, who had counted the hours until news of a great and
decisive victory should reach him, was very much surprised when this
letter came: he saw at once that something strange had happened of which
no intelligence had been sent: he searched the gazettes of Holland; in
one he read of a great action said to have been fought, and in which M.
du Maine had been grievously wounded; in the next the news of the action
was contradicted, and M. du Maine was declared to have received no wounds
at all. In order to learn what had really taken place, the King sent for
Lavienne, a man he was in the habit of consulting when he wanted to learn
things no one else dared to tell him.
This Lavienne had been a bath-keeper much in vogue in Paris, and had
become bath-keeper to the King at the time of his amours. He had pleased
by his drugs, which had frequently put the King in a state to enjoy
himself more, and this road had led Lavienne to become one of the four
chief valets de chambre. He was a very honest man, but coarse, rough,
and free-spoken; it was this last quality which made him useful in the
manner I have before mentioned. From Lavienne the King, but not without
difficulty, learned the truth: it threw him into despair. The other
illegitimate children were favourites with him, but it was upon M. du
Maine that all his hopes were placed. They now fell to the ground, and
the grief of the King was insupportable: he felt deeply for that dear son
whose troops had become the laughing stock of the army; he felt the
railleries that, as the gazettes showed him, foreigners were heaping upon
his forces; and his vexation was inconceivable.
This Prince, so equal in his manners, so thoroughly master of his
lightest movements, even upon the gravest occasions, succumbed under this
event. On rising from the table at Marly he saw a servant who, while
taking away the dessert, helped himself to a biscuit, which he put in his
pocket. On the instant, the King forgets his dignity, and cane in hand
runs to this valet (who little suspected what was in store for him),
strikes him; abuses him, and breaks the cane upon his body! The truth
is, ‘twas only a reed, and snapped easily. However, the stump in his
hand, he walked away like a man quite beside himself, continuing to abuse
this valet, and entered Madame de Maintenon’s room, where he remained
nearly an hour. Upon coming out he met Father la Chaise. “My father,”
said the King to him, in a very loud voice, “I have beaten a knave and
broken my cane over his shoulders, but I do not think I have offended
God.” Everybody around trembled at this public confession, and the poor
priest muttered a semblance of approval between his teeth, to avoid
irritating the King more. The noise that the affair made and the terror
it inspired may be imagined; for nobody could divine for some time the
cause; and everybody easily understood that that which had appeared could
not be the real one. To finish with this matter, once for all, let us
add here the saying of M. d’Elboeuf. Courtier though he was, the upward
flight of the illegitimate children weighed upon his heart. As the
campaign was at its close and the Princes were about to depart, he begged
M. du Maine before everybody to say where he expected to serve during the
next campaign, because wherever it might be he should like to be there
also.
After being pressed to say why, he replied that “with him one’s life was
safe.” This pointed remark made much noise. M. du Maine lowered his
eyes, and did not reply one word. As for the Marechal de Villeroy he
grew more and more in favour with the King and with Madame de Maintenon.
The bitter fruit of M. du Maine’s act was the taking of Namur, which
capitulated on August 4th (1695). The Marechal de Villeroy in turn
bombarded Brussels, which was sorely maltreated. The Marechal de
Boufflers, who had defended Namur, was made Duke, and those who had
served under him were variously rewarded. This gave occasion for the
Prince of Orange to say, that the King recompensed more liberally the
loss of a place than he could the conquest of one. The army retired into
winter-quarters at the end of October, and the Generals went to Paris.
As for me, I remained six weeks at Landau with M. and Madame de Lorges.
At the end of that time, the Marechal, having regained his health,
returned to the army, where he was welcomed with the utmost joy: he soon
after had an attack of apoplexy, and, by not attending to his malady in
time, became seriously ill again. When a little recovered, he and Madame
de Lorges set out for Vichy, and I went to Paris.
CHAPTER VIII
Before speaking of what happened at Court after my return, it will be
necessary to record what had occurred there during the campaign.
M. de Brias, Archbishop of Cambrai, had died, and the King had given that
valuable preferment to the Abbe de Fenelon, preceptor of the children of
France. Fenelon was a man of quality, without fortune, whom the
consciousness of wit--of the insinuating and captivating kind--united
with much ability, gracefulness of intellect, and learning, inspired with
ambition. He had been long going about from door to door, knocking for
admission, but without success. Piqued against the Jesuits, to whom he
had addressed himself at first, as holding all favours in their hands,
and discouraged because unable to succeed in that quarter, he turned next
to the Jansenists, to console himself by the reputation he hoped he
should derive from them, for the loss of those gifts of fortune which
hitherto had despised him.
He remained a considerable time undergoing the process of initiation, and
succeeded at last in being of the private parties that some of the
important Jansenists then held once or twice a week at the house of the
Duchesse de Brancas. I know not if he appeared too clever for them, or
if he hoped elsewhere for better things than he could get among people
who had only sores to share; but little by little his intimacy with them
cooled; and by dint of turning around Saint Sulpice, he succeeded in
forming another connection there, upon which he built greater
expectations. This society of priests was beginning to distinguish
itself, and from a seminary of a Paris parish to extend abroad.
Ignorance, the minuteness of their practices, the absence of all patrons
and of members at all distinguished in any way, inspired them with a
blind obedience to Rome and to all its maxims; with a great aversion for
everything that passed for Jansenism, and made them so dependent upon the
bishops that they began to be considered an acquisition in many dioceses.
They appeared a middle party, very useful to the prelates; who equally
feared the Court, on account of suspicions of doctrine, and the Jesuits
for as soon as the latter had insinuated themselves into the good graces
of the prelates, they imposed their yoke upon them, or ruined them
hopelessly;--thus the Sulpicians grew apace. None amongst them could
compare in any way with the Abbe de Fenelon; so that he was able easily
to play first fiddle, and to make for himself protectors who were
interested in advancing him, in order that they might be protected in
turn.
His piety, which was all things to all men, and his doctrine that he
formed upon theirs (abjuring, as it were, in whispers, the impurities he
might have contracted amongst those he had abandoned)--the charms, the
graces, the sweetness, the insinuation of his mind, rendered him a dear
friend to this new congregation, and procured for him what he had long
sought, people upon whom he could lean, and who could and would serve.
Whilst waiting opportunities, he carefully courted these people, without
thinking, however, of positively joining them, his views being more
ambitious; so that he ever sought to make new acquaintances and friends.
His was a coquettish mind, which from people the most influential down to
the workman and the lackey sought appreciation and was determined to
please; and his talents for this work perfectly seconded his desires.
At this time, and while still obscure, he heard speak of Madame Guyon,
who has since made so much noise in the world, and who is too well known
to need that I should dwell upon her here. He saw her. There was an
interchange of pleasure between their minds. Their sublimes amalgamated.
I know not if they understood each other very clearly in that system, and
that new tongue which they hatched subsequently, but they persuaded
themselves they did, and friendship grew up between them. Although more
known than he, Madame Guyon was nevertheless not much known, and their
intimacy was not perceived, because nobody thought of them; Saint Sulpice
even was ignorant of what was going on.
The Duc de Beauvilliers became Governor of the children of France almost
in spite of himself, without having thought of it. He had to choose a
preceptor for Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne. He addressed himself to
Saint Sulpice, where for a long time he had confessed, for he liked and
protected it. He had heard speak of Fenelon with eulogy: the Sulpicians
vaunted his piety, his intelligence, his knowledge, his talents; at last
they proposed him for preceptor. The Duc de Beauvilliers saw him, was
charmed with him, and appointed him to the office.
As soon as installed, Fenelon saw of what importance it would be to gain
the entire favour of the Duc de Beauvilliers, and of his brother-in-law
the Duc de Chevreuse, both very intimate friends, and both in the highest
confidence of the King and Madame de Maintenon. This was his first care,
and he succeeded beyond his hopes, becoming the master of their hearts
and minds, and the director of their consciences.
Madame de Maintenon dined regularly once a week at the house of one or
other of the two Dukes, fifth of a little party, composed of the two
sisters and the two husbands,--with a bell upon the table, in order to
dispense with servants in waiting, and to be able to talk without
restraint. Fenelon was at last admitted to this sanctuary, at foot of
which all the Court was prostrated. He was almost as successful with
Madame de Maintenon as he had been with the two Dukes. His spirituality
enchanted her: the Court soon perceived the giant strides of the
fortunate Abbe, and eagerly courted him. But, desiring to be free and
entirely devoted to his great object, he kept himself aloof from their
flatteries--made for himself a shield with his modesty and his duties of
preceptor--and thus rendered himself still more dear to the persons he
had captivated, and that he had so much interest in retaining in that
attachment.
Among these cares he forgot not his dear Madame Guyon; he had already
vaunted her to the two Dukes and to Madame de Maintenon. He had even
introduced her to them, but as though with difficulty and for a few
moments, as a woman all in God, whose humility and whose love of
contemplation and solitude kept her within the strictest limits, and
whose fear, above all, was that she should become known. The tone of her
mind pleased Madame de Maintenon extremely; her reserve, mixed with
delicate flatteries, won upon her. Madame de Maintenon wished to hear
her talk upon matters of piety; with difficulty she consented to speak.
She seemed to surrender herself to the charms and to the virtue of Madame
de Maintenon, and Madame de Maintenon fell into the nets so skilfully
prepared for her.
Such was the situation of Fenelon when he became Archbishop of Cambrai;
increasing the admiration in which he was held by taking no step to gain
that great benefice. He had taken care not to seek to procure himself
Cambrai; the least spark of ambition would have destroyed all his
edifice; and, moreover, it was not Cambrai that he coveted.
Little by little he appropriated to himself some distinguished sheep of
the small flock Madame Guyon had gathered together. He only conducted
them, however, under the direction of that prophetess, and, everything
passed with a secrecy and mystery that gave additional relish to the
manna distributed.
Cambrai was a thunderbolt for this little flock. It was the
archbishopric of Paris they wished. Cambrai they looked upon with
disdain as a country diocese, the residence in which (impossible to avoid
from time to time) would deprive them of their pastor. Their grief was
then profound at what the rest of the world took for a piece of amazing
luck, and the Countess of Guiche was so affected as to be unable to hide
her tears. The new prelate had not neglected such of his brethren as
made the most figure; they, in turn, considered it a distinction to
command his regard. Saint Cyr, that spot so valuable and so
inaccessible, was the place chosen for his consecration; and M. de Meaux,
dictator then of the episcopacy and or doctrine, consecrated him. The
children of France were among the spectators, and Madame de Maintenon was
present with her little court of familiars. No others were invited; the
doors were closed to those who sought to pay their court.
The new Archbishop of Cambrai, gratified with his influence over Madame
de Maintenon and with the advantages it had brought him, felt that unless
he became completely master of her, the hopes he still entertained could
not be satisfied. But there was a rival in his way--Godet, Bishop of
Chartres, who was much in the confidence of Madame de Maintenon, and had
long discourses with her at Saint Cyr. As he was, however, of a very ill
figure, had but little support at Court, and appeared exceedingly simple,
M. de Cambrai believed he could easily overthrow him. To do this, he
determined to make use of Madame Guyon, whose new spirituality had
already been so highly relished by Madame de Maintenon. He persuaded
this latter to allow Madame Guyon to enter Saint Cyr, where they could
discourse together much more at their ease than at the Hotel de Chevreuse
or Beauvilliers. Madame Guyon went accordingly to Saint Cyr two or three
times. Soon after, Madame de Maintenon, who relished her more and more,
made her sleep there, and their meetings grew longer. Madame Guyon
admitted that she sought persons proper to become her disciples, and in a
short time she formed a little flock, whose maxims and language appeared
very strange to all the rest of the house, and, above all, to M. de
Chartres. That prelate was not so simple as M. de Cambrai imagined.
Profound theologian and scholar, pious, disinterested, and of rare
probity, he could be, if necessary, a most skilful courtier; but he
rarely exerted this power, for the favour of Madame de Maintenon sufficed
him of itself. As soon as he got scent of this strange doctrine, he
caused two ladies, upon whom he could count, to be admitted to Saint Cyr,
as if to become disciples of Madame Guyon. He gave them full
instructions, and they played their parts to perfection. In the first
place they appeared to be ravished, and by degrees enchanted, with the
new doctrine. Madame Guyon, pleased with this fresh conquest, took the
ladies into her most intimate confidence in order to gain them entirely.
They communicated everything to M. de Chartres, who quietly looked on,
allowed things to take their course, and, when he believed the right
moment had arrived, disclosed all he had learnt to Madame de Maintenon.
She was strangely surprised when she saw the extraordinary drift of the
new doctrine. Troubled and uncertain, she consulted with M. de Cambrai,
who, not suspecting she had been so well instructed, became, when he
discovered it, embarrassed, and thus augmented her suspicions.
Suddenly Madame Guyon was driven away from Saint Cyr, and prohibited from
spreading her doctrine elsewhere. But the admiring disciples she had
made still gathered round her in secret, and this becoming known, she was
ordered to leave Paris. She feigned obedience, but in effect went no
further than the Faubourg Saint Antoine, where, with great secrecy, she
continued to receive her flock. But being again detected, she was sent,
without further parley, to the Bastille, well treated there, but allowed
to see nobody, not even to write. Before being arrested, however, she
had been put into the hands of M. de Meaux, who used all his endeavours
to change her sentiments. Tired at last of his sermons, she feigned
conviction, signed a recantation of her opinions, and was set at liberty.
Yet, directly after, she held her secret assemblies in the Faubourg Saint
Antoine, and it was in consequence of this abuse of freedom that she was
arrested. These adventures bring me far into the year 1696, and the
sequel extends into the following year. Let us finish this history at
once, and return afterwards to what happened meanwhile.
Monsieur de Cambrai, stunned but not overpowered by the reverse he had
sustained, and by his loss of favour with Madame de Maintenon, stood firm
in his stirrups. After Madame Guyon’s abuse of her liberty, and the
conferences of Issy, he bethought himself of confessing to M. de Meaux,
by which celebrated trick he hoped to close that prelate’s mouth. These
circumstances induced M. de Meaux to take pen in hand, in order to expose
to the public the full account of his affair, and of Madame Guyon’s
doctrine; and he did so in a work under the title of ‘Instruction sur les
Etats d’Oyaison’.
While the book was yet unpublished, M. de Cambrai was shown a copy. He
saw at once the necessity of writing another to ward off the effect of
such a blow. He must have had a great deal of matter already prepared,
otherwise the diligence he used would be incredible. Before M. de
Meaux’s book was ready, M. de Cambrai’s, entitled ‘Maximes des Saints’,
was published and distributed. M. de Chevreuse, who corrected the
proofs, installed himself at the printer’s, so as to see every sheet as
soon as printed.
This book, written in the strangest manner, did M. de Cambrai little
service. If people were offended to find it supported upon no authority,
they were much more so with its confused and embarrassed style, its
precision so restrained and so decided, its barbarous terms which seemed
as though taken from a foreign tongue, above all, its high-flown and far-
fetched thoughts, which took one’s breath away, as in the too subtle air
of the middle region. Nobody, except the theologians, understood it, and
even they not without reading it three or four times. Connoisseurs found
in it a pure Quietism, which, although wrapped up in fine language, was
clearly visible. I do not give my own judgment of things so much beyond
me, but repeat what was said everywhere. Nothing else was talked about,
even by the ladies; and a propos of this, the saying of Madame de Sevigne
was revived: “Make religion a little more palpable; it evaporates by dint
of being over-refined.”
Not a word was heard in praise of the book; everybody was opposed to it,
and it was the means of making Madame de Maintenon more unfavourable to
M. de Cambrai than ever. He sent the King a copy, without informing her.
This completed her annoyance against him. M. de Cambrai, finding his
book so ill-received by the Court and by the prelates, determined to try
and support it on the authority of Rome, a step quite opposed to our
manners. In the mean time, M. de Meaux’s book appeared in two volumes
octavo, well written, clear, modest, and supported upon the authority of
the Scriptures. It was received with avidity, and absolutely devoured.
There was not a person at the Court who did not take a pleasure in
reading it, so that for a long time it was the common subject of
conversation of the Court and of the town.
These two books, so opposed in doctrine and in style, made such a stir on
every side that the King interposed, and forced M. de Cambrai to submit
his work to an examination by a council of prelates, whom he named.
M. de Cambrai asked permission to go to Rome to defend his cause in
person, but this the King refused. He sent his book, therefore, to the
Pope, and had the annoyance to receive a dry, cold reply, and to see
M. de Meaux’s book triumph. His good fortune was in effect at an end.
He remained at Court some little time, but the King was soon irritated
against him, sent him off post-haste to Paris, and from there to his
diocese, whence he has never returned. He left behind him a letter for
one of his friends, M. de Chevreuse it was generally believed, which
immediately after became public. It appeared like the manifesto of a man
who disgorges his bile and restrains himself no more, because he has
nothing more to hope. The letter, bold and bitter in style, was besides
so full of ability and artifice, that it was extremely pleasant to read,
without finding approvers; so true it is that a wise and disdainful
silence is difficult to keep under reverses.
VOLUME 2.
CHAPTER IX
To return now to the date from which I started. On the 6th of August,
1695, Harlay, Arch-bishop of Paris, died of epilepsy at Conflans. He was
a prelate of profound knowledge and ability, very amiable, and of most
gallant manners. For some time past he had lost favour with the King and
with Madame de Maintenon, for opposing the declaration of her marriage--
of which marriage he had been one of the three witnesses. The clergy,
who perceived his fall, and to whom envy is not unfamiliar, took pleasure
in revenging themselves upon M. de Paris, for the domination, although
gentle and kindly, he had exercised. Unaccustomed to this decay of his
power, all the graces of his mind and body withered. He could find no
resource but to shut himself up with his dear friend the Duchesse de
Lesdiguieres, whom he saw every day of his life, either at her own house
or at Conflans, where he had laid out a delicious garden, kept so
strictly clean, that as the two walked, gardeners followed at a distance,
and effaced their footprints with rakes. The vapours seized the
Archbishop, and turned themselves into slight attacks of epilepsy. He
felt this, but prohibited his servants to send for help, when they should
see him attacked; and he was only too well obeyed. The Duchesse de
Lesdiguieres never slept at Conflans, but she went there every afternoon,
and was always alone with him. On the 6th of August, he passed the
morning, as usual, until dinner-time; his steward came there to him, and
found him in his cabinet, fallen back upon a sofa; he was dead. The
celebrated Jesuit-Father Gaillard preached his funeral sermon, and
carefully eluded pointing the moral of the event. The King and Madame de
Maintenon were much relieved by the loss of M. de Paris. Various places
he had held were at once distributed. His archbishopric and his
nomination to the cardinalship required more discussion. The King learnt
the news of the death of M. de Paris on the 6th. On the 8th, in going as
usual to his cabinet, he went straight up to the Bishop of Orleans, led
him to the Cardinals de Bouillon and de Fursternberg, and said to them:-
“Gentlemen, I think you will thank me for giving you an associate like M.
d’Orleans, to whom I give my nomination to the cardinalship.” At this
word the Bishop, who little expected such a scene, fell at the King’s
feet and embraced his knees. He was a man whose face spoke at once of
the virtue and benignity he possessed. In youth he was so pious, that
young and old were afraid to say afoul word in his presence. Although
very rich, he appropriated scarcely any of his wealth to himself, but
gave it away for good works. The modesty and the simplicity with which
M. d’Orleans sustained his nomination, increased the universal esteem in
which he was held.
The archbishopric of Paris was given to a brother of the Duc de Noailles-
the Bishop of Chalons-sur-Marne--M. de Noailles thus reaping the fruit of
his wise sacrifice to M. de Vendome, before related. M. de Chalons was
of singular goodness and modesty. He did not wish for this preferment,
and seeing from far the prospect of its being given to him, hastened to
declare himself against the Jesuits, in the expectation that Pere la
Chaise, who was of them, and who was always consulted upon these
occasions, might oppose him. But it happened, perhaps for the first
time, that Madame de Maintenon, who felt restrained by the Jesuits, did
not consult Pere la Chaise, and the preferment was made without his
knowledge, and without that of M. de Chalons. The affront was a violent
one, and the Jesuits never forgave the new Archbishop: he was, however,
so little anxious for the office, that it was only after repeated orders
he could be made to accept it.
The Bishop of Langres also died about this time. He was a true
gentleman, much liked, and called “the good Langres.” There was nothing
bad about him, except his manners; he was not made for a bishop--gambled
very much, and staked high. M. de Vendome and others won largely at
billiards of him, two or three times. He said no word, but, on returning
to Langres, did nothing but practise billiards in secret for six months.
When next in Paris, he was again asked to play, and his adversaries, who
thought him as unskilful as before, expected an easy victory but, to
their astonishment, he gained almost every game, won back much more than
he had lost, and then laughed in the faces of his companions.
I paid about this time, my first journey to Marly, and a singular scene
happened there. The King at dinner, setting aside his usual gravity,
laughed and joked very much with Madame la Duchesse, eating olives with
her in sport, and thereby causing her to drink more than usual--which he
also pretended to do. Upon rising from the table the King, seeing the
Princesse de Conti look extremely serious, said, dryly, that her gravity
did not accommodate itself to their drunkenness. The Princess, piqued,
allowed the King to pass without saying anything; and then, turning to
Madame de Chatillon, said, in the midst of the noise, whilst everybody
was washing his mouth, “that she would rather be grave than be a wine-
sack” (alluding to some bouts a little prolonged that her sister had
recently had).
The saying was heard by the Duchesse de Chartres, who replied, loud
enough to be heard, in her slow and trembling voice, that she preferred
to be a “winesack” rather than a “rag-sack” (sac d’guenilles) by which
she alluded to the Clermont and La Choin adventure I have related before.
This remark was so cruel that it met with no reply; it spread through
Marly, and thence to Paris; and Madame la Duchesse, who had the art of
writing witty songs, made one upon this theme. The Princesse de Conti
was in despair, for she had not the same weapon at her disposal.
Monsieur tried to reconcile them gave them a dinner at Meudon--but they
returned from it as they went.
The end of the year was stormy at Marly. One evening, after the King had
gone to bed, and while Monseigneur was playing in the saloon, the
Duchesse de Chartres and Madame la Duchesse (who were bound together by
their mutual aversion to the Princesse de Conti) sat down to a supper in
the chamber of the first-named. Monseigneur, upon retiring late to his
own room, found them smoking with pipes, which they had sent for from the
Swiss Guards! Knowing what would happen if the smell were discovered, he
made them leave off, but the smoke had betrayed them. The King next day
severely scolded them, at which the Princesse de Conti triumphed.
Nevertheless, these broils multiplied, and the King at last grew so weary
of them that one evening he called the Princesses before him, and
threatened that if they did not improve he would banish them all from the
Court. The measure had its effect; calm and decorum returned, and
supplied the place of friendship.
There were many marriages this winter, and amongst them one very strange
--a marriage of love, between a brother of Feuquiere’s, who had never
done much, and the daughter of the celebrated Mignard, first painter of
his time. This daughter was still so beautiful, that Bloin, chief valet
of the King, had kept her for some time, with the knowledge of every one,
and used his influence to make the King sign the marriage-contract.
There are in all Courts persons who, without wit and without
distinguished birth, without patrons, or service rendered, pierce into
the intimacy of the most brilliant, and succeed at last, I know not how,
in forcing the world to look upon them as somebody. Such a person was
Cavoye. Rising from nothing, he became Grand Marechal des Logis in the
royal household: he arrived at that office by a perfect romance. He was
one of the best made men in France, and was much in favour with the
ladies. He first appeared at the Court at a time when much duelling was
taking place, in spite of the edicts. Cavoye, brave and skilful,
acquired so much reputation m this particular, that the name of “Brave
Cavoye” has stuck to him ever since. An ugly but very good creature,
Mademoiselle de Coetlogon, one of the Queen’s waiting-women, fill in love
with him, even to madness. She made all the advances; but Cavoye treated
her so cruelly, nay, sometimes so brutally, that (wonderful to say)
everybody pitied her, and the King at last interfered, and commanded him
to be more humane. Cavoye went to the army; the poor Coetlogon was in
tears until his return. In the winter, for being second in a duel, he
was sent to the Bastille. Then the grief of Coetlogon knew no bounds:
she threw aside all ornaments, and clad herself as meanly as possible;
she begged the King to grant Cavoye his liberty, and, upon the King’s
refusing, quarrelled with him violently, and when in return he laughed at
her, became so furious, that she would have used her nails, had he not
been too wise to expose himself to them. Then she refused to attend to
her duties, would not serve the King, saying, that he did not deserve it,
and grew so yellow and ill, that at last she was allowed to visit her
lover at the Bastille. When he was liberated, her joy was extreme, she
decked herself out anon, but it was with difficulty that she consented to
be reconciled to the King.
Cavoye had many times been promised an appointment, but had never
received one such as he wished. The office of Grand Marechal des Logis
had just become vacant: the King offered it to Cavoye, but on condition
that he should marry Mademoiselle Coetlogon. Cavoye sniffed a little
longer, but was obliged to submit to this condition at last. They were
married, and she has still the same admiration for him, and it is
sometimes fine fun to see the caresses she gives him before all the
world, and the constrained gravity with which he receives them. The
history of Cavoye would fill a volume, but this I have selected suffices
for its singularity, which assuredly is without example.
About this time the King of England thought matters were ripe for an
attempt to reinstate himself upon the throne. The Duke of Berwick had
been secretly into England, where he narrowly escaped being arrested,
and upon his report these hopes were built. Great preparations were
made, but they came to nothing, as was always the case with the projects
of this unhappy prince.
Madame de Guise died at this time. Her father was the brother of Louis
XIII., and she, humpbacked and deformed to excess, had married the last
Duc de Guise, rather than not marry at all. During all their lives, she
compelled him to pay her all the deference due to her rank. At table he
stood while she unfolded her napkin and seated herself, and did not sit
until she told him to do so, and then at the end of the table. This form
was observed every day of their lives. She was equally severe in such
matters of etiquette with all the rest of the world. She would keep her
diocesan, the Bishop of Seez, standing for entire hours, while she was
seated in her arm-chair and never once offered him a seat even in the
corner. She was in other things an entirely good and sensible woman.
Not until after her death was it discovered that she had been afflicted
for a long time with a cancer, which appeared as though about to burst.
God spared her this pain.
We lost, in the month of March, Madame de Miramion, aged sixty-six. She
was a bourgeoise, married, and in the same year became a widow very rich,
young, and beautiful. Bussy Rabutin, so known by his ‘Histoire Amoureuse
des Gaules’, and by the profound disgrace it drew upon him, and still
more by the vanity of his mind and the baseness of his heart, wished
absolutely to marry her, and actually carried her off to a chateau. Upon
arriving at the place, she pronounced before everybody assembled there a
vow of chastity, and then dared Bussy to do his worst. He, strangely
discomfited by this action, at once set her at liberty, and tried to
accommodate the affair. From that moment she devoted herself entirely,
to works of piety, and was much esteemed by the King. She was the first
woman of her condition who wrote above her door, “Hotel de Nesmond.”
Everybody cried out, and was scandalised, but the writing remained, and
became the example and the father of those of all kinds which little by
little have inundated Paris.
Madame de Sevigne, so amiable and of such excellent company, died some
time after at Grignan, at the house of her daughter, her idol, but who
merited little to be so. I was very intimate with the young Marquis de
Grignan, her grandson. This woman, by her natural graces, the sweetness
of her wit, communicated these qualities to those who had them not; she
was besides extremely good, and knew thoroughly many things without ever
wishing to appear as though she knew anything.
Father Seraphin preached during Lent this year at the Court. His
sermons, in which he often repeated twice running the same phrase, were
much in vogue. It was from him that came the saying, “Without God there
is no wit.” The King was much pleased with him, and reproached M. de
Vendome and M. de la Rochefoucauld because they never went to hear his
sermons. M. de Vendome replied off-hand, that he did not care to go to
hear a man who said whatever he pleased without allowing anybody to reply
to him, and made the King smile by this sally. But M. de la
Rochefoucauld treated the matter in another manner he said that he could
not induce himself to go like the merest hanger-on about the Court, and
beg a seat of the officer who distributed them, and then betake himself
early to church in order to have a good one, and wait about in order to
put himself where it might please that officer to place him. Whereupon
the King immediately gave him a fourth seat behind him, by the side of
the Grand Chamberlain, so that everywhere he is thus placed.
M. d’Orleans had been in the habit of seating himself there (although his
right place was on the prie-Dieu), and little by little had accustomed
himself to consider it as his proper place. When he found himself driven
away, he made a great ado, and, not daring to complain to the King,
quarrelled with M. de la Rochefoucauld, who, until then, had been one of
his particular friends. The affair soon made a great stir; the friends
of both parties mixed themselves up in it. The King tried in vain to
make M. d’Orleans listen to reason; the prelate was inflexible, and when
he found he could gain nothing by clamour and complaint, he retired in
high dudgeon into his diocese: he remained there some time, and upon his
return resumed his complaints with more determination than ever; he fell
at the feet of the King, protesting that he would rather die than see his
office degraded. M. de la Rochefoucauld entreated the King to be allowed
to surrender the seat in favour of M. d’Orleans. But the King would not
change his decision; he said that if the matter were to be decided
between M. d’Orleans and a lackey, he would give the seat to the lackey
rather than to M. d’Orleans. Upon this the prelate returned to his
diocese, which he would have been wiser never to have quitted in order to
obtain a place which did not belong to him.
As the King really esteemed M. d’Orleans, he determined to appease his
anger; and to put an end to this dispute he gave therefore the bishopric
of Metz to the nephew of M. d’Orleans; and by this means a reconciliation
was established. M. d’Orleans and M. de la Rochefoucauld joined hands
again, and the King looked on delighted.
The public lost soon after a man illustrious by his genius, by his style,
and by his knowledge of men, I mean La Bruyere, who died of apoplexy at
Versailles, after having surpassed Theophrastus in his own manner, and
after painting, in the new characters, the men of our days in a manner
inimitable. He was besides a very honest man, of excellent breeding,
simple, very disinterested, and without anything of the pedant. I had
sufficiently known him to regret his death, and the works that might have
been hoped from him.
The command of the armies was distributed in the same manner as before,
with the exception that M. de Choiseul had the army of the Rhine in place
of M. de Lorges. Every one set out to take the field. The Duc de la
Feuillade in passing by Metz, to join the army in Germany, called upon
his uncle, who was very rich and in his second childhood. La Feuillade
thought fit to make sure of his uncle’s money beforehand, demanded the
key of the cabinet and of the coffers, broke them open upon being refused
by the servants, and took away thirty thousand crowns in gold, and many
jewels, leaving untouched the silver. The King, who for a long time had
been much discontented with La Feuillade for his debauches and his
negligence, spoke very strongly and very openly upon this strange
forestalling of inheritance. It was only with great difficulty he could
be persuaded not to strip La Feuillade of his rank.
Our campaign was undistinguished by any striking event. From June to
September of this year (1696), we did little but subsist and observe,
after which we recrossed the Rhine at Philipsburg, where our rear guard
was slightly inconvenienced by the enemy. In Italy there was more
movement. The King sought to bring about peace by dividing the forces of
his enemies, and secretly entered into a treaty with Savoy. The
conditions were, that every place belonging to Savoy which had been taken
by our troops should be restored, and that a marriage should take place
between Monseigneur the Duc de Bourgogne and the daughter of the Duke of
Savoy, when she became twelve years of age. In the mean time she was to
be sent to the Court of France, and preparations were at once made there
to provide her with a suitable establishment.
The King was ill with an anthrax in the throat. The eyes of all Europe
were turned towards him, for his malady was not without danger;
nevertheless in his bed he affected to attend to affairs as usual; and he
arranged there with Madame de Maintenon, who scarcely ever quitted his
side, the household of the Savoy Princess. The persons selected for the
offices in that household were either entirely devoted to Madame de
Maintenon, or possessed of so little wit that she had nothing to fear
from them. A selection which excited much envy and great surprise was
that of the Duchesse de Lude to be lady of honour. The day before she
was appointed, Monsieur had mentioned her name in sport to the King.
“Yes,” said the King, “she would be the best woman in the world to teach
the Princess to put rouge and patches on her cheek;” and then, being
more devout than usual, he said other things as bitter and marking strong
aversion on his part to the Duchess. In fact, she was no favourite of
his nor of Madame de Maintenon; and this was so well understood that the
surprise of Monsieur and of everybody else was great, upon finding, the
day after this discourse, that she had been appointed to the place.
The cause of this was soon learnt. The Duchesse de Lude coveted much to
be made lady of honour to the Princess, but knew she had but little
chance, so many others more in favour than herself being in the field.
Madame de Maintenon had an old servant named Nanon, who had been with her
from the time of her early days of misery, and who had such influence
with her, that this servant was made much of by everybody at Court, even
by the ministers and the daughters of the King. The Duchesse de Lude had
also an old servant who was on good terms with the other. The affair
therefore was not difficult. The Duchesse de Lude sent twenty thousand
crowns to Nanon, and on the very evening of the day on which the King had
spoken to Monsieur, she had the place. Thus it is! A Nanon sells the
most important and the most brilliant offices, and a Duchess of high
birth is silly enough to buy herself into servitude!
This appointment excited much envy. The Marechal de Rochefort, who had
expected to be named, made a great ado. Madame de Maintenon, who
despised her, was piqued, and said that she should have had it but for
the conduct of her daughter. This was a mere artifice; but the daughter
was, in truth, no sample of purity. She had acted in such a manner with
Blansac that he was sent for from the army to marry her, and on the very
night of their wedding she gave birth to a daughter. She was full of
wit, vivacity, intrigue, and sweetness; yet most wicked, false, and
artificial, and all this with a simplicity of manner, that imposed even
upon those who knew her best. More than gallant while her face lasted,
she afterwards was easier of access, and at last ruined herself for the
meanest valets. Yet, notwithstanding her vices, she was the prettiest
flower of the Court bunch, and had her chamber always full of the best
company: she was also much sought after by the three daughters of the
King. Driven away from the Court, she was after much supplication
recalled, and pleased the King so much that Madame de Maintenon, in fear
of her, sent her away again. But to go back again to the household of
the Princess of Savoy.
Dangeau was made chevalier d’honneur. He owed his success to his good
looks, to the court he paid to the King’s mistresses, to his skilfulness
at play, and to a lucky stroke of fortune. The King had oftentimes been
importuned to give him a lodging, and one day, joking with him upon his
fancy of versifying; proposed to him some very hard rhymes, and promised
him a lodging if he filled them up upon the spot. Dangeau accepted,
thought but for a moment, performed the task, and thus gained his
lodging. He was an old friend of Madame de Maintenon, and it was to her
he was indebted for his post of chevalier d’honneur in the new household.
Madame d’O was appointed lady of the palace. Her father, named
Guilleragues, a gluttonous Gascon, had been one of the intimate friends
of Madame Scarron, who, as Madame de Maintenon, did not forget her old
acquaintance, but procured him the embassy to Constantinople. Dying
there, he left an only daughter, who, on the voyage home to France,
gained the heart of Villers, lieutenant of the vessel, and became his
wife in Asia-Minor, near the ruins of Troy. Villers claimed to be of the
house of d’O; hence the name his wife bore.
Established at the Court, the newly-married couple quickly worked
themselves into the favour of Madame de Maintenon, both being very clever
in intrigue. M. d’O was made governor of the Comte de Toulouse, and soon
gained his entire confidence. Madame d’O, too, infinitely pleased the
young Count, just then entering upon manhood, by her gallantry, her wit,
and the facilities she allowed him. Both, in consequence, grew in great
esteem with the King. Had they been attendants upon Princes of the
blood, he would assuredly have slighted them. But he always showed great
indulgence to those who served his illegitimate children. Hence the
appointment of Madame d’O to be lady of the palace.
The household of the Princess of Savoy being completed, the members of it
were sent to the Pont Beauvosin to meet their young mistress. She
arrived early on the 16th of October, slept at the Pont Beauvosin that
night, and on the morrow parted with her Italian attendants without
shedding a single tear. On the 4th of November she arrived at Montargis,
and was received by the King, Monseigneur, and Monsieur. The King handed
her down from her coach, and conducted her to the apartment he had
prepared for her. Her respectful and flattering manners pleased him
highly. Her cajoleries, too, soon bewitched Madame de Maintenon, whom
she never addressed except as “Aunt;” whom she treated with a respect,
and yet with a freedom, that ravished everybody. She became the doll of
Madame de Maintenon and the King, pleased them infinitely by her
insinuating spirit, and took greater liberties with them than the
children of the King had ever dared to attempt.
CHAPTER X
Meanwhile our campaign upon the Rhine proceeded, and the enemy, having
had all their grand projects of victory defeated by the firmness and the
capacity of the Marechal de Choiseul, retired into winter-quarters, and
we prepared to do the same. The month of October was almost over when
Madame de Saint-Simon lost M. Fremont, father of the Marechal de Lorges.
She had happily given birth to a daughter on the 8th of September. I was
desirous accordingly to go to Paris, and having obtained permission from
the Marechal de Choiseul, who had treated me throughout the campaign with
much politeness and attention, I set out. Upon arriving at Paris I found
the Court at Fontainebleau. I had arrived from the army a little before
the rest, and did not wish that the King should know it without seeing
me, lest he might think I had returned in secret. I hastened at once
therefore to Fontainebleau, where the King received me with his usual
goodness,-saying, nevertheless, that I had returned a little too early,
but that it was of no consequence.
I had not long left his presence when I learned a report that made my
face burn again. It was affirmed that when the King remarked upon my
arriving a little early, I had replied that I preferred arriving at once
to see him, as my sole mistress, than to remain some days in Paris, as
did the other young men with their mistresses. I went at once to the
King, who had a numerous company around him; and I openly denied what had
been reported, offering a reward for the discovery of the knave who had
thus calumniated me, in order that I might give him a sound thrashing.
All day I sought to discover the scoundrel. My speech to the King and my
choler were the topic of the day, and I was blamed for having spoken so
loudly and in such terms. But of two evils I had chosen the least,--a
reprimand from the King, or a few days in the Bastille; and I had avoided
the greatest, which was to allow myself to be believed an infamous
libeller of our young men, in order to basely and miserably curry favour
at the Court. The course I took succeeded. The King said nothing of the
matter, and I went upon a little journey I wished particularly to take,
for reasons I will now relate.
I had, as I have already mentioned, conceived a strong attachment and
admiration for M. de La Trappe. I wished to secure a portrait of him,
but such was his modesty and humility that I feared to ask him to allow
himself to be painted. I went therefore to Rigault, then the first
portrait-painter in Europe. In consideration of a sum of a thousand
crowns, and all his expenses paid, he agreed to accompany me to La
Trappe, and to make a portrait of him from memory. The whole affair was
to be kept a profound secret, and only one copy of the picture was to be
made, and that for the artist himself.
My plan being fully arranged, I and Rigault set out. As soon as we
arrived at our journey’s end, I sought M. de La Trappe, and begged to be
allowed to introduce to him a friend of mine, an officer, who much wished
to see him: I added, that my friend was a stammerer, and that therefore
he would be importuned merely with looks and not words. M. de La Trappe
smiled with goodness, thought the officer curious about little, and
consented to see him. The interview took place. Rigault excusing
himself on the ground of his infirmity, did little during three-quarters
of an hour but keep his eyes upon M. de La Trappe, and at the end went
into a room where materials were already provided for him, and covered
his canvas with the images and the ideas he had filled himself with.
On the morrow the same thing was repeated, although M. de La Trappe,
thinking that a man whom he knew not, and who could take no part in
conversation, had sufficiently seen him, agreed to the interview only out
of complaisance to me. Another sitting was needed in order to finish the
work; but it was with great difficulty M. de La Trappe could be persuaded
to consent to it. When the third and last interview was at an end, M. de
La Trappe testified to me his surprise at having been so much and so long
looked at by a species of mute. I made the best excuses I could, and
hastened to turn the conversation.
The portrait was at length finished, and was a most perfect likeness of
my venerable friend. Rigault admitted to me that he had worked so hard
to produce it from memory, that for several months afterwards he had been
unable to do anything to his other portraits. Notwithstanding the
thousand crowns I had paid him, he broke the engagement he had made by
showing the portrait before giving it up to me. Then, solicited for
copies, he made several, gaining thereby, according to his own admission,
more than twenty-five thousand francs, and thus gave publicity to the
affair.
I was very much annoyed at this, and with the noise it made in the world;
and I wrote to M. de La Trappe, relating the deception I had practised
upon him, and sued for pardon. He was pained to excess, hurt, and
afflicted; nevertheless he showed no anger. He wrote in return to me,
and said, I was not ignorant that a Roman Emperor had said, “I love
treason but not traitors;” but that, as for himself, he felt on the
contrary that he loved the traitor but could only hate his treason.
I made presents of three copies of the picture to the monastery of La
Trappe. On the back of the original I described the circumstance under
which the portrait had been taken, in order to show that M. de La Trappe
had not consented to it, and I pointed out that for some years he had
been unable to use his right hand, to acknowledge thus the error which
had been made in representing him as writing.
The King, about this time, set on foot negotiations for peace in Holland,
sending there two plenipotentiaries, Courtin and Harlay, and
acknowledging one of his agents, Caillieres, who had been for some little
time secretly in that country.
The year finished with the disgrace of Madame de Saint Geran. She was on
the best of terms with the Princesses, and as much a lover of good cheer
as Madame de Chartres and Madame la Duchesse. This latter had in the
park of Versailles a little house that she called the “Desert.” There
she had received very doubtful company, giving such gay repasts that the
King, informed of her doings, was angry, and forbade her to continue
these parties or to receive certain guests. Madame de Saint Geran was
then in the first year of her mourning, so that the King did not think it
necessary to include her among the interdicted; but he intimated that he
did not approve of her. In spite of this, Madame la Duchesse invited her
to an early supper at the Desert a short time after, and the meal was
prolonged so far into the night, and with so much gaiety, that it came to
the ears of the King. He was in great anger, and learning that Madame de
Saint Geran had been of the party, sentenced her to be banished twenty
leagues from the Court. Like a clever woman, she retired into a convent
at Rouen, saying that as she had been unfortunate enough to displease the
King, a convent was the only place for her; and this was much approved.
At the commencement of the next year (1697) the eldest son of the Comte
d’Auvergne completed his dishonour by a duel he fought with the Chevalier
de Caylus, on account of a tavern broil, and a dispute about some
wenches. Caylus, who had fought well, fled from the kingdom; the other,
who had used his sword like a poltroon, and had run away dismayed into
the streets, was disinherited by his father, sent out of the country, and
returned no more. He was in every respect a wretch, who, on account of
his disgraceful adventures, was forced to allow himself to be
disinherited and to take the cross of Malta; he was hanged in effigy at
the Greve, to the great regret of his family, not on account of the
sentence, but because, in spite of every entreaty, he had been proceeded
against like the most obscure gentleman. The exile of Caylus afterwards
made his fortune.
We had another instance, about this time, of the perfidy of Harlay. He
had been entrusted with a valuable deposit by Ruvigny, a Huguenot
officer, who, quitting France, had entered the service of the Prince of
Orange, and who was, with the exception of Marshal Schomberg, the only
Huguenot to whom the King offered the permission of remaining at Court
with full liberty to practise his religion in secret. This, Ruvigny,
like Marshal Schomberg, refused. He was, nevertheless, allowed to retain
the property he possessed in France; but after his death his son, not
showing himself at all grateful for this favour, the King at last
confiscated the property, and publicly testified his anger. This was the
moment that Harlay seized to tell the King of the deposit he had. As a
recompense the King gave it to him as confiscated, and this hypocrite of
justice, of virtue, of disinterestedness, and of rigorism was not ashamed
to appropriate it to himself, and to close his ears and his eyes to the
noise this perfidy excited.
M. de Monaco, who had obtained for himself the title of foreign prince by
the marriage of his son with the Duchesse de Valentinois, daughter of M.
le Grand, and who enjoyed, as it were, the sovereignty of a rock--beyond
whose narrow limits anybody might spit, so to speak, whilst standing in
the middle--soon found, and his son still more so, that they had bought
the title very dearly. The Duchess was charming, gallant, and was
spoiled by the homage of the Court, in a house open night and day, and to
which her beauty attracted all that was young and brilliant. Her
husband, with much intelligence, was diffident; his face and figure had
acquired for him the name of Goliath; he suffered for a long time the
haughtiness and the disdain of his wife and her family. At last he and
his father grew tired and took away Madame de Valentinois to Monaco. She
grieved, and her parents also, as though she had been carried off to the
Indies. After two years of absence and repentance, she promised marvels,
and was allowed to return to Paris. I know not who counselled her, but,
without changing her conduct, she thought only how to prevent a return to
Monaco; and to insure herself against this, she accused her father-in-law
of having made vile proposals to her, and of attempting to take her by
force. This charge made a most scandalous uproar, but was believed by
nobody. M. de Monaco was no longer young; he was a very honest man, and
had always passed for such; besides, he was almost blind in both eyes,
and had a huge pointed belly, which absolutely excited fear, it jutted
out so far!
After some time, as Madame de Valentinois still continued to swim in the
pleasures of the Court under the shelter of her family, her husband
redemanded her; and though he was laughed at at first, she was at last
given up to him.
A marriage took place at this time between the son of Pontchartrain and
the daughter of the Comte de Roye. The Comte de Roye was a Huguenot,
and, at the revocation of the edict of Nantes, had taken refuge, with his
wife, in Denmark, where he had been made grand marshal and commander of
all the troops. One day, as the Comte de Roye was dining with his wife
and daughter at the King’s table, the Comtesse de Roye asked her daughter
if she did not think the Queen of Denmark and Madame Panache resembled
each other like two drops of water? Although she spoke in French and in
a low tone, the Queen both heard and understood her, and inquired at once
who was Madame Panache. The Countess in her surprise replied, that she
was a very amiable woman at the French Court. The Queen, who had noticed
the surprise of the Countess, was not satisfied with this reply. She
wrote to the Danish minister at Paris, desiring to be informed of every
particular respecting Madame Panache, her face, her age, her condition,
and upon what footing she was at the French Court. The minister, all
astonished that the Queen should have heard of Madame Panache, wrote word
that she was a little and very old creature, with lips and eyes so
disfigured that they were painful to look upon; a species of beggar who
had obtained a footing at Court from being half-witted, who was now at
the supper of the King, now at the dinner of Monseigneur, or at other
places, where everybody amused themselves by tormenting her: She in turn
abused the company at these parties, in order to cause diversion, but
sometimes rated them very seriously and with strong words, which
delighted still more those princes and princesses, who emptied into her
pockets meat and ragouts, the sauces of which ran all down her
petticoats: at these parties some gave her a pistole or a crown, and
others a filip or a smack in the face, which put her in a fury, because
with her bleared eyes not being able to see the end of her nose, she
could not tell who had struck her;--she was, in a word, the pastime of
the Court!
Upon learning this, the Queen of Denmark was so piqued, that she could no
longer suffer the Comtesse de Roye near her; she complained to the King:
he was much offended that foreigners, whom he had loaded with favour,
should so repay him. The Comte de Roye was unable to stand up against
the storm, and withdrew to England, where he died a few years after.
The King at this time drove away the company of Italian actors, and would
not permit another in its place. So long as the Italians had simply
allowed their stage to overflow with filth or impiety they only caused
laughter; but they set about playing a piece called “The False Prude,” in
which Madame de Maintenon was easily recognised. Everybody ran to see
the piece; but after three or four representations, given consecutively
on account of the gain it brought, the Italians received orders to close
their theatre and to quit the realm in a month. This affair made a great
noise; and if the comedians lost an establishment by their boldness and
folly, they who drove them away gained nothing--such was the licence with
which this ridiculous event was spoken of!
CHAPTER XI
The disposition of the armies was the same this year as last, except that
the Princes did not serve. Towards the end of May I joined the army of
the Rhine, under the Marechal de Choiseul, as before. We made some
skilful manoeuvres, but did little in the way of fighting. For sixteen
days we encamped at Nieder-buhl, where we obtained a good supply of
forage. At the end of that time the Marechal de Choiseul determined to
change his position. Our army was so placed, that the enemy could see
almost all of it quite distinctly; yet, nevertheless, we succeeded in
decamping so quickly, that we disappeared from under their very eyes in
open daylight, and in a moment as it were. Such of the Imperial Generals
as were out riding ran from all parts to the banks of the Murg, to see
our retreat, but it was so promptly executed that there was no time for
them, to attempt to hinder us. When the Prince of Baden was told of our
departure he could not credit it. He had seen us so lately, quietly
resting in our position, that it seemed impossible to him we had left it
in such a short space of time. When his own eyes assured him of the
fact, he was filled with such astonishment and admiration, that he asked
those around him if they had ever seen such a retreat, adding, that he
could not have believed, until then, that an army so numerous and so
considerable should have been able to disappear thus in an instant.
This honourable and bold retreat was attended by a sad accident. One of
our officers, named Blansac, while leading a column of infantry through
the wood, was overtaken by night. A small party of his men heard some
cavalry near them. The cavalry belonged to the enemy, and had lost their
way. Instead of replying when challenged, they said to each other in
German, “Let us run for it.” Nothing more was wanting to draw upon them
a discharge from the small body of our men, by whom they had been heard.
To this they replied with their pistols. Immediately, and without
orders, the whole column of infantry fired in that direction, and, before
Blansac could inquire the cause, fired again. Fortunately he was not
wounded; but five unhappy captains were killed, and some subalterns
wounded.
Our campaign was brought to an end by the peace of Ryswick. The first
news of that event arrived at Fontainebleau on the 22nd of September.
Celi, son of Harlay, had been despatched with the intelligence; but he
did not arrive until five o’clock in the morning of the 26th of
September. He had amused himself by the way with a young girl who had
struck his fancy, and with some wine that he equally relished. He had
committed all the absurdities and impertinences which might be expected
of a debauched, hare-brained young fellow, completely spoiled by his
father, and he crowned all by this fine delay.
A little time before the signing of peace, the Prince de Conti, having
been elected King of Poland, set out to take possession of his throne.
The King, ravished with joy to see himself delivered from a Prince whom
he disliked, could not hide his satisfaction--his eagerness--to get rid
of a Prince whose only faults were that he had no bastard blood in his
veins, and that he was so much liked by all the nation that they wished
him at the head of the army, and murmured at the little favour he
received, as compared with that showered down upon the illegitimate
children.
The King made all haste to treat the Prince to royal honours. After an
interview in the cabinet of Madame de Maintenon, he presented him to a
number of ladies, saying, “I bring you a king.” The Prince was all along
doubtful of the validity of his election, and begged that the Princess
might not be treated as a queen, until he should have been crowned.
He received two millions in cash from the King, and other assistances.
Samuel Bernard undertook to make the necessary payments in Poland. The
Prince started by way of Dunkerque, and went to that place at such speed,
that an ill-closed chest opened, and two thousand Louis were scattered on
the road, a portion only of which was brought back to the Hotel Conti.
The celebrated Jean Bart pledged himself to take him safely, despite the
enemy’s fleet; and kept his word. The convoy was of five frigates. The
Chevalier de Sillery, before starting, married Mademoiselle Bigot, rich
and witty, with whom he had been living for some time. Meanwhile the
best news arrived from our ambassador, the Abbe de Polignac, to the King;
but all answers were intercepted at Dantzic by the retired Queen of
Poland, who sent on only the envelopes! However, the Prince de Conti
passed up the Sound; and the King and Queen of Denmark watched them from
the windows of the Chateau de Cronenbourg. Jean Bart, against custom,
ordered a salute to be fired. It was returned; and as some light vessels
passing near the frigates said that the King and Queen were looking on,
the Prince ordered another salvo.
There was, however, another claimant to the throne of Poland; I mean the
Elector of Saxony, who had also been elected, and who had many partisans;
so many, indeed, that when the Prince de Conti arrived at Dantzic, he
found himself almost entirely unsupported. The people even refused
provision to his frigates. However, the Prince’s partisans at length
arrived to salute him. The Bishop of Plosko gave him a grand repast,
near the Abbey of Oliva. Marege, a Gascon gentleman of the Prince’s
suite, was present, but had been ill. There was drinking in the Polish
fashion, and he tried to be let off. The Prince pleaded for him; but
these Poles, who, in order to make themselves understood, spoke Latin--
and very bad Latin indeed--would not accept such an excuse, and forcing
him to drink, howled furiously ‘Bibat et Moriatur! Marege, who was very
jocular and yet very choleric; used to tell this story in the same
spirit, and made everyone who heard it laugh.
However, the party of the Prince de Conti made no way, and at length he
was fain to make his way back to France with all speed. The King
received him very graciously, although at heart exceeding sorry to see
him again. A short time after, the Elector of Saxony mounted the throne
of Poland without opposition, and was publicly recognised by the King,
towards the commencement of August.
By the above-mentioned peace of Ryswick, the King acknowledged the Prince
of Orange as King of England. It was, however, a bitter draught for him
to swallow, and for these reasons: Some years before, the King had
offered his illegitimate daughter, the Princesse de Conti, in marriage to
the Prince of Orange, believing he did that Prince great honour by the
proposal. The Prince did not think in the same manner, and flatly
refused; saying, that the House of Orange was accustomed to marry the
legitimate daughters of great kings, and not their bastards. These words
sank so deeply into the heart of the King, that he never forgot them; and
often, against even his most palpable interest, showed how firmly the
indignation he felt at them had taken possession of his mind: Since then,
the Prince of Orange had done all in his power to efface the effect his
words had made, but every attempt was rejected with disdain. The King’s
ministers in Holland had orders to do all they could to thwart the
projects of the Prince of Orange, to excite people against him, to
protect openly those opposed to him, and to be in no way niggard of money
in order to secure the election of magistrates unfavourable to him. The
Prince never ceased, until the breaking-out of this war, to use every
effort to appease the anger of the King. At last, growing tired, and
hoping soon to make his invasion into England, he said publicly, that he
had uselessly laboured all his life to gain the favours of the King, but
that he hoped to be more fortunate in meriting his esteem. It may be
imagined, therefore, what a triumph it was for him when he forced the
King to recognise him as monarch of England, and what that recognition
cost the King.
M. le Duc presided this year over the Assembly of the States of Burgundy,
in place of his father M. le Prince, who did not wish to go there. The
Duke gave on that occasion a striking example of the friendship of
princes, and a fine lesson to those who seek it. Santeuil, Canon of
Saint Victor, and the greatest Latin poet who has appeared for many
centuries, accompanied him. Santeuil was an excellent fellow, full of
wit and of life, and of pleasantries, which rendered him an admirable
boon-companion. Fond of wine and of good cheer, he was not debauched;
and with a disposition and talents so little fitted for the cloister,
was nevertheless, at bottom, as good a churchman as with such a character
he could be. He was a great favourite with all the house of Conde, and
was invited to their parties, where his witticisms, his verses, and his
pleasantries had afforded infinite amusement for many years.
M. le Duc wished to take him to Dijon. Santeuil tried to excuse himself,
but without effect; he was obliged to go, and was established at the
house of the Duke while the States were held. Every evening there was a
supper, and Santeuil was always the life of the company. One evening M.
le Duc diverted himself by forcing Santeuil to drink champagne, and
passing from pleasantry to pleasantry, thought it would be a good joke to
empty his snuff-box, full of Spanish snuff, into a large glass of wine,
and to make Santeuil drink it, in order to see what would happen. It was
not long before he was enlightened upon this point. Santeuil was seized
with vomiting and with fever, and in twice twenty-four hours the unhappy
man died-suffering the tortures of the damned, but with sentiments of
extreme penitence, in which he received the sacrament, and edified a
company little disposed towards edification, but who detested such a
cruel joke.
In consequence of the peace just concluded at Ryswick, many fresh
arrangements were made about this time in our embassies abroad. This
allusion to our foreign appointments brings to my mind an anecdote which
deserves to be remembered. When M. de Vendome took Barcelona, the
Montjoui (which is as it were its citadel) was commanded by the Prince of
Darmstadt. He was of the house of Hesse, and had gone into Spain to seek
employment; he was a relative of the Queen of Spain, and, being a very
well-made man, had not, it was said, displeased her. It was said also,
and by people whose word was not without weight, that the same council of
Vienna, which for reasons of state had made no scruple of poisoning the
late Queen of Spain (daughter of Monsieur), because she had no children,
and because she had, also, too much ascendancy over the heart of her
husband; it was said, I say, that this same council had no scruples upon
another point. After poisoning the first Queen, it had remarried the
King of Spain to a sister of the Empress. She was tall, majestic, not
without beauty and capacity, and, guided by the ministers of the Emperor,
soon acquired much influence over the King her husband. So far all was
well, but the most important thing was wanting--she had no children. The
council had hoped some from this second marriage, because it had lured
itself into the belief that previously the fault rested with the late
Queen. After some years, this same council, being no longer able to
disguise the fact that the King could have no children, sent the Prince
of Darmstadt into Spain, for the purpose of establishing himself there,
and of ingratiating himself into the favour of the Queen to such an
extent that this defect might be remedied. The Prince of Darmstadt was
well received; he obtained command in the army; defended, as I have said,
Barcelona; and obtained a good footing at the Court. But the object for
which he had been more especially sent he could not accomplish. I will
not say whether the Queen was inaccessible from her own fault or that of
others. Nor will I say, although I have been assured, but I believe by
persons without good knowledge of the subject, that naturally it was
impossible for her to become a mother. I will simply say that the Prince
of Darmstadt was on the best terms with the King and the Queen, and had
opportunities very rare in that country, without any fruit which could
put the succession of the monarchy in safety against the different
pretensions afloat, or reassure on that head the politic council of
Vienna.
But to return to France.
Madame de Maintenon, despite the height to which her insignificance had
risen, had yet her troubles. Her brother, who was called the Comte
d’Aubigne, was of but little worth, yet always spoke as though no man
were his equal, complained that he had not been made Marechal of France
--sometimes said that he had taken his baton in money, and constantly
bullied Madame de Maintenon because she did not make him a duke and a
peer. He spent his time running after girls in the Tuileries, always had
several on his hands, and lived and spent his money with their families
and friends of the same kidney. He was just fit for a strait-waistcoat,
but comical, full of wit and unexpected repartees. A good, humorous
fellow, and honest-polite, and not too impertinent on account of his
sister’s fortune. Yet it was a pleasure to hear him talk of the time of
Scarron and the Hotel d’Albret, and of the gallantries and adventures of
his sister, which he contrasted with her present position and devotion.
He would talk in this manner, not before one or two, but in a
compromising manner, quite openly in the Tuileries gardens, or in the
galleries of Versailles, before everybody, and would often drolly speak
of the King as “the brother-in-law.” I have frequently heard him talk in
this manner; above all, when he came (more often than was desired) to
dine with my father and mother, who were much embarrassed with him; at
which I used to laugh in my sleeve.
A brother like this was a great annoyance to Madame de Maintenon. His
wife, an obscure creature, more obscure, if possible, than her birth;
--foolish to the last degree, and of humble mien, was almost equally so.
Madame de Maintenon determined to rid herself of both. She persuaded her
brother to enter a society that had been established by a M. Doyen, at
St. Sulpice, for decayed gentlemen. His wife at the same time was
induced to retire into another community, where, however, she did not
fail to say to her companions that her fate was very hard, and that she
wished to be free. As for d’Aubigne he concealed from nobody that his
sister was putting a joke on him by trying to persuade him that he was
devout, declared that he was pestered by priests, and that he should give
up the ghost in M. Doyen’s house. He could not stand it long, and went
back to his girls and to the Tuileries, and wherever he could; but they
caught him again, and placed him under the guardianship of one of the
stupidest priests of St. Sulpice, who followed him everywhere like his
shadow, and made him miserable. The fellow’s name was Madot: he was good
for no other employment, but gained his pay in this one by an assiduity
of which perhaps no one else would have been capable. The only child of
this Comte d’Aubigne was a daughter, taken care of by Madame de
Maintenon, and educated under her eyes as though her own child.
Towards the end of the year, and not long after my return from the army,
the King fixed the day for the marriage of the Duc de Bourgogne to the
young Princesse de Savoy. He announced that on that occasion he should
be glad to see a magnificent Court; and he himself, who for a long time
had worn only the most simple habits, ordered the most superb. This was
enough; no one thought of consulting his purse or his state; everyone
tried to surpass his neighbour in richness and invention. Gold and
silver scarcely sufficed: the shops of the dealers were emptied in a few
days; in a word luxury the most unbridled reigned over Court and city,
for the fete had a huge crowd of spectators. Things went to such a
point, that the King almost repented of what he had said, and remarked,
that he could not understand how husbands could be such fools as to ruin
themselves by dresses for their wives; he might have added, by dresses
for themselves. But the impulse had been given; there was now no time to
remedy it, and I believe the King at heart was glad; for it pleased him
during the fetes to look at all the dresses. He loved passionately all
kinds of sumptuosity at his Court; and he who should have held only to
what had been said, as to the folly of expense, would have grown little
in favour. There was no means, therefore, of being wise among so many
fools. Several dresses were necessary. Those for Madame Saint-Simon and
myself cost us twenty thousand francs. Workmen were wanting to make up
so many rich habits. Madame la Duchesse actually sent her people to take
some by force who were working at the Duc de Rohan’s! The King heard of
it, did not like it, and had the workmen sent back immediately to the
Hotel de Rohan, although the Duc de Rohan was one of the men he liked the
least in all France. The King did another thing, which showed that he
desired everybody to be magnificent: he himself chose the design for the
embroidery of the Princess. The embroiderer said he would leave all his
other designs for that. The King would not permit this, but caused him
to finish the work he had in hand, and to set himself afterwards at the
other; adding, that if it was not ready in time, the Princess could do
without it.
The marriage was fixed for Saturday, the 7th of December; and, to avoid
disputes and difficulties, the King suppressed all ceremonies. The day
arrived. At an early hour all the Court went to Monseigneur the Duc de
Bourgogne, who went afterwards to the Princess. A little before mid-day
the procession started from the salon, and proceeded to the chapel.
Cardinal de Coislin performed the marriage service.
As soon as the ceremony was finished, a courier, ready at the door of the
chapel, started for Turin. The day passed wearily. The King and Queen
of England came about seven o’clock in the evening, and some time
afterwards supper was served. Upon rising from the table, the Princess
was shown to her bed, none but ladies being allowed to remain in the
chamber. Her chemise was given her by the Queen of England through the
Duchesse de Lude. The Duc de Bourgogne undressed in another room, in the
midst of all the Court, and seated upon a folding-chair. The King of
England gave him his shirt, which was presented by the Duc de
Beauvilliers. As soon as the Duchesse de Bourgogne was in bed, the Duc
de Bourgogne entered, and placed himself at her side, in the presence of
all the Court. Immediately afterwards everybody went away from the
nuptial chamber, except Monseigneur, the ladies of the Princess, and the
Duc de Beauvilliers, who remained at the pillow by the side of his pupil,
with the Duchesse de Lude on the other side. Monseigneur stopped a
quarter of an hour talking with the newly-married couple, then he made
his son get up, after having told him to kiss the Princess, in spite of
the opposition of the Duchesse de Lude. As it proved, too, her
opposition was not wrong. The King said he did not wish that his
grandson should kiss the end of the Princess’s finger until they were
completely on the footing of man and wife. Monsieur le Duc de Bourgogne
after this re-dressed himself in the ante-chamber, and went to his own
bed as usual. The little Duc de Berry, spirited and resolute, did not
approve of the docility of his brother, and declared that he would have
remained in bed. The young couple were not, indeed, allowed to live
together as man and wife until nearly two years afterwards. The first
night that this privilege was granted them, the King repaired to their
chamber hoping to surprise them as they went to bed; but he found the
doors closed, and would not allow them to be opened. The marriage-fetes
spread over several days. On the Sunday there was an assembly in the
apartments of the new Duchesse de Bourgogne. It was magnificent by the
prodigious number of ladies seated in a circle, or standing behind the
stools, gentlemen in turn behind them, and the dresses of all beautiful.
It commenced at six o’clock. The King came at the end, and led all the
ladies into the saloon near the chapel, where was a fine collation, and
the music. At nine o’clock he conducted Monsieur and Madame la Duchesse
de Bourgogne to the apartment of the latter, and all was finished for the
day. The Princess continued to live just as before, and the ladies had
strict orders never to leave her alone with her husband.
On the Wednesday there was a grand ball in the gallery, superbly
ornamented for the occasion. There was such a crowd, and such disorder,
that even the King was inconvenienced, and Monsieur was pushed and
knocked about in the crush. How other people fared may be imagined. No
place was kept--strength or chance decided everything--people squeezed in
where they could. This spoiled all the fete. About nine o’clock
refreshments were handed round, and at half-past ten supper was served.
Only the Princesses of the blood and the royal family were admitted to
it. On the following Sunday there was another ball, but this time
matters were so arranged that no crowding or inconvenience occurred. The
ball commenced at seven o’clock and was admirable; everybody appeared in
dresses that had not previously been seen. The King found that of Madame
de Saint-Simon much to his taste, and gave it the palm over all the
others.
Madame de Maintenon did not appear at these balls, at least only for half
an hour at each. On the following Tuesday all the Court went at four
o’clock in the afternoon to Trianon, where all gambled until the arrival
of the King and Queen of England. The King took them into the theatre,
where Destouches’s opera of Isse was very well performed. The opera
being finished, everybody went his way, and thus these marriage-fetes
were brought to an end.
Tesse had married his eldest daughter to La Varenne last year, and now
married his second daughter to Maulevrier, son of a brother of Colbert.
This mention of La Varenne brings to my recollection a very pleasant
anecdote of his ancestor, the La Varenne so known in all the memoirs of
the time as having risen from the position of scullion to that of cook,
and then to that of cloak-bearer to Henry IV., whom he served in his
pleasures, and afterwards in his state-affairs. At the death of the
King, La Varenne retired, very old and very rich, into the country.
Birds were much in vogue at that time, and he often amused himself with
falconry. One day a magpie perched on one of his trees, and neither
sticks nor stones could dislodge it. La Varenne and a number of
sportsmen gathered around the tree and tried to drive away the magpie.
Importuned with all this noise, the bird at last began to cry repeatedly
with all its might, “Pandar! Pandar!”
Now La Varenne had gained all he possessed by that trade. Hearing the
magpie repeat again and again the same word, he took it into his head
that by a miracle, like the observation Balaam’s ass made to his master,
the bird was reproaching him for his sins. He was so troubled that he
could not help showing it; then, more and more agitated, he told the
cause of his disturbance to the company, who laughed at him in the first
place, but, upon finding that he was growing really ill, they endeavoured
to convince him that the magpie belonged to a neighbouring village, where
it had learned the word. It was all in vain: La Varenne was so ill that
he was obliged to be carried home; fever seized him and in four days he
died.
CHAPTER XII
Here perhaps is the place to speak of Charles IV., Duc de Lorraine, so
well known by his genius, and the extremities to which he was urged. He
was married in 1621 to the Duchesse Nicole, his cousin-german, but after
a time ceased to live with her. Being at Brussels he fell in love with
Madame de Cantecroix, a widow. He bribed a courier to bring him news of
the death of the Duchesse Nicole; he circulated the report throughout the
town, wore mourning, and fourteen days afterwards, in April, 1637,
married Madame de Cantecroix. In a short time it was discovered that the
Duchesse Nicole was full of life and health, and had not even been ill.
Madame de Cantecroix made believe that she had been duped, but still
lived with the Duke. They continued to repute the Duchesse Nicole as
dead, and lived together in the face of the world as though effectually
married, although there had never been any question either before or
since of dissolving the first marriage. The Duc Charles had by this fine
marriage a daughter and then a son, both perfectly illegitimate, and
universally regarded as such. Of these the daughter married Comte de
Lislebonne, by whom she had four children. The son, educated under his
father’s eye as legitimate, was called Prince de Vaudemont, and by that
name has ever since been known. He entered the service of Spain,
distinguished himself in the army, obtained the support of the Prince of
Orange, and ultimately rose to the very highest influence and prosperity.
People were astonished this year, that while the Princess of Savoy was at
Fontainebleau, just before her marriage, she was taken several times by
Madame de Maintenon to a little unknown convent at Moret, where there was
nothing to amuse her, and no nuns who were known. Madame de Maintenon
often went there, and Monseigneur with his children sometimes; the late
Queen used to go also. This awakened much curiosity and gave rise to
many reports. It seems that in this convent there was a woman of colour,
a Moorish woman, who had been placed there very young by Bontems, valet
of the King. She received the utmost care and attention, but never was
shown to anybody. When the late Queen or Madame de Maintenon went, they
did not always see her, but always watched over her welfare. She was
treated with more consideration than people the most distinguished; and
herself made much of the care that was taken of her, and the mystery by
which she was surrounded. Although she lived regularly, it was easy to
see she was not too contented with her position. Hearing Monseigneur
hunt in the forest one day, she forgot herself so far as to exclaim,
“My brother is hunting!” It was pretended that she was a daughter of the
King and Queen, but that she had been hidden away on account of her
colour; and the report was spread that the Queen had had a miscarriage.
Many people believed this story; but whether it was true or not has
remained an enigma.
The year 1698 commenced by a reconciliation between the Jesuits and the
Archbishop of Rheims. That prelate upon the occasion of an ordinance had
expressed himself upon matters of doctrine and morality in a manner that
displeased the Jesuits. They acted towards him in their usual manner, by
writing an attack upon him, which appeared without any author’s name.
But the Archbishop complained to the King, and altogether stood his
ground so firmly, that in the end the Jesuits were glad to give way,
disavow the book, and arrange the reconciliation which took place.
The Czar, Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia, had at this time already
commenced his voyages; he was in Holland, learning ship-building.
Although incognito, he wished to be recognised, but after his own
fashion; and was annoyed that, being so near to England, no embassy was
sent to him from that country, which he wished to ally himself with for
commercial reasons.
At last an embassy arrived; he delayed for some time to give it an
audience, but in the end fixed the day and hour at which he would see it.
The reception, however, was to take place on board a large Dutch vessel
that he was going to examine. There were two ambassadors; they thought
the meeting-place rather an odd one, but were obliged to go there. When
they arrived on board the Czar sent word that he was in the “top,” and
that it was there he would see them. The ambassadors, whose feet were
unaccustomed to rope-ladders, tried to excuse themselves from mounting;
but it was all in vain. The Czar would receive them in the “top” or not
at all. At last they were compelled to ascend, and the meeting took
place on that narrow place high up in the air. The Czar received them
there with as much majesty as though he had been upon his throne,
listened to their harangue, replied very graciously, and then laughed at
the fear painted upon their faces, and good-humouredly gave them to
understand that he had punished them thus for arriving so late.
After this the Czar passed into England, curious to see and learn as much
as possible; and, having well fulfilled his views, repaired into Holland.
He wished to visit France, but the King civilly declined to receive him.
He went, therefore, much mortified, to Vienna instead. Three weeks after
his arrival he was informed of a conspiracy that had been formed against
him in Moscow. He hastened there at once, and found that it was headed
by his own sister; he put her in prison, and hanged her most guilty
accomplices to the bars of his windows, as many each day as the bars
would hold. I have related at once all that regards the Czar for this
year, in order not to leap without ceasing from one matter to another; I
shall do this, and for the same reason, with that which follows.
The King of England was, as I have before said, at the height of
satisfaction at having been recognised by the King (Louis XIV.), and at
finding himself secure upon the throne. But a usurper is never tranquil
and content. William was annoyed by the residence of the legitimate King
and his family at Saint Germains. It was too close to the King (of
France), and too near England to leave him without disquietude. He had
tried hard at Ryswick to obtain the dismissal of James II. from the
realm, or at least from the Court of France, but without effect.
Afterwards he sent the Duke of St. Albans to our King openly, in order to
compliment him upon the marriage of the Duc de Bourgogne, but in reality
to obtain the dismissal.
The Duke of St. Albans meeting with no success, the Duke of Portland was
sent to succeed him. The Duke of Portland came over with a numerous and
superb suite; he kept up a magnificent table, and had horses, liveries,
furniture, and dresses of the most tasteful and costly kind. He was on
his way when a fire destroyed Whitehall, the largest and ugliest palace
in Europe, and which has not since been rebuilt; so that the kings are
lodged, and very badly, at St. James’s Palace.
Portland had his first audience of the King on the 4th of February, and
remained four months in France. His politeness, his courtly and gallant
manners, and the good cheer he gave, charmed everybody, and made him
universally popular. It became the fashion to give fetes in his honour;
and the astonishing fact is, that the King, who at heart was more
offended than ever with William of Orange, treated this ambassador with
the most marked distinction. One evening he even gave Portland his
bedroom candlestick, a favour only accorded to the most considerable
persons, and always regarded as a special mark of the King’s bounty.
Notwithstanding all these attentions, Portland was as unsuccessful as his
predecessor. The King had firmly resolved to continue his protection to
James II., and nothing could shake this determination. Portland was
warned from the first, that if he attempted to speak to the King upon the
point, his labour would be thrown away; he wisely therefore kept silence,
and went home again without in any way having fulfilled the mission upon
which he had been sent.
We had another distinguished foreigner arrive in France about this time,
--I mean, the Prince of Parma, respecting whom I remember a pleasing
adventure. At Fontainebleau more great dancing-parties are given than
elsewhere, and Cardinal d’Estrees wished to give one there in honour of
this Prince. I and many others were invited to the banquet; but the
Prince himself, for whom the invitation was specially provided, was
forgotten. The Cardinal had given invitations right and left, but by
some omission the Prince had not had one sent to him. On the morning of
the dinner this discovery was made. The Prince was at once sent to, but
he was engaged, and for several days. The dinner therefore took place
without him; the Cardinal was much laughed at for his absence of mind.
He was often similarly forgetful.
The Bishop of Poitiers died at the commencement of this year, and his
bishopric was given at Easter to the Abbe de Caudelet. The Abbe was a
very good man, but made himself an enemy, who circulated the blackest
calumnies against him. Amongst other impostures it was said that the
Abbe had gambled all Good Friday; the truth being, that in the evening,
after all the services were over, he went to see the Marechale de Crequi,
who prevailed upon him to amuse her for an hour by playing at piquet.
But the calumny had such effect, that the bishopric of Poitiers was taken
from him, and he retired into Brittany, where he passed the rest of his
life in solitude and piety. His brother in the meantime fully proved to
Pere de la Chaise the falsehood of this accusation; and he, who was
upright and good, did all he could to bestow some other living upon the
Abbe, in recompense for that he had been stripped of. But the King would
not consent, although often importuned, and even reproached for his
cruelty.
It was known, too, who was the author of the calumny. It was the Abbe de
la Chatre, who for a long time had been chaplain to the King, and who was
enraged against everyone who was made bishop before him. He was a man
not wanting in intelligence, but bitter, disagreeable, punctilious; very
ignorant, because he would never study, and so destitute of morality,
that I saw him say mass in the chapel on Ash Wednesday, after having
passed a night, masked at a ball, where he said and did the most filthy
things, as seen and heard by M. de La Vrilliere, before whom he unmasked,
and who related this to me: half an hour after, I met the Abbe de la
Chatre, dressed and going to the altar. Other adventures had already
deprived him of all chance of being made bishop by the King.
The old Villars died at this time. I have already mentioned him as
having been made chevalier d’honneur to the Duchesse de Chartres at her
marriage. I mention him now, because I omitted to say before the origin
of his name of Orondat, by which he was generally known, and which did
not displease him. This is the circumstance that gave rise to it.
Madame de Choisy, a lady of the fashionable world, went one day to see
the Comtesse de Fiesque, and found there a large company. The Countess
had a young girl living with her, whose name was Mademoiselle
d’Outrelaise, but who was called the Divine. Madame de Choisy, wishing
to go into the bedroom, said she would go there, and see the Divine.
Mounting rapidly, she found in the chamber a young and very pretty girl,
Mademoiselle Bellefonds, and a man, who escaped immediately upon seeing
her. The face of this man being perfectly well made, so struck her,
that, upon coming down again, she said it could only be that of Orondat.
Now that romances are happily no longer read, it is necessary to say that
Orondat is a character in Cyrus, celebrated by his figure and his good
looks, and who charmed all the heroines of that romance, which was then
much in vogue. The greater part of the company knew that Villars was
upstairs to see Mademoiselle de Bellefonds, with whom he was much in
love, and whom he soon afterwards married. Everybody therefore smiled at
this adventure of Orondat, and the name clung ever afterwards to Villars.