The valets being gone, Louvois did not dissimulate from the King his

mission. The monarch was often false, but incapable of rising above his

own falsehood. Surprised at being discovered, he tried to shuffle out of

the matter, and pressed by his minister, began to move so as to gain the

other cabinet where the valets were, and thus deliver himself from this

hobble. But Louvois, who perceived what he was about, threw himself on

his knees and stopped him, drew from his side a little sword he wore,

presented the handle to the King, and prayed him to kill him on the spot,

if he would persist in declaring his marriage, in breaking his word, and

covering himself in the eyes of Europe with infamy. The King stamped,

fumed, told Louvois to let him go. But Louvois squeezed him tighter by

the legs for fear he should escape; represented to him the shame of what

he had decided on doing; in a word, succeeded so well, that he drew for

the second time from the King, a promise that the marriage should never

be declared.

Madame de Maintenon meanwhile expected every moment to be proclaimed

Queen. At the end of some days disturbed by the silence of the King,

she ventured to touch upon the subject. The embarrassment she caused the

King much troubled her. He softened the affair as much as he could, but

finished by begging her to think no more of being declared, and never to

speak of it to him again! After the first shock that the loss of her

hopes caused her, she sought to find out to whom she was beholden for it.

She soon learned the truth; and it is not surprising that she swore to

obtain Louvois’s disgrace, and never ceased to work at it until

successful. She waited her opportunity, and undermined her enemy at

leisure, availing herself of every occasion to make him odious to the

King.

Time passed. At length it happened that Louvois, not content with the

terrible executions in the Palatinate, which he had counselled, wished to

burn Treves. He proposed it to the King. A dispute arose between them,

but the King would not or could not be persuaded. It may be imagined

that Madame de Maintenon did not do much to convince him.

Some days afterwards Louvois, who had the fault of obstinacy, came as

usual to work with the King in Madame de Maintenon’s rooms. At the end

of the sitting he said, that he felt convinced that it was scrupulousness

alone which had hindered the King from consenting to so necessary an act

as the burning, of Treves, and that he had, therefore, taken the

responsibility on himself by sending a courier with orders to set fire to

the place at once.

The King was immediately, and contrary to his nature, so transported with

anger that he seized the tongs, and was about to make a run at Louvois,

when Madame de Maintenon placed herself between them, crying, “Oh, Sire,

what are you going to do?” and took the tongs from his hands.

Louvois, meanwhile, gained the door. The King cried after him to recall

him, and said, with flashing eyes: “Despatch a courier instantly with a

counter order, and let him arrive in time; for, know this: if a single

house is burned your head shall answer for it.” Louvois, more dead than

alive, hastened away at once.

Of course, he had sent off no courier. He said he had, believing that by

this trick the King, though he might be angry, would be led to give way.

He had reckoned wrongly, however, as we have seen.

From this time forward Louvois became day by day more distasteful to the

King. In the winter of 1690, he proposed that, in order to save expense,

the ladies should not accompany the King to the siege of Mons. Madame de

Maintenon, we may be sure, did not grow more kindly disposed towards him

after this. But as it is always the last drop of water that makes the

glass overflow, so a trifle that happened at this siege, completed the

disgrace of Louvois.

The King, who plumed himself upon knowing better than anybody the

minutest military details, walking one day about the camp, found an

ordinary cavalry guard ill-posted, and placed it differently. Later the

same day he again visited by chance the spot, and found the guard

replaced as at first. He was surprised and shocked. He asked the

captain who had done this, and was told it was Louvois.

“But,” replied the King, “did you not tell him ‘twas I who had placed

you?”

“Yes, Sire,” replied the captain. The King piqued, turned towards his

suite, and said: “That’s Louvois’s trade, is it not? He thinks himself a

great captain, and that he knows everything,” and forthwith he replaced

the guard as he had put it in the morning. It was, indeed, foolishness

and insolence on the part of Louvois, and the King had spoken truly of

him. The King was so wounded that he could not pardon him. After

Louvois’s death, he related this incident to Pomponne, still annoyed at

it, as I knew by means of the Abbe de Pomponne.

After the return from Mons the dislike of the King for Louvois augmented

to such an extent, that this minister, who was so presumptuous, and who

thought himself so necessary, began to tremble. The Marechale de

Rochefort having gone with her daughter, Madame de Blansac, to dine with

him at Meudon, he took them out for a ride in a little ‘calache’, which

he himself drove. They heard him repeatedly say to himself, musing

profoundly, “Will he? Will he be made to? No--and yet--no, he will not

dare.”

During this monologue Louvois was so absorbed that he was within an ace

of driving them all into the water, and would have done so, had they not

seized the reins, and cried out that he was going to drown them. At

their cries and movement, Louvois awoke as from a deep sleep, drew up,

and turned, saying that, indeed, he was musing, and not thinking of the

vehicle.

I was at Versailles at that time, and happened to call upon Louvois about

some business of my father’s.

The same day I met him after dinner as he was going to work with the

King. About four o’clock in the afternoon I learned that he had been

taken rather unwell at Madame de Maintenon’s, that the King had forced

him to go home, that he had done so on foot, that some trifling remedy

was administered to him there, and that during the operation of it he

died!

The surprise of all the Court may be imagined. Although I was little

more than fifteen years of age, I wished to see the countenance of the

King after the occurrence of an event of this kind. I went and waited

for him, and followed him during all his promenade. He appeared to me

with his accustomed majesty, but had a nimble manner, as though he felt

more free than usual. I remarked that, instead of going to see his

fountains, and diversifying his walk as usual, he did nothing but walk up

and down by the balustrade of the orangery, whence he could see, in

returning towards the chateau, the lodging in which Louvois had just

died, and towards which he unceasingly looked.

The name of Louvois was never afterwards pronounced; not a word was said

upon this death so surprising, and so sudden, until the arrival of an

officer, sent by the King of England from Saint-Germain, who came to the

King upon this terrace, and paid him a compliment of condolence upon the

loss he had received.

“Monsieur,” replied the King, in a tone and with a manner more than easy,

“give my compliments and my thanks to the King and Queen of England, and

say to them in my name, that my affairs and theirs will go on none the

worse for what has happened.”

The officer made a bow and retired, astonishment painted upon his face,

and expressed in all his bearing. I anxiously observed all this, and

also remarked, that all the principal people around the King looked at

each other, but said no word. The fact was, as I afterwards learned,

that Louvois, when he died, was so deeply in disgrace, that the very next

day he was to have been arrested and sent to the Bastille! The King told

Chamillart so, and Chamillart related it to me. This explains, I fancy,

the joy of the King at the death of his minister; for it saved him from

executing the plan he had resolved on.

The suddenness of the disease and death of Louvois caused much talk,

especially when, on the opening of the body, it was discovered that he

had been poisoned. A servant was arrested on the charge; but before the

trial took place he was liberated, at the express command of the King,

and the whole affair was hushed up. Five or six months afterwards Seron,

private physician of Louvois, barricaded himself in his apartment at

Versailles, and uttered dreadful cries. People came but he refused to

open; and as the door could not be forced, he went on shrieking all day,

without succour, spiritual or temporal, saying at last that he had got

what he deserved for what he had done to his master; that he was a wretch

unworthy of help; and so he died despairing, in eight or ten hours,

without having spoken of any ones or uttered a single name!

CHAPTER LXXVII

It must not be imagined that in order to maintain her position Madame de

Maintenon had need of no address. Her reign, on the contrary, was only

one continual intrigue; and that of the King a perpetual dupery.

Her mornings, which she commenced very early, were occupied with obscure

audiences for charitable or spiritual affairs. Pretty often, at eight

o’clock in the morning, or earlier, she went to some minister; the

ministers of war, above all those of finance, were those with whom she

had most business.

Ordinarily as soon as she rose, she went to Saint-Cyr, dined in her

apartment there alone, or with some favourite of the house, gave as few

audiences as possible, ruled over the arrangements of the establishment,

meddled with the affairs of convents, read and replied to letters,

directed the affairs of the house, received information and letters from

her spies, and returned to Versailles just as the King was ready to enter

her rooms. When older and more infirm, she would lie down in bed on

arriving between seven and eight o’clock in the morning at Saint-Cyr, or

take some remedy.

Towards nine o’clock in the evening two waiting-women came to undress

her. Immediately afterwards, her maitre d’hotel, or a valet de chambre

brought her her supper--soup, or something light. As soon as she had

finished her meal, her women put her to bed, and all this in the presence

of the King and his minister, who did not cease working or speak lower.

This done, ten o’clock had arrived; the curtains of Madame de Maintenon

were drawn, and the King went to supper, after saying good night to her.

When with the King in her own room, they each occupied an armchair, with

a table between them, at either side of the fireplace, hers towards the

bed, the King’s with the back to the wall, where was the door of the

ante-chamber; two stools were before the table, one for the minister who

came to work, the other for his papers.

During the work Madame de Maintenon read or worked at tapestry. She

heard all that passed between the King and his minister, for they spoke

out loud. Rarely did she say anything, or, if so, it was of no moment.

The King often asked her opinion; then she replied with great discretion.

Never did she appear to lay stress on anything, still less to interest

herself for anybody, but she had an understanding with the minister, who

did not dare to oppose her in private, still less to trip in her

presence. When some favour or some post was to be granted, the matter

was arranged between them beforehand; and this it was that sometimes

delayed her, without the King or anybody knowing the cause.

She would send word to the minister that she wished to speak to him. He

did not dare to bring anything forward until he had received her orders;

until the revolving mechanism of each day had given them the leisure to

confer together. That done, the minister proposed and showed a list. If

by chance the King stopped at the name Madame de Maintenon wished, the

minister stopped too, and went no further. If the King stopped at some

other, the minister proposed that he should look at those which were also

fitting, allowed the King leisure to make his observations, and profited

by them, to exclude the people who were not wanted. Rarely did he

propose expressly the name to which he wished to come, but always

suggested several that he tried to balance against each other, so as to

embarrass the King in his choice. Then the King asked his opinion, and

the minister, after touching upon other names, fixed upon the one he had

selected.

The King nearly always hesitated, and asked Madame de Maintenon what she

thought. She smiled, shammed incapacity, said a word upon some other

name, then returned, if she had not fixed herself there at first, to that

which the minister had proposed; so that three-fourths of the favours and

opportunities which passed through the hands of the ministers in her

rooms--and three-fourths even of the remaining fourth-were disposed of by

her. Sometimes when she had nobody for whom she cared, it was the

minister, with her consent and her help, who decided, without the King

having the least suspicion. He thought he disposed of everything by

himself; whilst, in fact, he disposed only of the smallest part, and

always then by chance, except on the rare occasions when he specially

wished to favour some one.

As for state matters, if Madame de Maintenon wished to make them succeed,

fail, or turn in some particular fashion (which happened much less often

than where favours and appointments were in the wind), the same

intelligence and the same intrigue were carried on between herself and

the minister. By these particulars it will be seen that this clever

woman did nearly all she wished, but not when or how she wished.

There was another scheme if the King stood out; it was to avoid decision

by confusing and spinning out the matter in hand, or by substituting

another as though arising, opportunely out of it, and by which it was

turned aside, or by proposing that some explanations should be obtained.

The first ideas of the King were thus weakened, and the charge was

afterwards returned to, with the same address, oftentimes with success.

It is this which made the ministers so necessary to Madame de Maintenon,

and her so necessary to them: She rendered them, in fact, continual

services by means of the King, in return for the services they rendered

her. The mutual concerns, therefore, between her and them were infinite;

the King, all the while, not having the slightest suspicion of what was

going on!

The power of Madame de Maintenon was, as may be imagined, immense. She

had everybody in her hands, from the highest and most favoured minister

to the meanest subject of the realm. Many people have been ruined by

her, without having been able to discover the author of their ruin,

search as they might. All attempts to find a remedy were equally

unsuccessful.

Yet the King was constantly on his guard, not only against Madame de

Maintenon, but against his ministers also. Many a time it happened that

when sufficient care had not been taken, and he perceived that a minister

or a general wished to favour a relative or protege of Madame de

Maintenon, he firmly opposed the appointment on that account alone, and

the remarks he uttered thereupon made Madame de Maintenon very timid and

very measured when she wished openly to ask a favour.

Le Tellier, long before he was made Chancellor, well knew the mood of the

King. One of his friends asked him for some place that he much desired.

Le Tellier replied that he would do what he could. The friend did not

like this reply, and frankly said that it was not such as he expected

from a man with such authority. “You do not know the ground,” replied Le

Tellier; “of twenty matters that we bring before the King, we are sure he

will pass nineteen according to our wishes; we are equally certain that

the twentieth will be decided against them. But which of the twenty will

be decided contrary to our desire we never know, although it may be the

one we have most at heart. The King reserves to himself this caprice, to

make us feel that he is the master, and that he governs; and if, by

chance, something is presented upon which he is obstinate, and which is

sufficiently important for us to be obstinate about also, either on

account of the thing itself, or for the desire we have that it should

succeed as we wish, we very often get a dressing; but, in truth, the

dressing over, and the affair fallen through, the King, content with

having showed that we can do nothing, and pained by having vexed us,

becomes afterwards supple and flexible, so that then is the time at which

we can do all we wish.”

This is, in truth, how the King conducted himself with his ministers,

always completely governed by them, even by the youngest and most

mediocre, even by the least accredited and the least respected--yet

always on his guard against being governed, and always persuaded that he

succeeded fully in avoiding it.

He adopted the same conduct towards Madame de Maintenon, whom at times he

scolded terribly, and applauded himself for so doing. Sometimes she

threw herself on her knees before him, and for several days was really

upon thorns. When she had appointed Fagon physician of the King in place

of Daquin, whom she dismissed, she had a doctor upon whom she could

certainly rely, and she played the sick woman accordingly, after those

scenes with the King, and in this manner turned them to her own

advantage.

It was not that this artifice had any power in constraining the King, or

that a real illness would have had any. He was a man solely personal,

and who counted others only as they stood in relation to himself. His

hard-heartedness, therefore, was extreme. At the time when he was most

inclined towards his mistresses, whatever indisposition they might labour

under, even the most opposed to travelling and to appearing in full court

dress, could not save them from either. When enceinte, or ill, or just

risen from child birth, they must needs be squeezed into full dress, go

to Flanders or further, dance; sit up, attend fetes, eat, be merry and

good company; go from place to place; appear neither to fear, nor to be

inconvenienced by heat, cold, wind, or dust; and all this precisely to

the hour and day, without a minute’s grace.

His daughters he treated in the same manner. It has been seen, in its

place, that he had no more consideration for Madame la Duchesse de Berry,

nor even for Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne--whatever Fagon, Madame de

Maintenon, and others might do or say. Yet he loved Madame la Duchesse

de Bourgogne as tenderly as he was capable of loving anybody: but both

she and Madame la Duchesse de Berry had miscarriages, which relieved him,

he said, though they then had no children.

When he travelled, his coach was always full of women; his mistresses,

afterwards his bastards, his daughters-in-law, sometimes Madame, and

other ladies when there was room. In the coach, during his journeys,

there were always all sorts of things to eat, as meat, pastry, fruit.

A quarter of a league was not passed over before the King asked if

somebody would not eat. He never ate anything between meals himself,

not even fruit; but he amused himself by seeing others do so, aye,

and to bursting. You were obliged to be hungry, merry, and to eat with

appetite, otherwise he was displeased, and even showed it. And yet after

this, if you supped with him at table the same day, you were compelled to

eat with as good a countenance as though you had tasted nothing since the

previous night. He was as inconsiderate in other and more delicate

matters; and ladies, in his long drives and stations, had often occasion

to curse him. The Duchesse de Chevreuse once rode all the way from

Versailles to Fontainebleau in such extremity, that several times she was

well-nigh losing consciousness.

The King, who was fond of air, liked all the windows to be lowered;

he would have been much displeased had any lady drawn a curtain for

protection against sun, wind, or cold. No inconvenience or incommodity

was allowed to be even perceived; and the King always went very quickly,

most frequently with relays. To faint was a fault past hope of pardon.

Madame de Maintenon, who feared the air and many other inconveniences,

could gain no privilege over the others. All she obtained, under

pretence of modesty and other reasons, was permission to journey apart;

but whatever condition she might be in, she was obliged to follow the

King, and be ready to receive him in her rooms by the time he was ready

to enter them. She made many journeys to Marly in a state such as would

have saved a servant from movement. She made one to Fontainebleau when

it seemed not unlikely that she would die on the road! In whatever

condition she might be, the King went to her at his ordinary hour and did

what he had projected; though several times she was in bed, profusely

sweating away a fever. The King, who as I have said, was fond of air,

and feared warm rooms, was astonished upon arriving to find everything

close shut, and ordered the windows to be opened; would not spare them an

inch; and up to ten o’clock, when he went to supper, kept them open,

utterly regardless of the cool night air, although he knew well what a

state she was in. If there was to be music, fever or headache availed

not; a hundred wax candles flashed all the same in her eyes. The King,

in fact, always followed his own inclination, without ever asking whether

she was inconvenienced.

The tranquillity and pious resignation of the King during the last days

of his illness, was a matter of some surprise to many people, as, indeed,

it deserved to be. By way of explanation, the doctors said that the

malady he died of, while it deadens and destroys all bodily pain, calms

and annihilates all heart pangs and agitation of the mind.

They who were in the sick-chamber, during the last days of his illness,

gave another reason.

The Jesuits constantly admit the laity, even married, into their company.

This fact is certain. There is no doubt that Des Noyers, Secretary of

State under Louis XIII., was of this number, or that many others have

been so too. These licentiates make the same vow as the Jesuits, as far

as their condition admits: that is, unrestricted obedience to the

General, and to the superiors of the company. They are obliged to supply

the place of the vows of poverty and chastity, by promising to give all

the service and all the protection in their power to the Company, above

all, to be entirely submissive to the superiors and to their confessor.

They are obliged to perform, with exactitude, such light exercises of

piety as their confessor may think adapted to the circumstances of their

lives, and that he simplifies as much as he likes. It answers the

purpose of the Company to ensure to itself those hidden auxiliaries whom

it lets off cheaply. But nothing must pass through their minds, nothing

must come to their knowledge that they do not reveal to their confessor;

and that which is not a secret of the conscience, to the superiors, if

the confessor thinks fit. In everything, too, they must obey without

comment, the superior and the confessors.

It has been pretended that Pere Tellier had inspired the King, long

before his death, with the desire to be admitted, on this footing, into

the Company; that he had vaunted to him the privileges and plenary

indulgences attached to it; that he had persuaded him that whatever

crimes had been committed, and whatever difficulty there might be in

making amends for them, this secret profession washed out all, and

infallibly assured salvation, provided that the vows were faithfully

kept; that the General of the Company was admitted into the secret with

the consent of the King; that the King pronounced the vows before Pere

Tellier; that in the last days of his life they were heard, the one

fortifying, the other resposing upon these promises; that, at last,

the King received from Pere Tellier the final benediction of the Company,

as one of its members; that Pere Tellier made the King offer up prayers,

partly heard, of a kind to leave no doubt of the matter; and that he had

given him the robe, or the almost imperceptible sign, as it were, a sort

of scapulary, which was found upon him. To conclude, the majority of

those who approached the King in his last moments attributed his

penitence to the artifices and persuasions of the Jesuits, who, for

temporal interests, deceive sinners even up to the edge of the tomb, and

conduct them to it in profound peace by a path strewn with flowers.

However it is but fair to say, that Marechal, who was very trustful,

assured me he had never perceived anything which justified this idea, and

that he was persuaded there was not the least truth in it; and I think,

that although he was not always in the chamber or near the bed, and

although Pere Tellier might mistrust and try to deceive him, still if the

King had been made a Jesuit as stated, Marechal must have had sore

knowledge or some suspicion of the circumstance.

VOLUME 11.

CHAPTER LXXVIII

After having thus described with truth and the most exact fidelity all

that has come to my knowledge through my own experience, or others

qualified to speak of Louis XIV. during the last twenty-two years of his

life: and after having shown him such as he was, without prejudice

(although I have permitted myself to use the arguments naturally

resulting from things), nothing remains but to describe the outside life

of this monarch, during my residence at the Court.

However insipid and perhaps superfluous details so well known may appear

after what has been already given, lessons will be found therein for

kings who may wish to make themselves respected, and who may wish to

respect themselves. What determines me still more is, that details

wearying, nay annoying, to instructed readers, who had been witnesses of

what I relate, soon escape the knowledge of posterity; and that

experience shows us how much we regret that no one takes upon himself a

labour, in his own time so ungrateful, but in future years so

interesting, and by which princes, who have made quite as much stir as

the one in question, are characterise. Although it may be difficult to

steer clear of repetitions, I will do my best to avoid them.

I will not speak much of the King’s manner of living when with the army.

His hours were determined by what was to be done, though he held his

councils regularly; I will simply say, that morning and evening he ate

with people privileged to have that honour. When any one wished to claim

it, the first gentleman of the chamber on duty was appealed to. He gave

the answer, and if favourable you presented yourself the next day to the

King, who said to you, “Monsieur, seat yourself at table.” That being

done, all was done. Ever afterwards you were at liberty to take a place

at the King’s table, but with discretion. The number of the persons from

whom a choice was made was, however, very limited. Even very high

military rank did not suffice. M. de Vauban, at the siege of Namur, was

overwhelmed by the distinction. The King did the same honour at Namur to

the Abbe de Grancey, who exposed himself everywhere to confess the

wounded and encourage the troops. No other Abbe was ever so

distinguished. All the clergy were excluded save the cardinals, and the

bishops, piers, or the ecclesiastics who held the rank of foreign

princes.

At these repasts everybody was covered; it would have been a want of

respect, of which you would have been immediately informed, if you had

not kept your hat on your head. The King alone was uncovered. When the

King wished to speak to you, or you had occasion to speak to him, you

uncovered. You uncovered, also, when Monseigneur or Monsieur spoke to

you, or you to them. For Princes of the blood you merely put your hand

to your hat. The King alone had an armchair. All the rest of the

company, Monseigneur included, had seats, with backs of black morocco

leather, which could be folded up to be carried, and which were called

“parrots.” Except at the army, the King never ate with any man, under

whatever circumstances; not even with the Princes of the Blood, save

sometimes at their wedding feasts.

Let us return now to the Court.

At eight o’clock the chief valet de chambre on duty, who alone had slept

in the royal chamber, and who had dressed himself, awoke the King. The

chief physician, the chief surgeon, and the nurse (as long as she lived),

entered at the same time; the latter kissed the King; the others rubbed

and often changed his shirt, because he was in the habit of sweating a

great deal. At the quarter, the grand chamberlain was called (or, in his

absence, the first gentleman of the chamber), and those who had what was

called the ‘grandes entrees’. The chamberlain (or chief gentleman) drew

back the curtains which had been closed again; and presented the holy-

water from the vase, at the head of the bed. These gentlemen stayed but

a moment, and that was the time to speak to the King, if any one had

anything to ask of him; in which case the rest stood aside. When,

contrary to custom, nobody had ought to say, they were there but for a

few moments. He who had opened the curtains and presented the holy-

water, presented also a prayer-book. Then all passed into the cabinet of

the council. A very short religious service being over, the King called,

they re-entered, The same officer gave him his dressing-gown; immediately

after, other privileged courtiers entered, and then everybody, in time to

find the King putting on his shoes and stockings, for he did almost

everything himself and with address and grace. Every other day we saw

him shave himself; and he had a little short wig in which he always

appeared, even in bed, and on medicine days. He often spoke of the

chase, and sometimes said a-word to somebody. No toilette table was near

him; he had simply a mirror held before him.

As soon as he was dressed, he prayed to God, at the side of his bed,

where all the clergy present knelt, the cardinals without cushions, all

the laity remaining standing; and the captain of the guards came to the

balustrade during the prayer, after which the King passed into his

cabinet.

He found there, or was followed by all who had the entree, a very

numerous company, for it included everybody in any office. He gave

orders to each for the day; thus within a half a quarter of an hour it

was known what he meant to do; and then all this crowd left directly.

The bastards, a few favourites; and the valets alone were left. It was

then a good opportunity for talking with the King; for example, about

plans of gardens and buildings; and conversation lasted more or less

according to the person engaged in it.

All the Court meantime waited for the King in the gallery, the captain of

the guard being alone in the chamber seated at the door of the cabinet.

At morning the Court awaited in the saloon; at Trianon in the front rooms

as at Meudon; at Fontainebleau in the chamber and ante-chamber. During

this pause the King gave audiences when he wished to accord any; spoke

with whoever he might wish to speak secretly to, and gave secret

interviews to foreign ministers in presence of Torcy. They were called

“secret” simply to distinguish them from the uncommon ones by the

bedsides.

The King went to mass, where his musicians always sang an anthem. He did

not go below--except on grand fetes or at ceremonies. Whilst he was

going to and returning from mass, everybody spoke to him who wished,

after apprising the captain of the guard, if they were not distinguished;

and he came and went by the door of the cabinet into the gallery. During

the mass the ministers assembled in the King’s chamber, where

distinguished people could go and speak or chat with them. The King

amused himself a little upon returning from mass and asked almost

immediately for the council. Then the morning was finished.

On Sunday, and often on Monday, there was a council of state; on Tuesday

a finance council; on Wednesday council of state; on Saturday finance

council: rarely were two held in one day or any on Thursday or Friday.

Once or twice a month there was a council of despatches on Monday

morning; but the order that the Secretaries of State took every morning

between the King’s rising and his mass, much abridged this kind of

business. All the ministers were seated accordingly to rank, except at

the council of despatches, where all stood except the sons of France, the

Chancellor, and the Duc de Beauvilliers.

Thursday morning was almost always blank. It was the day for audiences

that the King wished to give--often unknown to any--back-stair audiences.

It was also the grand day taken advantage of by the bastards, the valets,

etc., because the King had nothing to do. On Friday after the mass the

King was with his confessor, and the length of their audiences was

limited by nothing, and might last until dinner. At Fontainebleau on the

mornings when there was no council, the King usually passed from mass to

Madame de Maintenon’s, and so at Trianon and Marly. It was the time for

their tete-a-tete without interruption. Often on the days when there was

no council the dinner hour was advanced, more or less for the chase or

the promenade. The ordinary hour was one o’clock; if the council still

lasted, then the dinner waited and nothing was said to the King.

The dinner was always ‘au petit couvert’, that is, the King ate by

himself in his chamber upon a square table in front of the middle window.

It was more or less abundant, for he ordered in the morning whether it

was to be “a little,” or “very little” service. But even at this last,

there were always many dishes, and three courses without counting the

fruit. The dinner being ready, the principal courtiers entered; then all

who were known; and the gentleman of the chamber on duty informed the

King.

I have seen, but very rarely, Monseigneur and his sons standing at their

dinners, the King not offering them a seat. I have continually seen

there the Princes of the blood and the cardinals. I have often seen

there also Monsieur, either on arriving from Saint-Cloud to see the King,

or arriving from the council of despatches (the only one he entered),

give the King his napkin and remain standing. A little while afterwards,

the King, seeing that he did not go away, asked him if he would not sit

down; he bowed, and the King ordered a seat to be brought for him. A

stool was put behind him. Some moments after the King said, “Nay then,

sit down, my brother.” Monsieur bowed and seated himself until the end

of the dinner, when he presented the napkin.

At other times when he came from Saint-Cloud, the King, on arriving at

the table, asked for a plate for Monsieur, or asked him if he would dine.

If he refused, he went away a moment after, and there was no mention of a

seat; if he accepted, the King asked for a plate for him. The table was

square, he placed himself at one end, his back to the cabinet. Then the

Grand Chamberlain (or the first gentleman of the chamber) gave him drink

and plates, taking them from him as he finished with them, exactly as he

served the King; but Monsieur received all this attention with strongly

marked politeness. When he dined thus with the King he much enlivened

the conversation. The King ordinarily spoke little at table unless some

family favourite was near. It was the same at hid rising. Ladies

scarcely ever were seen at these little dinners.

I have, however, seen the Marechale de la Mothe, who came in because she

had been used to do so as governess to the children of France, and who

received a seat, because she was a Duchess. Grand dinners were very

rare, and only took place on grand occasions, and then ladies were

present.

Upon leaving the table the King immediately entered his cabinet. That

was the time for distinguished people to speak to him. He stopped at the

door a moment to listen, then entered; very rarely did any one follow

him, never without asking him for permission to do so; and for this few

had the courage. If followed he placed himself in the embrasure of the

window nearest to the door of the cabinet, which immediately closed of

itself, and which you were obliged to open yourself on quitting the King.

This also was the time for the bastards and the valets.

The King amused himself by feeding his dogs, and remained with them more

or less time, then asked for his wardrobe, changed before the very few

distinguished people it pleased the first gentleman of the chamber to

admit there, and immediately went out by the back stairs into the court

of marble to get into his coach. From the bottom of that staircase to

the coach, any one spoke to him who wished.

The King was fond of air, and when deprived of it his health suffered; he

had headaches and vapours caused by the undue use he had formerly made of

perfumes, so that for many years he could not endure any, except the

odour of orange flowers; therefore if you had to approach anywhere near

him you did well not to carry them.

As he was but little sensitive to heat or cold, or even to rain, the

weather was seldom sufficiently bad to prevent his going abroad. He went

out for three objects: stag-hunting, once or more each week; shooting in

his parks (and no man handled a gun with more grace or skill), once or

twice each week; and walking in his gardens for exercise, and to see his

workmen. Sometimes he made picnics with ladies, in the forest at Marly

or at Fontainebleau, and in this last place, promenades with all the

Court around the canal, which was a magnificent spectacle. Nobody

followed him in his other promenades but those who held principal

offices, except at Versailles or in the gardens of Trianon. Marly had a

privilege unknown to the other places. On going out from the chateau,

the King said aloud, “Your hats, gentlemen,” and immediately courtiers,

officers of the guard, everybody, in fact, covered their heads, as he

would have been much displeased had they not done so; and this lasted all

the promenade, that is four or five hours in summer, or in other seasons,

when he dined early at Versailles to go and walk at Marly, and not sleep

there.

The stag-hunting parties were on an extensive scale. At Fontainebleau

every one went who wished; elsewhere only those were allowed to go who

had obtained the permission once for all, and those who had obtained

leave to wear the justau-corps, which was a blue uniform with silver and

gold lace, lined with red. The King did not like too many people at

these parties. He did not care for you to go if you were not fond of the

chase. He thought that ridiculous, and never bore ill-will to those who

stopped away altogether.

It was the same with the play-table, which he liked to see always well

frequented--with high stakes--in the saloon at Marly, for lansquenet and

other games. He amused himself at Fontainebleau during bad weather by

seeing good players at tennis, in which he had formerly excelled; and at

Marly by seeing mall played, in which he had also been skilful.

Sometimes when there was no council, he would make presents of stuff, or

of silverware, or jewels, to the ladies, by means of a lottery, for the

tickets of which they paid nothing. Madame de Maintenon drew lots with

the others, and almost always gave at once what she gained. The King

took no ticket.

Upon returning home from walks or drives, anybody, as I have said, might

speak to the King from the moment he left his coach till he reached the

foot of his staircase. He changed his dress again, and rested in his

cabinet an hour or more, then went to Madame de Maintenon’s, and on the

way any one who wished might speak to him.

At ten o’clock his supper was served. The captain of the guard announced

this to him. A quarter of an hour after the King came to supper, and

from the antechamber of Madame de Maintenon to the table--again, any one

spoke to him who wished. This supper was always on a grand scale, the

royal household (that is, the sons and daughters of France) at table, and

a large number of courtiers and ladies present, sitting or standing, and

on the evening before the journey to Marly all those ladies who wished to

take part in it. That was called presenting yourself for Marly. Men

asked in the morning, simply saying to the King, “Sire, Marly.” In later

years the King grew tired of this, and a valet wrote up in the gallery

the names of those who asked. The ladies continued to present

themselves.

After supper the King stood some moments, his back to the balustrade of

the foot of his bed, encircled by all his Court; then, with bows to the

ladies, passed into his cabinet, where, on arriving, he gave his orders.

He passed a little less than an hour there, seated in an armchair, with

his legitimate children and bastards, his grandchildren, legitimate and

otherwise, and their husbands or wives. Monsieur in another armchair;

the Princesses upon stools, Monseigneur and all the other Princes

standing.

The King, wishing to retire, went and fed his dogs; then said good night,

passed into his chamber to the ‘ruelle’ of his bed, where he said his

prayers, as in the morning, then undressed. He said good night with an

inclination of the head, and whilst everybody was leaving the room stood

at the corner of the mantelpiece, where he gave the order to the colonel

of the guards alone. Then commenced what was called the ‘petit coucher’,

at which only the specially privileged remained. That was short. They

did not leave until be got into bed. It was a moment to speak to him.

Then all left if they saw any one buckle to the King. For ten or twelve

years before he died the ‘petit coucher’ ceased, in consequence of a long

attack of gout be had had; so that the Court was finished at the rising

from supper.

On medicine days, which occurred about once a month, the King remained in

bed, then heard mass. The royal household came to see him for a moment,

and Madame de Maintenon seated herself in the armchair at the head of his

bed. The King dined in bed about three o’clock, everybody being allowed

to enter the room, then rose, and the privileged alone remained. He

passed afterwards into his cabinet, where he held a council, and

afterwards went, as usual, to Madame de Maintenon’s and supped at ten

o’clock, according to custom.

During all his life, the King failed only once in his attendance at mass,

It was with the army, during a forced march; he missed no fast day,

unless really indisposed. Some days before Lent, he publicly declared

that he should be very much displeased if any one ate meat or gave it to

others, under any pretext. He ordered the grand prevot to look to this,

and report all cases of disobedience. But no one dared to disobey his

commands, for they would soon have found out the cost. They extended

even to Paris, where the lieutenant of police kept watch and reported.

For twelve or fifteen years he had himself not observed Lent, however.

At church he was very respectful. During his mass everybody was obliged

to kneel at the Sanctus, and to remain so until after the communion of

the priest; and if he heard the least noise, or saw anybody talking

during the mass, he was much displeased. He took the communion five

times a year, in the collar of the Order, band, and cloak. On Holy

Thursday, he served the poor at dinner; at the mass he said his chaplet

(he knew no more), always kneeling, except at the Gospel.

He was always clad in dresses more or less brown, lightly embroidered,

but never at the edges, sometimes with nothing but a gold button,

sometimes black velvet. He wore always a vest of cloth, or of red, blue,

or green satin, much embroidered. He used no ring; and no jewels, except

in the buckles of his shoes, garters, and hat, the latter always trimmed

with Spanish point, with a white feather. He had always the cordon bleu

outside, except at fetes, when he wore it inside, with eight or ten

millions of precious stones attached.

Rarely a fortnight passed that the King did not go to Saint-Germain, even

after the death of King James the Second. The Court of Saint-Germain

came also to Versailles, but oftener to Marly, and frequently to sup

there; and no fete or ceremony took place to which they were not invited,

and at which they were not received with all honours. Nothing could

compare with the politeness of the King for this Court, or with the air

of gallantry and of majesty with which he received it at any time. Birth

days, or the fete days of the King and his family, so observed in the

courts of Europe, were always unknown in that of the King; so that there

never was the slightest mention of them, or any difference made on their

account.

The King was but little regretted. His valets and a few other people

felt his loss, scarcely anybody else. His successor was not yet old

enough to feel anything. Madame entertained for him only fear and

considerate respect. Madame la Duchesse de Berry did not like him, and

counted now upon reigning undisturbed. M. le Duc d’Orleans could

scarcely be expected to feel much grief for him. And those who may have

been expected did not consider it necessary to do their duty. Madame de

Maintenon was wearied with him ever since the death of the Dauphine; she

knew not what to do, or with what to amuse him; her constraint was

tripled because he was much more with her than before. She had often,

too, experienced much ill-humour from him. She had attained all she

wished, so whatever she might lose in losing him, she felt herself

relieved, and was capable of no other sentiment at first. The ennui and

emptiness of her life afterwards made her feel regret. As for M. du

Maine, the barbarous indecency of his joy need not be dwelt upon. The

icy tranquillity of his brother, the Comte de Toulouse, neither increased

nor diminished. Madame la Duchesse d’Orleans surprised me. I had

expected some grief, I perceived only a few tears, which upon all

occasions flowed very readily from her eyes, and which were soon dried

up. Her bed, which she was very fond of, supplied what was wanting

during several days, amidst obscurity which she by no means disliked.

But the window curtains were soon withdrawn and grief disappeared.

As for the Court, it was divided into two grand parties, the men hoping

to figure, to obtain employ, to introduce themselves: and they were

ravished to see the end of a reign under which they had nothing to hope

for; the others; fatigued with a heavy yoke, always overwhelming, and of

the ministers much more than of the King, were charmed to find themselves

at liberty. Thus all, generally speaking, were glad to be delivered from

continual restraint, and were eager for change.

Paris, tired of a dependence which had enslaved everything, breathed

again in the hope of liberty, and with joy at seeing at an end the

authority of so many people who abused it. The provinces in despair at

their ruin and their annihilation breathed again and leaped for joy; and

the Parliament and the robe destroyed by edicts and by revolutions,

flattered themselves the first that they should figure, the other that

they should find themselves free. The people ruined, overwhelmed,

desperate, gave thanks to God, with a scandalous eclat, for a

deliverance, their most ardent desires had not anticipated.

Foreigners delighted to be at last, after so many years, quit of a

monarch who had so long imposed his law upon them, and who had escaped

from them by a species of miracle at the very moment in which they

counted upon having subjugated him, contained themselves with much more

decency than the French. The marvels of the first three quarters of this

reign of more than seventy years, and the personal magnanimity of this

King until then so successful, and so abandoned afterwards by fortune

during the last quarter of his reign--had justly dazzled them. They made

it a point of honour to render to him after his death what they had

constantly refused him during life. No foreign Court exulted: all plumed

themselves upon praising and honouring his memory. The Emperor wore

mourning as for a father, and although four or five months elapsed

between the death of the King and the Carnival, all kinds of amusements

were prohibited at Vienna during the Carnival, and the prohibition was

strictly observed. A monstrous fact was, that towards the end of this

period there was a single ball and a kind of fete that the Comte du Luc

our own ambassador, was not ashamed to give to the ladies, who seduced

him by the ennui of so dull a Carnival. This complaisance did not raise

him in estimation at Vienna or elsewhere. In France people were

contented with ignoring it.

As for our ministry and the intendants of the provinces, the financiers

and what may be called the canaille, they felt all the extent of their

loss. We shall see if the realm was right or wrong in the sentiments it

held, and whether it found soon after that it had gained or lost.

To finish at once all that regards the King, let me here say, that his

entrails were taken to Notre Dame, on the 4th of September, without any

ceremony, by two almoners of the King, without accompaniment. On Friday,

the 6th of September, the Cardinal de Rohan carried the heart to the

Grand Jesuits, with very little accompaniment or pomp. Except the

persons necessary for the ceremony, not half a dozen courtiers were

present. It is not for me to comment upon this prompt ingratitude, I,

who for fifty-two years have never once missed going to Saint-Denis on

the anniversary of the death of Louis XIII., and have never seen a single

person there on the same errand. On the 9th of September, the body of

the late King was buried at Saint-Denis. The Bishop of Aleth pronounced

the oration. Very little expense was gone to; and nobody was found who

cared sufficiently for the late King to murmur at the economy. On

Friday, the 25th of October, his solemn obsequies took place at Saint-

Denis in a confusion, as to rank and precedence, without example. On

Thursday, the 28th of November, the solemn obsequies were again

performed, this time at Notre Dame, and with the usual ceremonies.

CHAPTER LXXIX

The death of the King surprised M. le Duc d’Orleans in the midst of his

idleness as though it had not been foreseen. He had made no progress in

numberless arrangements, which I had suggested he should carry out;

accordingly he was overwhelmed with orders to give, with things to

settle, each more petty than the other, but all so provisional and so

urgent that it happened as I had predicted, he had no time to think of

anything important.

I learnt the death of the King upon awaking. Immediately after, I went

to pay my respects to the new monarch. The first blood had already

passed. I found myself almost alone. I went thence to M. le Duc

d’Orleans, whom I found shut in, but all his apartments so full that a

pin could not have fallen to the ground. I talked of the Convocation of

the States-General, and reminded him of a promise he had given me, that

he would allow the Dukes to keep their hats on when their votes were

asked for; and I also mentioned various other promises he had made. All

I could obtain from him was another promise, that when the public affairs

of pressing moment awaiting attention were disposed of, we should have

all we required. Several of the Dukes who had been witnesses of the

engagement M. le Duc d’Orleans had made, were much vexed at this; but

ultimately it was agreed that for the moment we would sacrifice our own

particular interests to those of the State.

Between five and six the next morning a number of us met at the house of

the Archbishop of Rheims at the end of the Pont Royal, behind the Hotel

de Mailly, and there, in accordance with a resolution previously agreed

upon, it was arranged that I should make a protest to the Parliament

before the opening of the King’s will there, against certain other

usurpations, and state that it was solely because M. le Duc d’Orleans had

given us his word that our complaints should be attended to as soon as

the public affairs of the government were settled, that we postponed

further measures upon this subject. It was past seven before our debate

ended, and then we went straight to the Parliament.

We found it already assembled, and a few Dukes who had not attended our

meeting, but had promised to be guided by us, were also present; and then

a quarter of an hour after we were seated the bastards arrived. M. du

Maine was bursting with joy; the term is strange, but his bearing cannot

otherwise be described. The smiling and satisfied air prevailed over

that of audacity and of confidence, which shone, nevertheless, and over

politeness which seemed to struggle with them. He saluted right and

left, and pierced everybody with his looks. His salutation to the

Presidents had an air of rejoicing. To the peers he was serious, nay,

respectful; the slowness, the lowness of his inclination, was eloquent.

His head remained lowered even when he rose, so heavy is the weight of

crime, even at the moment when nothing but triumph is expected. I

rigidly followed him everywhere with my eyes, and I remarked that his

salute was returned by the peers in a very dry and cold manner.

Scarcely were we re-seated than M. le Duc arrived, and the instant after

M. le Duc d’Orleans. I allowed the stir that accompanied his appearance

to subside a little, and then, seeing that the Chief-President was about

to speak, I forestalled him, uncovered my head, and then covered it, and

made my speech in the terms agreed upon. I concluded by appealing to M.

le Duc d’Orleans to verify the truth of what I had said, in so far as it

affected him.

The profound silence with which I was listened to showed the surprise of

all present. M. le Duc d’Orleans uncovered himself, and in a low tone,

and with an embarrassed manner, confirmed what I had said, then covered

himself again.

Immediately afterwards I looked at M. du Maine, who appeared, to be well

content at being let off so easily, and who, my neighbours said to me,

appeared much troubled at my commencement.

A very short silence followed my protest, after which I saw the Chief-

President say something in a low tone to M. le Duc d’Orleans, then

arrange a deputation of the Parliament to go in search of the King’s

will, and its codicil, which had been put in the same place. Silence

continued during this great and short period of expectation; every one

looked at his neighbour without stirring. We were all upon the lower

seats, the doors were supposed to be closed, but the grand chamber was

filled with a large and inquisitive crowd. The regiment of guards had

secretly occupied all the avenues, commanded by the Duc de Guiche, who

got six hundred thousand francs out of the Duc d’Orleans for this

service, which was quite unnecessary.

The deputation was not long in returning. It placed the will and the

codicil in the hands of the Chief-President, who presented them, without

parting with them, to M. le Duc d’Orleans, then passed them from hand to

hand to Dreux, ‘conseiller’ of the Parliament, and father of the grand

master of the ceremonies, saying that he read well, and in a loud voice

that would he well heard by everybody. It may be imagined with what

silence he was listened to, and how all eyes? and ears were turned

towards him. Through all his; joy the Duc du Maine showed that his soul

was, troubled, as though about to undergo an operation that he must

submit to. M. le Duc d’Orleans showed only a tranquil attention.

I will not dwell upon these two documents, in which nothing is provided

but the grandeur and the power of the bastards, Madame de Maintenon and

Saint-Cyr, the choice of the King’s education and of the council of the

regency, by which M. le Duc d’Orleans was to be shorn of all authority to

the advantage of M. le Duc du Maine.

I remarked a sadness and a kind of indignation which were painted upon

all cheeks, as the reading advanced, and which turned into a sort of

tranquil fermentation at the reading of the codicil, which was entrusted

to the Abbe Menguy, another conseiller. The Duc du Maine felt it and

grew pale, for he was solely occupied in looking at every face, and I in

following his looks, and in glancing occasionally at M. le Duc d’Orleans.

The reading being finished, that prince spoke, casting his eyes upon all

the assembly, uncovering himself, and then covering himself again, and

commencing by a word of praise and of regret for the late King;

afterwards raising his voice, he declared that he had only to approve

everything just read respecting the education of the King, and everything

respecting an establishment so fine and so useful as that of Saint-Cyr;

that with respect to the dispositions concerning the government of the

state, he would speak separately of those in the will and those in the

codicil; that he could with difficulty harmonise them with the assurances

the King, during the last days of his life, had given him; that the King

could not have understood the importance of what he had been made to do

for the Duc du Maine since the council of the regency was chosen, and M.

du Maine’s authority so established by the will, that the Regent remained

almost without power; that this injury done to the rights of his birth,

to his attachment to the person of the King, to his love and fidelity for

the state, could not be endured if he was to preserve his honour; and

that he hoped sufficiently from the esteem of all present, to persuade

himself that his regency would be declared as it ought to be, that is to

say, complete, independent, and that he should be allowed to choose his

own council, with the members of which he would not discuss public

affairs, unless they were persons who, being approved by the public,

might also have his confidence. This short speech appeared to make a

great impression.

The Duc du Maine wished to speak. As he was about to do so, M. le Duc

d’Orleans put his head in front of M. le Duc and said, in a dry tone,

“Monsieur, you will speak in your turn.” In one moment the affair turned

according to the desires of M. le Duc d’Orleans. The power of the

council of the regency and its composition fell. The choice of the

council was awarded to M. le Duc d’Orleans, with all the authority of the

regency, and to the plurality of the votes of the council, the decision

of affairs, the vote of the Regent to be counted as two in the event of

an equal division. Thus all favours and all punishments remained in the

hands of M. le Duc d’Orleans alone. The acclamation was such that the

Duc du Maine did not dare to say a word. He reserved himself for the

codicil, which, if adopted, would have annulled all that M. le Duc

d’Orleans had just obtained.

After some few moments of silence, M. le Duc d’Orleans spoke again. He

testified fresh surprise that the dispositions of the will had not been

sufficient for those who had suggested them, and that, not content with

having established themselves as masters of the state, they themselves

should have thought those dispositions so strange that in order to

reassure them, it had been thought necessary to make them masters of the

person of the King, of the Regent, of the Court, and of Paris. He added,

that if his honour and all law and rule had been wounded by the

dispositions of the will, still more violated were they by those of the

codicil, which left neither his life nor his liberty in safety, and

placed the person of the King in the absolute dependence of those who had

dared to profit by the feeble state of a dying monarch, to draw from him

conditions he did not understand. He concluded by declaring that the

regency was impossible under such conditions, and that he doubted not the

wisdom of the assembly would annul a codicil which could not be

sustained, and the regulations of which would plunge France into the

greatest and most troublesome misfortune. Whilst this prince spoke a

profound and sad silence applauded him without explaining itself.

The Duc du Maine became of all colours, and began to speak, this time

being allowed to do so. He said that the education of the King, and

consequently his person, being confided to him, as a natural result,

entire authority over his civil and military household followed, without

which he could not properly serve him or answer for his person. Then he

vaunted his well-known attachment to the deceased King, who had put all

confidence in him.

M. le Duc d’Orleans interrupted him at this word, and commented upon it.

M. du Maine wished to calm him by praising the Marechal de Villeroy, who

was to assist him in his charge. M. le Duc d’Orleans replied that it

would be strange if the chief and most complete confidence were not

placed in the Regent, and stranger still if he were obliged to live under

the protection and authority of those who had rendered themselves the

absolute masters within and without, and of Paris even, by the regiment

of guards.

The dispute grew warm, broken phrases were thrown from one to the other,

when, troubled about the end of an altercation which became indecent and

yielding to the proposal that the Duc de la Force had just made me in

front of the Duc de la Rochefoucauld, who sat between us, I made a sign

with my hand to M. le Duc d’Orleans to go out and finish this discussion

in another room leading out of the grand chamber and where there was

nobody. What led me to this action was that I perceived M. du Maine grew

stronger, that confused murmurs for a division were heard, and that M. le

Duc d’Orleans did not shine to the best advantage since he descended to

plead his cause, so to speak, against that of the Duc du Maine.

M. le Duc d’Orleans was short-sighted. He was entirely absorbed in

attacking and repelling; so that he did not see the sign I made. Some

moments after I increased it, and meeting with no more success, rose,

advanced some steps, and said to him, though rather distant, “Monsieur,

if you passed into the fourth chamber with M. du Maine you could speak

there more easily,” and advancing nearer at the same time I pressed him

by a sign of the head and the eyes that he could distinguish. He replied

to me with another sign, and scarcely was I reseated than I saw him

advance in front of M. le Duc to the Duc du Maine, and immediately after

both rose and went into the chamber I had indicated. I could not see who

of the scattered group around followed them, for all present rose at

their departure, and seated themselves again directly in complete

silence. Some time after, M. le Comte de Toulouse left his place and

went into the Chamber. M. le Duc followed him in a little while soon

again the Duc de la Force did the same.

He did not stay long. Returning to the assembly; he passed the Duc de la

Rochefoucauld and me, put his head between that of the Duc de Sully and

mine, because he did not wish to be heard by La Rochefoucauld, and said

to me, “In the name of God go there; things are getting on badly. M. le

Duc d’Orleans gives way; stop the dispute; make M. le Duc d’Orleans come

back; and, as soon as he is in his place, let him say that it is too late

to finish, that the company had better go to dinner, and return to finish

afterwards, and during this interval,” added La Force, “send the King’s

people to the Palais Royal, and let doubtful peers be spoken to, and the

chiefs among other magistrates.”

The advice appeared to me good and important. I left the assembly and

went to the chamber. I found a large circle of spectators. M. le Duc

d’Orleans and the Duc du Maine stood before the fireplace, looking both

very excited. I looked at this spectacle some moments; then approached

the mantelpiece like a man who wishes to speak. “What is this,

Monsieur?” said M. le Duc d’Orleans to me, with an impatient manner.

“A pressing word, Monsieur, that I have to say to you,” said I. He

continued speaking to the Duc du Maine, I being close by. I redoubled my

instances; he lent me his ear. “No, no,” said I, “not like that, come

here,” and I took him into a corner by the chimney. The Comte de

Toulouse, who was there, drew completely back, and all the circle on that

side. The Duc du Maine drew back also from where he was.

I said to M. le Duc d’Orleans, in his ear, that he could not hope to gain

anything from M. du Maine, who would not sacrifice the codicil to his

reasonings; that the length of their conference became indecent, useless,

dangerous; that he was making a sight of himself to all who entered; that

the only thing to be done was to return to the assembly, and, when there,

dissolve it. “You are right,” said he, “I will do it.”--“But,” said I,

“do it immediately, and do not allow yourself to be amused. It is to M.

de la Force you owe this advice: he sent me to give it you.” He quitted

me without another word, went to M. du Maine, told him in two words that

it was too late, and that the matter must be finished after dinner.

I had remained where he left me. I saw the Duc du Maine bow to him

immediately, and the two separated, and retired at the same moment into

the assembly.

The noise which always accompanies these entrances being appeased, M. le

Duc d’Orleans said it was too late to abuse the patience of the company

any longer; that dinner must be eaten, and the work finished afterwards.

He immediately added, he believed it fitting that M. le Duc should enter

the council of the regency as its chief; and that since the company had

rendered the justice due to his birth and his position as Regent, he

would explain what he thought upon the form to be given to the

government, and that meanwhile he profited by the power he had to avail

himself of the knowledge and the wisdom of the company, and restored to

them from that time their former liberty of remonstrance. These words

were followed by striking and general applause, and the assembly was

immediately adjourned.

I was invited this day to dine with the Cardinal de Noailles, but I felt

the importance of employing the time so precious and so short, of the

interval of dinner, and of not quitting M. le Duc d’Orleans, according to

a suggestion of M. le Duc de la Force. I approached M. le Duc d’Orleans,

and said in his ear, “The moments are precious: I will follow you to the

Palais Royal,” and went back to my place among the peers. Jumping into

my coach, I sent a gentleman with my excuses to the Cardinal de Noailles,

saying, I would tell him the reason of my absence afterwards. Then I

went to the Palais Royal, where curiosity had gathered together all who

were not at the palace, and even some who had been there. All the

acquaintances I met asked me the news with eagerness. I contented myself

with replying that everything went well, and according to rule, but that

all was not yet finished.

M. le Duc d’Orleans had passed into a cabinet, where I found him alone

with Canillac, who had waited for him. We took our measures there, and

M. le Duc d’Orleans sent for the Attorney-General, D’Aguesseau,

afterwards Chancellor, and the chief Advocate-General, Joly de Fleury,

since Attorney-General. It was nearly two o’clock. A little dinner was

served, of which Canillac, Conflans, M. le Duc d’Orleans, and myself

partook; and I will say this, by the way, I never dined with him but once

since, namely, at Bagnolet.

We returned to the Parliament a little before four o’clock. I arrived

there alone in my carriage, a moment before M. le Duc d’Orleans, and

found everybody assembled. I was looked at with much curiosity, as it

seemed to me. I am not aware if it was known whence I came. I took care

that my bearing should say nothing. I simply said to the Duc de la Force

that his advice had been salutary, that I had reason to hope all success

from it, and that I had told M. le Duc d’Orleans whence it came. That

Prince arrived, and (the hubbub inseparable from such a numerous suite

being appeased) he said that matters must be recommenced from the point

where they had been broken off in the morning; that it was his duty to

say to the Court that in nothing had he agreed with M. du Maine and to

bring again before all eyes the monstrous clauses of a codicil, drawn

from a dying prince; clauses much more strange than the dispositions of

the testament that the Court had not deemed fit to be put in execution,

and that the Court could not allow M. du Maine to be master of the person

of the King, of the camp, of Paris, consequently of the State, of the

person, life, and liberty of the Regent, whom he would be in a position

to arrest at any moment as soon as he became the absolute and independent

master of the civil and military household of the King; that the Court

saw what must inevitably result from an unheard-of novelty, which placed

everything in the hands of M. du Maine; and that he left it to the

enlightenment, to the prudence, to the wisdom, to the equity of the

company, and its love for the State, to declare what they thought on this

subject.

M. du Maine appeared then as contemptible in the broad open daylight as

he had appeared redoubtable in the obscurity of the cabinets. He had the

look of one condemned, and his face, generally so fresh-coloured, was now

as pale as death. He replied in a very low and scarcely intelligible

voice, and with an air as respectful and as humble as it had been

audacious in the morning.

People opined without listening to him; and tumultuously, but with one

voice, the entire abrogation of the codicil was passed. This was

premature, as the abrogation of the testament had been in the morning--

both caused by sudden indignation. D’Aguesseauand Fleury both spoke, the

first in a few words, the other at greater length, making a very good

speech. As it exists, in the libraries, I will only say that the

conclusions of both orators were in everything favourable to M. le Duc

d’Orleans.

After they had spoken, the Duc du Maine, seeing himself totally shorn,

tried a last resource. He represented, with more force than could have

been expected from his demeanour at this second sitting, but yet with

measure, that since he had been stripped of the authority confided to him

by the codicil, he asked to be discharged from the responsibility of

answering for the person of the King, and to be allowed simply to

preserve the superintendence of his education. M, le Duc d’Orleans

replied, “With all my heart, Monsieur; nothing more is wanted.”

Thereupon the Chief. President formally put the question to the vote.

A decree was passed by which all power was taken from the hands of M. du

Maine and placed in those of the Regent, with the right of placing whom

he pleased in the council; of dismissing anybody as it should seem good

to him; and of doing all he might think fit respecting the form to be

given to the government; authority over public affairs, nevertheless, to

remain with the council, and decision to be taken by the plurality of

votes, the vote of the Regent to count double in case of equal division;

M. le Duc to be chief of the council under him, with the right to enter

it at once and opine there.

During all this time, and until the end of the sitting, M. du Maine had

his eyes always cast down, looked more dead than alive, and appeared

motionless. His son and his brother gave no sign of taking interest in

anything.

The decree was followed by loud acclamations of the crowd scattered

outside, and that which filled the rest of the palace replied as soon as

they learnt what had been decided.

This noise, which lasted some time, being appeased, the Regent thanked

the company in brief, polished, and majestic terms; declared with what

care he would employ for the good of the state, the authority with which

he was invested; then said it was time he should inform them what he

judged ought to be established in order to aid him in the administration

of affairs. He added that he did so with the more confidence, because

what he proposed was exactly what M. le Duc de Bourgogne [‘twas thus he

named him) had resolved, as shown by papers found in his bureau. He

passed a short and graceful eulogy upon the enlightenment and intentions

of that prince; then declared that, besides the council of the regency,

which would be the supreme centre from which all the affairs of the

government would spring, he proposed to establish a council for foreign

affairs, one for war, one for the navy, one for finance, one for

ecclesiastical matters, and one for home affairs and to choose some of

the magistrates of the company to enter these last two councils, and aid

them by their knowledge upon the police of the realm, the jurisprudence,

and what related to the liberties of the Gallican church.

The applause of the magistrates burst out at this, and all the crowd

replied to it. The Chief-President concluded the sitting by a very short

compliment to the Regent, who rose, and at the same time all the

assembly, which then broke up.

On Friday, the 6th of September, 1715, the Regent performed an action of

most exquisite merit, if it had been actuated by the love of God, but

which was of the utmost meanness, religion having no connection with it.

He went at eight o’clock in the morning to see Madame de Maintenon at

Saint-Cyr. He was nearly an hour with this enemy, who had wished to cut

off his head, and who quite recently had sought to deliver him, tied hand

and foot, to M. du Maine, by the monstrous dispositions of the King’s

will and codicil.

The Regent assured her during this visit that the four thousand livres

the King had given her every month should be continued, and should be

brought to her the first day of every month by the Duc de Noailles, who

had apparently induced the Prince to pay this visit, and promise this

present. He said to Madame de Maintenon that if she wished for more she

had only to speak, and assured her he would protect Saint-Cyr. In leaving

he was shown the young girls, all together in classes.

It must be remembered, that besides the estate of Maintenon, and the

other property of this famous and fatal witch, the establishment of

Saint-Cyr, which had more than four hundred thousand livres yearly

income, and much money in reserve, was obliged by the rules which founded

it, to receive Madame de Maintenon, if she wished to retire there; to

obey her in all things, as the absolute and sole superior; to keep her

and everybody connected with her, her domestics, her equipages, as she

wished, her table, etc., at the expense of the house, all of which was

very punctually done until her death. Thus she needed not this generous

liberality, by which her pension of forty-eight thousand livres was

continued to her. It would have been quite enough if M. le Duc d’Orleans

had forgotten that she was in existence, and had simply left her

untroubled in Saint-Cyr.

The Regent took good care not to inform me of his visit, before or after;

and I took good care not to reproach him with it, or make him ashamed of

it. It made much noise, and was not approved of. The Spanish affair was

not yet forgotten, and the will and codicil furnished other matter for

all conversations.

CHAPTER LXXX

Saturday, the 7th of September, was the day fixed for the first Bed of

Justice of the King (Louis XV.); but he caught a cold during the night,

and suffered a good deal. The Regent came alone to Paris. The

Parliament had assembled, and I went to a door of the palace, where I was

informed of the countermand which had just arrived. The Chief-President

and the King’s people were at once sent for to the Palais Royal, and the

Parliament, which was about to adjourn, was continued for all the rest of

the month for general business. On the morrow, the Regent, who was

wearied with Versailles,--for he liked to live in Paris, where all his

pleasures were within easy reach,--and who met with opposition from the

Court doctors, all comfortably lodged at Versailles, to the removal of

the person of the King to Vincennes, under pretext of a slight cold,

fetched other doctors from Paris, who had been sent for to see the

deceased King. These practitioners, who had nothing to gain by

recommending Versailles, laughed at the Court doctors, and upon their

opinion it was resolved to take the King to Vincennes, where all was

ready for him on the morrow.

He set out, then, that day from Versailles, at about two o’clock in the

day, in company with the Regent, the Duchesse de Ventadour, the Duc du

Maine, and the Marechal de Villeroy, passed round the ramparts of Paris,

without entering the city, and arrived at Vincennes about five o’clock,

many people and carriages having come out along the road to see him.

On the day after the arrival of the King at Vincennes, the Regent worked

all the morning with all the Secretaries of State separately, whom he had

charged to bring him the list of all the ‘lettres de cachet’ issued from

their bureaux, and a statement of the reasons for which they were

delivered, as such oftentimes were slight. The majority of the ‘lettres

de cachet’ of exile and of imprisonment had been drawn up against

Jansenists, and people who had opposed the constitution; numbers the

reasons of which were known only to the deceased King, and to those who

had induced him to grant them; others were of the time of previous

ministers, and among them were many which had been long forgotten and

unknown. The Regent restored everybody to liberty, exiles and prisoners,

except those whom he knew to have been arrested for grave crimes, or

affairs of State; and brought down infinite benedictions upon himself by

this act of justice and humanity.

Many very singular and strange stories were then circulated, which showed

the tyranny of the last reign, and of its ministers, and caused the

misfortunes of the prisoners to be deplored. Among those in the Bastille

was a man who had been imprisoned thirty-five years. Arrested the day he

arrived in Paris, on a journey from Italy, to which country he belonged.

It has never been known why he was arrested, and he had never been

examined, as was the case with the majority of the others: people were

persuaded a mistake had been made. When his liberty was announced to

him, he sadly asked what it was expected he could do with it. He said he

had not a farthing; that he did not know a soul in Paris, not even a

single street, or a person in all France; that his relatives in Italy

had, doubtless, died since he left; that his property, doubtless, had

been divided, so many years having elapsed during which no news had been

received from him; that he knew not what to do. He asked to be allowed

to remain in the Bastille for the rest of his days, with food and

lodging. This was granted, with as much liberty as he wished.

As for those who were taken from the dungeons where the hatred of the

ministers; of the Jesuits; and of the Constitution chiefs, had cast them,

the horrible state they appeared in terrified everybody, and rendered

credible all the cruel stories which, as soon as they were fully at

liberty, they revealed.

The same day on which this merciful decision was come to, died Madame de

la Vieuville, not old, of a cancer in the breast, the existence of which

she had concealed until two days before her death, and thus deprived

herself of help.

A few days after, the finances being in such a bad state, the Regent made

Crosat treasurer of the order, in return for which he obtained from him a

loan of a million, in bars of silver, and the promise of another two

million. Previous to this, the hunting establishments of the King had

been much reduced. Now another retrenchment was made. There were seven

intendants of the finances, who, for six hundred thousand livres, which

their places had cost them, enjoyed eighty thousand livres each per

annum. They were all suppressed, and simply the interest of their

purchase-money paid to them; that is to say, thirty thousand livres each,

until that purchase-money could be paid. It was found that there were

sixteen hundred thousand francs owing to our ambassadors, and to our

agents in foreign countries, the majority of whom literally had not

enough to pay the postage of their letters, having spent all they

possessed. This was a cruel discredit to us, all over Europe. I might

fill a volume in treating upon the state and the arrangements of our

finances. But this labour is above my strength, and contrary to my

taste. I will simply say that as soon as money could be spared it was

sent to our ambassadors abroad. They were dying of hunger, were over

head and ears in debt, had fallen into utter contempt, and our affairs

were suffering accordingly.

The council of the regency, let me say here, was composed of the

following persons: M. le Duc d’Orleans, M. le Duc, the Duc du Maine, the

Comte de Toulouse, Voysin the Chancellor, myself--since I must name

myself,--Marechal de Villeroy, Marechal d’Harcourt, Marechal de Besons,

the Late Bishop of Troyes, and Torcy, with a right to vote; with La

Vrilliere, who kept the register, and Pontchartrain, both without the

right to vote.

I have already alluded to the presence of Lord Stair at this time in our

Court, as ambassador from England. By means of intrigues he had

succeeded in ingratiating himself into the favour of the Regent, and in

convincing him that the interests of France and England were identical.

One of the reasons--the main one--which he brought forward to show this,

was that King George was an usurper; and that if anything happened to our

King, M. le Duc d’Orleans would become, in mounting the throne of France,

an usurper also, the King of Spain being the real heir to the French

monarchy; that, in consequence of this, France and England ought to march

together, protect each other; France assisting England against the

Pretender, and England assisting France, if need be, against the King of

Spain. M. le Duc d’Orleans had too much penetration not to see this

snare; but, marvellous as it may seem, the crookedness of this policy,

and not the desire of reigning, seduced him. I am quite prepared, if

ever these memoirs see the day, to find that this statement will be

laughed at; that it will throw discredit on others, and cause me to be

regarded as a great ass, if I think to make my readers, believe it; or

for an idiot, if I have believed it myself. Nevertheless, such is the

pure truth, to which I sacrifice all, in despite of what my readers may

think of me. However incredible it may be, it is, as I say, the exact

verity; and I do not hesitate to advance, that there are many such facts,

unknown to history, which would much surprise if known; and which are

unknown, only because scarcely any history has been written at first

hand.

Stair wished, above all, to hinder the Regent from giving any assistance

to the Pretender, and to prevent him passing through the realm in order

to reach a seaport. Now the Regent was between two stools, for he had

promised the Pretender to wink at his doings, and to favour his passage

through France, if it were made secretly, and at the same time he had

assented to the demand of Stair. Things had arrived at this pass when

the troubles increased in England, and the Earl of Mar obtained some

success in Scotland. Soon after news came that the Pretender had

departed from Bar, and was making his way to the coast. Thereupon Stair

ran in hot haste to M. le Duc d’Orleans to ask him to keep his promise,

and hinder the Pretender’s journey. The Regent immediately sent off

Contade, major in the guards, very intelligent, and in whom he could

trust, with his brother, a lieutenant in the same regiment, and two

sergeants of their choice, to go to Chateau-Thierry, and wait for the

Pretender, Stair having sure information that he would pass there.

Contade set out at night on the 9th of November, well resolved and

instructed to miss the person he was to seek. Stair, who expected as

much, took also his measures, which were within an inch of succeeding;

for this is what happened.

The Pretender set out disguised from Bar, accompanied by only three or

four persons, and came to Chaillot, where M. de Lauzun had a little

house, which he never visited, and which he had kept for mere fancy,

although he had a house at Passy, of which he made much use. It was in

this, Chaillot’s house, that the Pretender put up, and where he saw the

Queen, his mother, who often stopped at the Convent of the Filles de

Sainte Marie-Therese. Thence he set out in a post-chaise of Torcy’s, by

way of Alencon, for Brittany, where he meant to embark.

Stair discovered this scheme, and resolved to leave nothing undone in

order to deliver his party of this, the last of the Stuarts. He quietly

despatched different people by different roads, especially by that from

Paris to Alencon. He charged with this duty Colonel Douglas (who

belonged to the Irish (regiments) in the pay of France), who, under the

protection of his name, and by his wit and his intrigues, had insinuated

himself into many places in Paris since the commencement of the regency;

had placed himself on a footing of consideration and of familiarity with

the Regent; and often came to my house. He was good company; had married

upon the frontier of Metz; was very poor; had politeness and much

experience of the world; the reputation of distinguished valour; and

nothing which could render him suspected of being capable of a crime.

Douglas got into a post-chaise, accompanied by two horsemen; all three

were well armed, and posted leisurely along this road. Nonancourt is a

kind of little village upon this route, at nineteen leagues from Paris;

between Dreux, three leagues further, and Verneuil au Perche, four

leagues this side. It was at Nonancourt that he alighted, ate a morsel

at the post-house, inquired with extreme solicitude after a post-chaise

which he described, as well as the manner in which it would be

accompanied, expressed fear lest it had already passed, and lest he had

not been answered truly. After infinite inquiries, he left a third

horseman, who had just reached him, on guard, with orders to inform him

when the chaise he was in search of appeared; and added menaces and

promises of recompense to the post people, so as not to be deceived by

their negligence.

The post-master was named L’Hospital; he was absent, but his wife was in

the house, and she fortunately was a very honest woman, who had wit,

sense, and courage. Nonancourt is only five leagues from La Ferme, and

when, to save distance, you do not pass there, they send you relays upon

the road. Thus I knew very well this post-mistress, who mixed herself

more in the business than her husband, and who has herself related to me

this adventure more than once. She did all she could, uselessly, to

obtain some explanation upon these alarms. All that she could unravel

was that the strangers were Englishmen, and in a violent excitement about

something, that something very important was at stake,--and that they

meditated mischief. She fancied thereupon that the Pretender was in

question; resolved to save him; mentally arranged her plans, and

fortunately enough executed them.

In order to succeed she devoted herself to the service of these

gentlemen, refused them nothing, appeared quite satisfied, and promised

that they should infallibly be informed. She persuaded them of this so

thoroughly, that Douglas went away without saying where, except to this

third horseman just arrived, but it was close at hand; so that he might

be warned in time. He took one of his valets with him; the other

remained with the horseman to wait and watch.

Another man much embarrassed the post-mistress; nevertheless, she laid

her plans. She proposed to the horseman to drink something, because when

he arrived Douglas had left the table. She served him in her best

manner, and with her best wine, and kept him at table as long as she

could, anticipating all his orders. She had placed a valet, in whom she

could trust, as guard, with orders simply to appear, without a word, if

he saw a chaise; and her resolution was to lock up the Englishman and his

servant, and to give their horses to the chaise if it came. But it came

not, and the Englishman grew tired of stopping at table. Then she

manoeuvred so well that she persuaded him to go and lie down, and to

count upon her, her people, and upon the valet Douglas had left. The

Englishman told this valet not to quit the threshold of the house, and to

inform him as soon as the chaise appeared. He then suffered himself to

be led to the back of the house, in order to lie down. The post-

mistress, immediately after, goes to one of her friends in a by-street,

relates her adventure and her suspicions, makes the friend agree to

receive and secrete in her dwelling the person she expected, sends for an

ecclesiastic, a relative of them both, and in whom she could repose

confidence, who came and lent an Abbe’s dress and wig to match. This

done, Madame L’Hospital returns to her home, finds the English valet at

the door, talks with him, pities his ennui, says he is a good fellow to

be so particular, says that from the door to the house there is but one

step, promises him that he shall be as well informed as by his own eyes,

presses him to drink something, and tips the wink to a trusty postilion,

who makes him drink until he rolls dead drunk under the table. During

this performance, the wary mistress listens at the door of the English

gentleman’s room, gently turns the key and locks him in, and then

establishes herself upon the threshold of her door.

Half an hour after comes the trusty valet whom she had put on guard: it

was the expected chaise, which, as well as the three men who accompanied

it, were made, without knowing why, to slacken speed. It was King James.

Madame L’Hospital accosts him, says he is expected, and lost if he does

not take care; but that he may trust in her and follow her. At once they

both go to her friends. There he learns all that has happened, and they

hide him, and the three men of his suite as well as they could. Madame

L’Hospital returns home, sends for the officers of justice, and in

consequence of her suspicions she causes the English gentleman and the

English valet, the one drunk, the other asleep, locked in the room where

she had left him, to be arrested, and immediately after despatches a

postilion to Torcy. The officers of justice act, and send their

deposition to the Court.

The rage of the English gentleman on finding himself arrested, and unable

to execute the duty which led him there, and his fury against the valet

who had allowed himself to be intoxicated, cannot be expressed. As for

Madame L’Hospital he would have strangled her if he could; and she for a

long time was afraid of her life.

The Englishman could not be induced to confess what brought him there, or

where was Douglas, whom he named in order to show his importance. He

declared he had been sent by the English ambassador, though Stair had not

yet officially assumed that title, and exclaimed that that minister would

never suffer the affront he had received. They civilly replied to him,

that there were no proofs he came from the English ambassador,--none that

he was connected with the minister: that very suspicious designs against

public safety on the highway alone were visible; that no harm or

annoyance should be caused him, but that he must remain in safety until

orders came, and there upon he was civilly led to prison, as well as the

intoxicated valet.

What became of Douglas at that time was never known, except that he was

recognised in various places, running, inquiring, crying out with despair

that he had escaped, without mentioning any name. Apparently news came

to him, or he sought it, being tired of receiving none. The report of

what had occurred in such a little place as Nonancourt would easily have

reached him, close as he was to it; and perhaps it made him set out anew

to try and catch his prey.

But he journeyed in vain. King James had remained hidden at Nonancourt,

where, charmed with the attentions of his generous post-mistress, who had

saved him from his assassins, he admitted to her who he was, and gave her

a letter for the Queen, his mother. He remained there three days, to

allow the hubbub to pass, and rob those who sought him of all hope; then,

disguised as an Abbe, he jumped into a post-chaise that Madame L’Hospital

had borrowed in the neighbourhood--to confound all identity--and

continued his journey, during which he was always pursued, but happily

was never recognised, and embarked in Brittany for Scotland.

Douglas, tired of useless searches, returned to Paris, where Stair kicked

up a fine dust about the Nonancourt adventure. This he denominated

nothing less than an infraction of the law of nations, with an extreme

audacity and impudence, and Douglas, who could not be ignorant of what

was said about him, had the hardihood to go about everywhere as usual; to

show himself at the theatre; and to present himself before M. le Duc

d’Orleans.

This Prince ignored as much as he could a plot so cowardly and so

barbarous, and in respect to him so insolent. He kept silence, said to

Stair what he judged fitting to make him be silent likewise, but gave

liberty to his English assassins. Douglas, however, fell much in the

favour of the Regent, and many considerable people closed their doors to

him. He vainly tried to force mine. But as for me I was a perfect

Jacobite, and quite persuaded that it was the interest of France to give

England domestic occupation, which would long hinder her from thinking of

foreign matters. I then, as may be supposed, could not look upon the

odious enterprise with a favourable eye, or pardon its authors. Douglas

complained to me of my disregard for him, but to no purpose. Soon after

he disappeared from Paris. I know not what became of him afterwards.

His wife and his children remained there living by charity. A long time

after his death beyond the seas, the Abbe de Saint-Simon passed from

Noyan to Metz, where he found his widow in great misery.

The Queen of England sent for Madame L’Hospital to Saint-Germain, thanked

her, caressed her, as she deserved, and gave her her portrait. This was

all; the Regent gave her nothing; a long while after King James wrote to

her, and sent her also his portrait. Conclusion: she remained post-

mistress of Nonancourt as before, twenty or twenty-five years after, to

her death; and her son and her daughter-in-law keep the post now. She

was a true woman; estimated in her neighbourhood; not a single word that

she uttered concerning this history has been contradicted by any one.

What it cost her can never be said, but she never received a farthing.

She never complained, but spoke as she found things, with modesty, and

without seeking to speak. Such is the indigence of dethroned Kings, and

their complete forgetfulness of the greatest perils and the most signal

services.

Many honest people avoided Stair, whose insolent airs made others avoid

him. He filled the cup by the insupportable manner in which he spoke

upon that affair, never daring to admit he had directed it, or deigning

to disculpate himself. The only annoyance he showed was about his ill-

success.

CHAPTER LXXXI

I must say a few words now of Madame la Duchesse de Berry, who, as may be

imagined, began to hold her head very high indeed directly the regency of

Monsieur her father was established. Despite the representations of

Madame de Saint-Simon, she usurped all the honours of a queen; she went

through Paris with kettle-drums beating, and all along the quay of the

Tuileries where the King was. The Marechal de Villeroy complained of

this next day to M. le Duc d’Orleans, who promised him that while the

King remained in Paris no kettle-drums should be heard but his. Never

afterwards did Madame la Duchesse de Berry have any, yet when she went to

the theatre she sat upon a raised dais in her box, had four of her guards

upon the stage, and others in the pit; the house was better lighted than

usual, and before the commencement of the performance she was harangued

by the players. This made a strange stir in Paris, and as she did not

dare to continue it she gave up her usual place, and took at the opera a

little box where she could scarcely be seen, and where she was almost

incognito. As the comedy was played then upon the opera stage for

Madame, this little box served for both entertainments.

The Duchess desired apparently to pass the summer nights in all liberty

in the garden of the Luxembourg. She accordingly had all the gates

walled up but one, by which the Faubourg Saint-Germain, which had always

enjoyed the privilege of walking there, were much deprived. M. le Duc

thereupon opened the Conti garden to make up to the public for their

loss. As may be imagined, strange things were said about the motives

which led to the walling up of the garden.

As the Princess found new lovers to replace the old ones, she tried to

pension off the latter at the expense of the public. She had a place

created expressly for La Haye. She bought, or rather the King for her,

a little house at the entry of the Bois de Boulogne, which was pretty,

with all the wood in front, and a fine garden behind. It was called La

Muette.

After many amours she had become smitten with Rion, a younger son of the

house of Aydic. He was a fat, chubby, pale little fellow, who had so

many pimples that he did not ill resemble an abscess. He had good teeth,

but had no idea he should cause a passion which in less than no time

became ungovernable, and which lasted a long while without however

interfering with temporary and passing amours. He was not worth a penny,

but had many brothers and sisters who had no more than he. He was a

lieutenant of dragoons, relative of Madame Pons, dame d’atours of Madame

la Duchesse de Berry, who sent for him to try and do something for him.

Scarcely had he arrived than the passion of the Duchess declared itself,

and he became the master of the Luxembourg where she dwelt. M. de

Lauzun, who was a distant relative, was delighted, and chuckled inwardly.

He thought he saw a repetition of the old times, when Mademoiselle was in

her glory; he vouchsafed his advice to Rion.

Rion was gentle and naturally polished and respectful, a good and honest

fellow. He soon felt the power of his charms, which could only have

captivated the incomprehensible and depraved fantasy of such a princess.

He did not abuse this power; made himself liked by everybody; but he

treated Madame la Duchesse de Berry as M. de Lauzun had treated

Mademoiselle. He was soon decorated with the most beautiful lace and the

richest clothes covered with silver, loaded with snuffboxes, jewels, and

precious stones. He took pleasure in making the Princess long after him,

and be jealous; affecting to be still more jealous of her. He often made

her cry. Little by little, he obtained such authority over her that she

did not dare to do anything without his permission, not even the most

indifferent things. If she were ready to go to the opera, he made her

stay away; at other times he made her go thither in spite of herself.

He made her treat well many ladies she did not like, or of whom she was

jealous, and treat ill persons who pleased her, but of whom he pretended

to be jealous. Even in her finery she had not the slightest liberty.

He amused himself by making her disarrange her head-dress, or change her

clothes, when she was quite dressed; and that so often and so publicly,

that he accustomed her at last to take over night his orders for her

morning’s dress and occupation, and on the morrow he would change

everything, and the Princess wept as much as she could, and more. At

last she actually sent messages to him by trusty valets,--for he lived

close to the Luxembourg,--several times during her toilet, to know what

ribbons she should wear; the same with her gown and other things; and

nearly always he made her wear what she did not wish for. If ever she

dared to do the least thing without his permission, he treated her like a

serving-wench, and her tears lasted sometimes several days. This

princess, so haughty, and so fond of showing and exercising the most

unmeasured pride, disgraced herself by joining in repasts with him and

obscure people; she, with whom no man could lawfully eat if he were not a

prince of the blood!

A Jesuit, named Pere Riglet, whom she had known as a child, and whose

intimacy she had always cultivated since, was admitted to these private

repasts, without being ashamed thereof, and without Madame la Duchesse de

Berry being embarrassed. Madame de Mouchy was the confidante of all

these strange parties she and Rion invited the guests, and chose the

days. La Mouchy often reconciled the Princess to her lover, and was

better treated by him than she, without her daring to take notice of it,

for fear of an eclat which would have caused her to lose so dear a lover,

and a confidante so necessary. This life was public; everybody at the

Luxembourg paid court to M. de Rion, who, on his side, took care to be on

good terms with all the world, nay, with an air of respect that he

refused, even in public, to his princess. He often gave sharp replies to

her in society, which made people lower their eyes, and brought blushes

to the cheek of Madame la Duchesse de Berry, who, nevertheless, did not

attempt to conceal her submission and passionate manners, even before

others. A remarkable fact is, that in the midst of this life, she took

an apartment at the Convent of the Carmelites of the Faubourg Saint-

Germain, where she sometimes went in the afternoon, always slept there on

grand religious fete days, and often remained there several days running.

She took with her two ladies, rarely three, scarcely a single domestic;

she ate with her ladies what the convent could supply for her table;

attended the services, was sometimes long in prayer, and rigidly fasted

on the appointed days.

Two Carmelites, of much talent, and who knew the world, were charged to

receive her, and to be near her. One was very beautiful: the other had

been so. They were rather young, especially the handsomer; but were very

religious and holy, and performed the office entrusted to them much

against their inclination. When they became more familiar they spoke

freely to the Princess, and said to her that if they knew nothing of her

but what they saw, they should admire her as a saint, but, elsewhere,

they learnt that she led a strange life, and so public, that they could

not comprehend why she came to their convent. Madame la Duchesse de

Berry laughed at this, and was not angry. Sometimes they lectured her,

called people and things by their names, and exhorted her to change so

scandalous a life; but it was all in vain. She lived as before, both at

the Luxembourg and at the Carmelites, and caused wonderment by this

surprising conduct.

Madame la Duchesse de Berry returned with usury to her father, the

severity and the domination she suffered at the hands of Rion--yet this

prince, in his weakness, was not less submissive to her, attentive to

her, or afraid of her. He was afflicted with the public reign of Rion,

and the scandal of his daughter; but he did not dare to breathe a word,

or if he did (after some scene, as ridiculous as it was violent, had

passed between the lover and the Princess, and become public), he was

treated like a negro, pouted at several days, and did not know how to

make his peace.

But it is time now to speak of the public and private occupations of the

Regent himself, of his conduct, his pleasure parties, and the employment

of his days.

Up to five o’clock in the evening he devoted himself exclusively to

public business, reception of ministers, councils, etc., never dining

during the day, but taking chocolate between two and three o’clock, when

everybody was allowed to enter his room. After the council of the day,

that is to say, at about five o’clock, there was no more talk of

business. It was now the time of the Opera or the Luxembourg (if he had

not been to the latter place before his chocolate), or he went to Madame

la Duchesse d’Orleans’ apartments, or supped, or went out privately, or

received company privately; or, in the fine season, he went to Saint-

Cloud, or elsewhere out of town, now supping there, or at the Luxembourg,

or at home. When Madame was at Paris, he spoke to her for a moment

before his mass; and when she was at Saint-Cloud he went to see her

there, and always paid her much attention and respect.

His suppers were always in very strange company. His mistresses,

sometimes an opera girl, often Madame la Duchesse de Berry, and a dozen

men whom he called his rows, formed the party. The requisite cheer was

prepared in places made expressly, on the same floor, all the utensils

were of silver; the company often lent a hand to the cooks. It was at

these parties that the character of every one was passed in review,

ministers and favourites like the rest, with a liberty which was

unbridled license. The gallantries past and present of the Court and of

the town; all old stories, disputes, jokes, absurdities were raked up;

nobody was spared; M. le Duc d’Orleans had his say like the rest, but

very rarely did these discourses make the slightest impression upon him.

The company drank as much as they could, inflamed themselves, said the

filthiest things without stint, uttered impieties with emulation, and

when they had made a good deal of noise and were very drunk, they went to

bed to recommence the same game the next day. From the moment when

supper was ready, business, no matter of, what importance, no matter

whether private or national, was entirely banished from view. Until the

next morning everybody and everything were compelled to wait.

The Regent lost then an infinite amount of time in private, in

amusements, and debauchery. He lost much also in audiences too long, too

extended, too easily granted, and drowned himself in those same details

which during the lifetime of the late King we had both so often

reproached him with. Questions he might have decided in half an hour he

prolonged, sometimes from weakness, sometimes from that miserable desire

to set people at loggerheads, and that poisonous maxim which occasionally

escaped him or his favourite, ‘divide et impera’; often from his general

mistrust of everybody and everything; nothings became hydras with which

he himself afterwards was much embarrassed. His familiarity and his

readiness of access extremely pleased people, but were much abused.

Folks sometimes were even wanting in respect to him, which at last was an

inconvenience all the more dangerous because he could not, when he

wished, reprimand those who embarrassed him; insomuch as they themselves

did not feel embarrassed.

What is extraordinary is, neither his mistress nor Madame la Duchesse de

Berry, nor his ‘roues’, could ever draw anything from him, even when

drunk, concerning the affairs of the government, however important. He

publicly lived with Madame de Parabere; he lived at the same time with

others; he amused himself with the jealousy and vexation of these women;

he was not the less on good terms with them all; and the scandal of this

public seraglio, and that of the daily filthiness and impiety at his

suppers, were extreme and spread everywhere.

Towards the end of the year (1715) the Chevalier de Bouillon, who since

the death of the son of the Comte d’Auvergne had taken the name of the

Prince d’Auvergne, proposed to the Regent that there should be a public

ball, masked and unmasked, in the opera three times a week, people to pay

upon entering, and the boxes to be thrown open to those who did not care

to dance. It was believed that a public ball, guarded as is the opera on

days of performance, would prevent those adventures which happened so

often at the little obscure balls scattered throughout Paris; and indeed

close them altogether. The opera balls were established on a grand

scale, and with all possible effect. The proposer of the idea had for it

six thousand livres pension; and a machine admirably invented and of easy

and instantaneous application, was made to cover the orchestra, and put

the stage and the pit on the same level. The misfortune was, that the

opera was at the Palais Royal, and that M. le Duc d’Orleans had only one

step to take to reach it after his suppers and show himself there, often

in a state but little becoming. The Duc de Noailles, who strove to pay

court to him, went there from the commencement so drunk that there was no

indecency he did not commit.

CHAPTER LXXXII

Let me speak now of another matter.

A Scotchman, I do not know of what family, a great player and combiner,

who had gained much in various countries he had been in, had come to

Paris during the last days of the deceased King. His name was Law; but

when he became more known, people grew so accustomed to call him Las,

that his name of Law disappeared. He was spoken of to M. le Duc

d’Orleans as a man deep in banking and commercial matters, in the

movements of the precious metals, in monies and finance: the Regent, from

this description, was desirous to see him. He conversed with Law some

time, and was so pleased with him, that he spoke of him to Desmarets as a

man from whom information was to be drawn. I recollect that the Prince

spoke of him to me at the same time. Desmarets sent for Law, and was a

long while with him several times; I know nothing of what passed between

them or its results, except that Desmarets was pleased with Law, and

formed some esteem for him.

M. le Duc d’Orleans, after that, only saw him from time to time; but

after the first rush of affairs, which followed the death of the King,

Law, who had formed some subaltern acquaintances at the Palais Royal, and

an intimacy with the Abbe Dubois, presented himself anew before M. le Duc

d’Orleans, soon after conversed with him in private, and proposed some

finance plans to him. The Regent made him work with the Duc de Noailles,

with Rouille, with Amelot--this last for commercial matters. The first

two were afraid of an intruder, favoured by the Regent, in their

administration; so that Law was a long time tossed about, but was always

backed by the Duc d’Orleans. At last, the bank project pleased that

Prince so much that he wished to carry it out. He spoke in private to

the heads of finance, in whom he found great opposition. He had often

spoken to me of it, and I had contented myself with listening to him upon

a matter I never liked, and which, consequently, I never well understood;

and the carrying out of which appeared to me distant. When he had

entirely formed his resolution, he summoned a financial and commercial

assembly, in which Law explained the whole plan of the bank he wished to

establish (this was on the 24th of October, 1715). He was listened to as

long as he liked to talk. Some, who saw that the Regent was almost

decided, acquiesced; but the majority opposed.

Law was not disheartened. The majority were spoken to privately in very

good French. Nearly the same assembly was called, in which, the Regent

being present, Law again explained his project. This time few opposed

and feebly. The Duc de Noailles was obliged to give in. The bank being

approved of in this manner, it had next to be proposed to the regency

council.

M. le Duc d’Orleans took the trouble to speak in private to each member

of the council, and gently to make them understand that he wished the

bank to meet with no opposition. He spoke his mind to me thoroughly:

therefore a reply was necessary. I said to him that I did not hide my

ignorance or my disgust for all finance matters; that, nevertheless, what

he had just explained to me appeared good in itself, that without any new

tax, without expense, and without wronging or embarrassing anybody, money

should double itself at once by means of the notes of this bank, and

become transferable with the greatest facility. But along with this

advantage I found two inconveniences, the first, how to govern the bank

with sufficient foresight and wisdom, so as not to issue more notes than

could be paid whenever presented: the second, that what is excellent in a

republic, or in a monarchy where the finance is entirely popular, as in

England, is of pernicious use in an absolute monarchy, such as France,

where the necessities of a war badly undertaken and ill sustained, the

avarice of a first minister, favourite, or mistress, the luxury, the wild

expenses, the prodigality of a King, might soon exhaust a bank, and ruin

all the holders of notes, that is to say, overthrow the realm. M. le Duc

d’Orleans agreed to this; but at the same time maintained that a King

would have so much interest in never meddling or allowing minister,

mistress, or favourite to meddle with the bank, that this capital

inconvenience was never to be feared. Upon that we for a long time

disputed without convincing each other, so that when, some few days

afterwards, he proposed the bank to the regency council, I gave my

opinion as I have just explained it, but with more force and at length:

and my conclusion was to reject the bank, as a bait the most fatal, in an

absolute country, while in a free country it would be a very good and

very wise establishment.

Few dared to be of this opinion: the bank passed. Duc d’Orleans cast

upon me some little reproaches, but gentle, for having spoken at such

length. I based my excuses upon my belief that by duty, honour, and

conscience, I ought to speak according to my persuasion, after having

well thought over the matter, and explained myself sufficiently to make

my opinion well understood, and the reason I had for forming it.

Immediately after, the edict was registered without difficulty at the

Parliament. This assembly sometimes knew how to please the Regent with

good grace in order to turn the cold shoulder to him afterwards with more

efficacy.