Monsieur's Second Marriage.--Princess Palatine.--The Court Turnspit.--A
Woman's Hatred.--The King's Mistress on a Par with the First Prince of
the Blood.--She Gives His Wife a Lesson.
In order to keep up appearances at his Palais Royal, Monsieur besought
the King to consent to his remarriage after the usual term of mourning
was at an end.
"Whom have you in view?" asked his brother. He replied that he proposed
to wed Mademoiselle--the grande Mademoiselle de Montpensier--on account
of her enormous wealth!
Just then Mademoiselle was head over ears in love with Lauzun. She sent
the Prince about his business, as I believe I have already stated.
Moreover, she remarked: "You had the loveliest wife in all
Europe,--young, charming, a veritable picture. You might have seen to it
that she was not poisoned; in that case you would not now be a widower.
As it is not likely that I should ever come to terms with your
favourites, I shall never be anything else to you but a cousin, and I
shall endeavour not to die until the proper time; that is, when it shall
please God to take me. You can repeat this speech, word for word, to your
precious Marquis d'Effiat and Messieurs de Remecourt and de Lorraine.
They have no access to my kitchens; I am not afraid of them."
This answer amused the King not a little, and he said to me: "I was told
that the Palatine of Bavaria's daughter is extremely ugly and ill-bred;
consequently, she is capable of keeping Monsieur in check. Through one
of my Rhenish allies, I will make proposals to her father for her hand.
As soon as a reply comes, I will show my brother a portrait of some sort;
it will be all the same to him; he will accept her."
Soon afterwards this marriage took place. Charlotte Elizabeth of
Bavaria, though aware of the sort of death that her predecessor died,
agreed to marry Monsieur. Had she not been lucky enough to make this
grand match, her extreme ugliness would assuredly have doomed her to
celibacy, even in Bavaria and in Germany. It is surely not allowable to
come into the world with such a face and form, such a voice, such eyes,
such hands, and such feet, as this singular princess displayed. The
Court, still mindful of the sweetness, grace, and charm of Henrietta of
England, could not contemplate without horror and disgust the fearful
caricature I have just described. Young pregnant women--after the
Queen's unfortunate experience--were afraid to look at the Princess
Palatine, and wished to be confined before they reappeared at Court.
As for herself, armed with robust, philosophical notions, and a complete
set of Northern nerves, she was in no way disconcerted at the effect her
presence produced. She even had the good sense to appear indifferent to
all the raillery she provoked, and said to the King:
"Sire, to my mind you are one of the handsomest men in the world, and
with few exceptions, your Court appears to me perfectly fitted for you. I
have come but scantily equipped to such an assemblage. Fortunately, I am
neither jealous nor a coquette, and I shall win pardon for my plainness,
I myself being the first to make merry at it."
"You put us completely at our ease," replied the King, who had not even
the courage to be gallant. "I must thank you on behalf of these ladies
for your candour and wit." Ten or twelve of us began to titter at this
speech of hers. The Robust Lady never forgave those who laughed.
Directly she arrived, she singled me out as the object of her ponderous
Palatine sarcasms. She exaggerated my style of dress, my ways and
habits. She thought to make fun of my little spaniels by causing herself
to be followed, even into the King's presence-chamber, by a large
turnspit, which in mockery she called by the name of my favourite dog.
When I had had my hair dressed, ornamented with quantities of little
curls, diamonds, and jewelled pins, she had the impertinence to appear at
Court wearing a huge wig, a grotesque travesty of my coiffure. I was
told of it. I entered the King's apartment without deigning to salute
Madame, or even to look at her.
I had also been told that, in society, she referred to me as "the
Montespan woman." I met her one day in company with a good many other
people, and said to her:
"Madame, you managed to give up your religion in order to marry a French
prince; you might just as well have left behind your gross Palatine
vulgarity also. I have the honour to inform you that, in the exalted
society to which you have been admitted, one can no more say 'the
Montespan woman,' than one can say 'the Orleans woman.' I have never
offended you in the slightest degree, and I fail to see why I should have
been chosen as the favoured object of your vulgar insults."
She blushed, and ventured to inform me that this way of expressing
herself was a turn of speech taken from her own native language, and that
by saying "the," as a matter of course "Marquise" was understood.
"No, madame," I said, without appearing irritated; "in Paris, such an
excuse as that is quite inadmissible, and since you associate with
turnspits, pray ask your cooks, and they will tell you."
Fearing to quarrel with the King, she was obliged to be more careful, but
to change one's disposition is impossible, and she has loathed and
insulted me ever since. Her husband, who himself probably taught her to
do so, one day tried to make apologies for what he ruefully termed her
reprehensible conduct. "There, there, it doesn't matter," I said to him;
"it is easier to offend me than to deceive me. Allow me to quote to you
the speech of Mademoiselle de Montpensier, 'You had a charming and
accomplished wife, you ought to have prevented her from being poisoned,
and then we should not have had this hag at Court.'"