The Court Goes to Flanders.--Nancy.--Ravon.--Sainte Marie aux
Mines.--Dancing and Death.--A German Sovereign's Respectful Visit.--The
Young Strasburg Priests.--The Good Bailiff of Chatenoi.--The Bridge at
Brisach.--The Capucin Monk Presented to the Queen.
Before relating that which I have to say about the Queen and her
precautions against myself, I would not omit certain curious incidents
during the journey that the King caused us to take in Alsatia and
Flanders, when he captured Maestricht and Courtrai.
The King having left us behind at Nancy, a splendid town where a large
proportion of the nobility grieved for the loss of Messieurs de Lorraine,
their legitimate sovereigns, the Queen soon saw that here she was more
honoured than beloved. It was this position which suggested to her the
idea of going to Spa, close by, and of taking the waters for some days.
If the Infanta was anxious to escape from the frigid courtesies of the
Lorraine aristocracy, I also longed to have a short holiday, and to keep
away from the Queen, as well for the sake of her peace of mind as for my
own. My doctor forbade me to take the Spa waters, as they were too
sulphurous; he ordered me those of Pont-a-Mousson. Hardly had I moved
there, when orders came for us all to meet at Luneville, and thence we
set out to rejoin the King.
Horrible was the first night of our journey spent at Ravon, in the Vosges
Mountains. The house in which Mademoiselle de Montpensier and I lodged
was a dilapidated cottage, full of holes, and propped up in several
places. Lying in bed, we heard the creaking of the beams and rafters.
Two days afterwards the house, so they told us, collapsed.
From that place we went on to Sainte Marie aux Mines, a mean sort of
town, placed like a long corridor between two lofty, well-wooded
mountains, which even at noonday deprive it of sun. Close by there is a
shallow, rock-bound streamlet which divides Lorraine from Alsace. Sainte
Marie aux Mines belonged to the Prince Palatine of Birkenfeld. This
Prince offered us his castle of Reif Auvilliers, an uncommonly beautiful
residence, which he had inherited from the Comtesse de Ribaupierre, his
wife.
This lady's father was just dead, and as, in accordance with German
etiquette, the Count's funeral obsequies could not take place for a
month, in the presence of all his relatives and friends, who came from a
great distance, the corpse, embalmed and placed in a leaden coffin, lay
in state under a canopy in the mortuary chapel.
Our equerries, seeing that the King's chamber looked on to the mortuary
chapel, took upon themselves to blow out all the candles, and for the
time being stowed away the corpse in a cupboard.
We knew nothing about this; and as the castle contained splendid rooms,
the ladies amused themselves by dancing and music to make them forget the
boredom of their journey.
The King looked in upon us every now and then, saying, in a low voice,
"Ah! if you only knew what I know!"
And then he would go off, laughing in his sleeve. We did not get to know
about this corpse until five or six days afterwards, when we were a long
way off, and the discovery greatly shocked us.
The day we left Sainte Marie aux Mines, a little German sovereign came to
present his homage to the King. It was the Prince de Mont-Beliard, of
Wurtemberg, whom I had previously met in Paris, on the occasion of his
marriage with Marechal de Chatillon's charming daughter. The luxurious
splendour of Saint Germain and Versailles had certainly not yet succeeded
in turning the heads of these German sovereigns. This particular one
wore a large buff doublet with big copper-gilt buttons. His cravat was
without either ribbons or lace. His rather short hair was roughly combed
over his forehead; he carried no sword, and instead of gold buckles or
clasps, he had little bows of red leather on his black velvet shoes. His
coach, entirely black, was still of old-fashioned make; that is to say,
studded with quantities of gilt nails. Wearing mourning for the Empress,
his six horses were richly, caparisoned, his four lackeys wearing yellow
liveries faced with red. An escort of twenty guardsmen, dressed
similarly, was in attendance; they seemed to be well mounted, and were
handsome fellows.
A second carriage of prodigious size followed the ducal conveyance; in
this were twelve ladies and gentlemen, who got out and made their
obeisance to the King and Queen.
The Prince de Mont-Beliard did not get into his coach again until ours
were in motion. He spoke French fairly well, and the little he said was
said with much grace. He looked very hard at me, which shocked the Queen
greatly, but not the King.
A little further on, their Majesties were greeted by the delegates of the
noble chapter of Strasburg. These comprised the Count of Manderhall and
two canons. What canons, too! And how astonished we were!
The old Count was dressed in a black cassock, and his hair looked
somewhat like a cleric's, but his cravat was tied with a large
flame-coloured bow, and he wore ill-fitting hose of the same hue. As for
the two canons, they were pleasant young men, good-looking and well-made.
Their light gray dress was edged with black and gold; they wore their
hair long in wavy curls, and in their little black velvet caps they had
yellow and black feathers, and their silver-mounted swords were like
those worn by our young courtiers. Their equipment was far superior to
that of the deputation of the Prince de Mont-Beliard. It is true, they
were churchmen, and churchmen have only themselves and their personal
satisfaction to consider.
These gentlemen accompanied us as far as Chatenoi, a little town in their
neighbourhood, and here they introduced the bailiff of the town to the
King, who was to remain constantly in attendance and act as interpreter.
The bailiff spoke French with surprising ease. He had been formerly
tutor at President Tambonneaux's, an extremely wealthy man, who
entertained the Court, the town, and all the cleverest men of the day.
The King soon became friends with the bailiff, and kept him the whole
time close to his carriage.
When travelling, the King is quite another man. He puts off his gravity
of demeanour, and likes to amuse his companions, or else make his
companions amuse him. Believing him to be like Henri IV. in temper, the
bailiff was for asking a thousand questions. Some of these the King
answered; to others he gave no reply.
"Sire," said he to his Majesty, "your town of Paris has a greater
reputation than it actually deserves. They say you are fond of building;
then Paris ought to have occasion to remember your reign. Allow me to
express a hope that her principal streets will be widened, that her
temples, most of them of real beauty, may be isolated. You should add to
the number of her bridges, quays, public baths, almshouses and
infirmaries."
The King smiled. "Come and see us in four or five years," he rejoined,
"or before that, if you like, and if your affairs permit you to do so.
You will be pleased to see what I have already done."
Then the bailiff, approaching my carriage window, addressed a few
complimentary remarks to myself.
"I have often met your father, M. de Mortemart," said he, "at President
Tambonneaux's. One day the little De Bouillons were there, quarrelling
about his sword, and to the younger he said, 'You, sir, shall go into the
Church, because you squint. Let my sword alone; here's my rosary.'"
"Well," quoth the King, "M. de Mortemart was a true prophet, for that
little Bouillon fellow is to-day Cardinal de Bouillon."
"Sire," continued the worthy German, "I am rejoiced to hear such news.
And little Peguilain de Lauzun, of whom you used to be so fond when you
were both boys,--where is he? What rank does he now hold?"
Hereupon the King looked at Mademoiselle, who, greatly confused, shed
tears.
"Well, M. Bailiff," said his Majesty, "did you easily recognise me at
first sight?"
"Sire," replied the German, "your physiognomy is precisely the same; when
a boy, you looked more serious. The day you entered Parliament in
hunting-dress I saw you get into your coach; and that evening the
President said to his wife, 'Madame, we are going to have a King. I wish
you could have been there, in one of the domes, just to hear the little
he said to us.'"
Whereupon the King laughingly inquired what reply the President's wife
made. But the bailiff, smiling in his turn, seemed afraid to repeat it,
and so his Majesty said:
"I was told of her answer at the time, so I can let you know what it was.
'Your young King will turn out a despot.' That is what Madame la
Presidente said to her husband."
The bailiff, somewhat confused, admitted that this was exactly the case.
The huge bridge at Brisach, across the Rhine, had no railing; the planks
were in a rickety condition, and through fissures one caught sight of the
impetuous rush of waters below. We all got out of our coaches and
crossed over with our eyes half shut, so dangerous did it seem; while the
King rode across this wretched bridge,--one of the narrowest and loftiest
that there is, and which is always in motion.
Next day the Bishop of Bale came to pay his respects to the Queen, and
was accompanied by delegates from the Swiss cantons, and other
notabilities. After this I heard the "General of the Capucins"
announced, who had just been to pay a visit of greeting to the German
Court. He was said to be by birth a Roman. Strange to say, for that
Capucin the same ceremony and fuss was made as for a sovereign prince,
and I heard that this was a time-honoured privilege enjoyed by his Order.
The monk himself was a fine man, wearing several decorations; his
carriage, livery, and train seemed splendid, nor did he lack ease of
manner nor readiness of conversation. He told us that, at the imperial
palace in Vienna, he had seen the Princesse d'Inspruck,--a relative of
the French Queen, and that the Emperor was bringing her up as if destined
one day to be his seventh bride, according to a prediction. He also
stated that the Emperor had made the young Princess sing to him,--a
Capucin monk; and added genially that she was comely and graceful, and
that he had been very pleased to see her.
The King was very merry at this priest's expense. Not so the Queen, who
was Spanish, and particularly devoted to Capucin friars of all
nationalities.