DEATH IN THE PALACE.
1664-1670
Continued festivities.--Moliere.--Cost of
Versailles.--Lenotre.--Mansard.--Large sum squandered.--Magnificent
room at Versailles.--Ill feeling toward La Valliere.--Anne of Austria
becomes more ill.--Illness of Maria Theresa.--The king sick.--Abode of
Madame Henrietta.--Sufferings of the queen-mother.--Death of Philip
IV. of Spain.--Increasing ambition of Louis XIV.--Festivities at St.
Cloud.--Dying scene.--Death of the queen-mother.--Funeral
ceremonies.--The Abbey of St. Denis.--Duchess of Vaujours.--Madame de
Montespan.--Daily developments.--Duke de Mazarin--his cynicism.--He
is silenced by the king.--Sale of Dunkirk.--Inconsistencies in
the character of Louis.--Treachery of Montespan.--Sorrows of
Louise.--Letters of the Marquis de Montespan.--Alarm of the
marchioness.--Cowardice of the Pope.--Sorrow of the marquis.--Vexation
of Louis.--Petty jealousies.--Employments of the king.--Remarks of
Louis upon court etiquette.--They are unanswerable.--Conquest of
Holland determined on.--Henrietta embassadress to England.--Louise
Renee.--The bribe.--Constant bickerings.--Alliance between France
and England.--Festivities thereon.--Maria Theresa.--Vivacity of
Henrietta.--Henrietta poisoned.--Intense suffering.--Arrival of the
king.--Death scene of Henrietta.--Suspicion of Louis.--Development of
facts.--Statements of M. Pernon.--Testimony of M. Pernon.--Return of
Chevalier de Lorraine.--Marriage of Monsieur.--Portrait of Charlotte
Elizabeth.--Her power of sarcasm.--Sharp reproof of Madame de Fienne.
The festivities to which we have alluded in the last chapter, the
expenses of which were sufficient almost to exhaust the revenues of a
kingdom, lasted seven days. The prizes awarded to the victors in the
lists were very costly and magnificent. The renowned dramatist Moliere
accompanied the court on this occasion, to contribute to its amusement
by the exhibition of his mirth-moving farces on the stage.
It was during these scenes that Louis XIV. selected Versailles as the
site of the stupendous pile of buildings which was to eclipse all
other palaces that had ever been reared on this globe. This
magnificent structure, alike the monument of munificence in its
appointments, and of infamy in the distress it imposed upon the
overtaxed people, eventually swallowed up the sum of one hundred and
sixty-six million of francs--thirty-three million dollars. It is to be
remembered that at that day money was far more valuable, and far more
difficult of acquisition than at the present time.
For seven years an army of workmen was employed on the palace, parks,
and gardens. No expense was spared to carry into effect the king's
designs. The park and gardens were laid out by the celebrated
landscape gardener Lenotre. The plans for the palace were furnished by
the distinguished architect Mansard. Over thirty thousand soldiers
were called from their garrisons to assist the swarms of ordinary
workmen in digging the vast excavations and constructing the immense
terraces. "It is estimated that not less than forty millions
sterling--two hundred million dollars--were exhausted upon the laying
out of these vast domains and the erection of this superb chateau.
Such was the extraordinary vigor with which the works were pushed,
that in 1685, hardly twenty-five years after its commencement, the
whole was in readiness to receive its royal occupants. Here the royal
family and the court resided until the Revolution of 1789. Every part
of the interior as well as the exterior was ornamented with the works
of the most eminent masters of the times."[L]
[Footnote L: Bradshaw's Guide through Paris and its Environs.]
The most magnificent room in the palace, called the grand gallery of
Louis XIV., was two hundred and forty-two feet long, thirty-five feet
broad, and forty-three feet high. The splendors of the court of Louis
XIV. may be inferred from the fact that this vast apartment was daily
crowded with courtiers. The characteristic vanity of the king is
conspicuously developed in that he instituted an order of nobility as
a reward for personal services. The one great and only privilege of
its members was that they were permitted to wear a blue coat
embroidered with gold and silver precisely like that worn by the king,
and to follow the king in his hunting-parties and drives.
The position of Mademoiselle de la Valliere was a very painful one.
Though the austere queen-mother was so ill in her chamber that she
could do but little to harass Louise, Madame Henrietta, who had been
constrained to receive her as one of her maids of honor, did every
thing in her power to keep her in a state of perpetual anxiety. The
courtiers generally were hostile to her, from the partiality with
which she was openly regarded by the king. The poor child was alone
and desolate in the court, and scarcely knew an hour of joy.
[Illustration: CONVENT OF VAL DE GRACE.]
The queen-mother was rapidly sinking, devoured by a malady which not
only caused her extreme bodily suffering, but, from its loathsome
character, affected her sensitive nature with the most acute mental
pangs. She retired to the convent of Val de Grace, where, with
ever-increasing devotion as death drew near, she consecrated herself
to works of piety and prayer.
This vast structure is situated upon the left bank of the Seine, and
is now in the limits of the city of Paris.
"Anne of Austria had enjoyed the rare privilege, so seldom accorded to
her sex, of growing old without in any very eminent degree losing her
personal advantages. Her hands and arms, which had always been
singularly beautiful, remained smooth and round, and delicately white.
Not a wrinkle marred the dignity of her noble forehead. Her eyes,
which were remarkably fine, lost neither their brightness nor their
expression; and yet for years she had been suffering physical pangs
only the more poignant from the resolution with which she concealed
them."[M]
[Footnote M: Louis XIV. and the Court of France, vol. ii., p. 145.]
The queen-mother had made the most heroic exertions to assume in
public the appearance of health and gayety. None but her physicians
were made acquainted with the nature of her malady.
The young queen, Maria Theresa, who appears to have been an amiable,
pensive woman, endowed with many quiet virtues, was devotedly attached
to the queen-mother. She clung to her and followed her, while
virtually abandoned by her royal spouse. She had no heart for those
courtly festivities where she saw others with higher fascinations
command the admiration and devotion of her husband. The queen was
taken very ill with the measles. It speaks well for Louis XIV., and
should be recorded to his honor, that he devoted himself to his sick
wife, by day and by night, with the most unremitting attention. The
disease was malignant in its form, and the king himself was soon
stricken down by it. For several days it was feared that he would not
live. As he began to recover, he was removed to the palace of St.
Cloud. The annexed view represents the rear of the palace. The
magnificent saloons in front open upon the city, and from the elevated
site of the palace command a splendid view of the region for many
leagues around.
[Illustration: THE PALACE OF ST. CLOUD.]
This truly splendid chateau, but a few miles from the Tuileries, had
been assigned to Madame Henrietta. Here she resided with her court,
and here the king again found himself under the same roof with
Mademoiselle de la Valliere.
In the mean time the health of the queen-mother rapidly declined. She
was fast sinking into the arms of death. The young queen, Maria
Theresa, having recovered, was unwilling to leave her suffering
mother-in-law even for an hour.
"The sufferings of Anne of Austria," writes Miss Pardoe, "must indeed
have been extreme, when, superadded to the physical agony of which she
was so long the victim, her peculiar fastidiousness of scent and touch
are remembered. Throughout the whole of her illness she had adopted
every measure to conceal, even from herself, the effects of her
infirmity. She constantly held in her hand a large fan of Spanish
leather, and saturated her linen with the most powerful perfumes. Her
sense of contact was so acute and irritable that it was with the
utmost difficulty that cambric could be found sufficiently fine for
her use. Upon one occasion, when Cardinal Mazarin was jesting with
her upon this defect, he told her 'that if she were damned, her
eternal punishment would be sleeping in linen sheets.'"
Louis XIV. was too much engrossed with his private pleasures, his
buildings, and rapidly multiplying diplomatic intrigues to pay much
attention to his dying mother. It was not pleasant to him to
contemplate the scenes of suffering in a sick-chamber. The gloom which
was gathering around Anne of Austria was somewhat deepened by the
intelligence she received of the death of her brother, Philip IV. of
Spain. It was another admonition to her that she too must die. Though
Philip IV. was a reserved and stately man, allowing himself in but few
expressions of tenderness toward his family, Maria Theresa, in her
isolation, wept bitterly over her father's death.
The ties of relationship are feeble in courts. Louis XIV. was growing
increasingly ambitious of enlarging his domains and aggrandizing his
power. The news of the death of the King of Spain was but a source of
exultation to him. Though scrupulous in the discharge of the
ceremonies of the Church, he was a stranger to any high sense of
integrity or honor. In the treaty upon his marriage with Maria
Theresa he had agreed to resign every claim to any portion of the
Spanish kingdom. The death of Philip IV. left Spain in the hands of a
feeble woman. Louis XIV., upon the plea that the five hundred thousand
crowns promised as the dower of his wife had not yet been paid,
resolved immediately to seize upon the provinces of Flanders and
Franche-Comte, which then belonged to the Spanish crown.
Notwithstanding the queen-mother had become so exhausted, from
long-continued and agonizing bodily sufferings, that she could not be
moved from one bed to another without fainting, still the festivities
of the palace continued unintermitted. The moans of the dying queen in
the darkened chamber could not be heard amidst the music and the
revelry of the Louvre and the Tuileries. On the 5th of January, 1666,
Philip, the Duke of Orleans, gave a magnificent ball in the palace of
St. Cloud. Louis XIV. was then in deep mourning for his father-in-law.
Decorously he wore the mourning dress of violet-colored velvet adopted
by the court; he, however, took care so effectually to cover his
mourning garments with glittering and costly gems that the color of
the material could not be discerned.
While her children were engaged in these revels, the queen-mother
passed a sleepless night of terrible suffering. It was apparent to her
that her dying hour was near at hand. She was informed by her
physician that her life could be continued but a few hours longer. She
called for her confessor, and requested every one else to leave the
room. What sins she confessed of heart or life are known only to him
and to God. Having obtained such absolution as the priest could give,
she prepared to partake of the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. Her son
Philip, with Madame his wife, were admitted to her chamber, where the
king soon joined them. The Archbishop of Auch, accompanied by quite a
retinue of ecclesiastics, approached with the holy viaticum. The most
scrupulous regard was paid to all the punctilious ceremonials of
courtly etiquette.
When the bishop was about to administer the oil of extreme unction,
the dying queen requested an attendant very carefully to raise the
borders of her cap, lest the oil should touch them, and give them an
unpleasant odor. It was one of the most melancholy and impressive of
earthly scenes. The king, young, sensitive, and easily overcome by
momentary emotion, could not refrain from seeing in that sad
spectacle, as in a mirror, his own inevitable lot. He fainted entirely
away, and was borne senseless from the apartment.
On the morning of the 7th or 8th of January, 1666, Anne of Austria
died. Her will was immediately brought from the cabinet and read. She
bequeathed her _heart_ to the convent of Val de Grace. It was taken
from her body, cased in a costly urn, and conveyed to the convent in a
carriage. The Archbishop of Auch seated himself beside the senseless
relic, while the Duchess of Montpensier occupied another seat in the
coach.
At 7 o'clock of the next evening the remains of the queen left the
Louvre for the royal sepulchre at St. Denis. It was a gloomy winter's
night. Many torches illumined the path of the procession, exhibiting
to the thousands of spectators the solemn pageant of the burial. The
ecclesiastics and the monks, in their gorgeous or picturesque robes,
the royal sarcophagus, the sombre light of the torches, the royal
coaches in funereal drapery, and the wailing requiems, now swelling
upon the breeze, and now dying away, blending with the voices of
tolling bells, presented one of the most mournful and instructive of
earthly spectacles. The queen had passed to that tribunal where no
aristocratic privileges are recognized, and where all earthly wealth
and rank are disregarded.
The funeral services were prolonged and imposing. It was not until two
hours after midnight that the remains were deposited in the vaults of
the venerable abbey, the oldest Christian church in France.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF ST. DENIS.]
The death of the queen-mother does not seem to have produced much
effect upon the conduct of her ambitious and pleasure-loving son. He
had cruelly betrayed the young and guileless Mademoiselle de la
Valliere, and she never ceased to weep over her sad fate. The king,
however, conferred upon her the duchy of Vaujours, and the title of
Madame. Her beauty began to fade. Younger and happier faces attracted
the king. He became more and more arrogant and domineering.
There was at that time rising into notice in this voluptuous court a
young lady who was not only magnificently beautiful, but extremely
brilliant in her intellectual endowments. She was of illustrious
birth, and was lady of the palace to the young queen. She deliberately
fixed her affections upon Louis, and resolved to employ all the arts
of personal loveliness and the fascinations of wit to win his
exclusive favor. She had given her hand, constrained by her family, to
the young Marquis de Montespan. She had, however, stated at the time
that with her hand she did not give her heart.
The young marquis seems to have been a very worthy man. Disgusted with
the folly and the dissipation of the court, he was anxious to
withdraw with his beautiful bride to his ample estates in Provence.
She, however, entirely devoted to pleasure, and absorbed in her
ambitious designs, refused to accompany him, pleading the duty she
owed her royal mistress. He went alone. Madame de Montespan was thus
relieved of the embarrassment of his presence.
Louis XIV., while apparently immersed in frivolous and guilty
pleasures, was developing very considerable ability as a sovereign. It
daily became more clearly manifest that he was not a man of pleasure
merely; that he had an imperial will, and that he was endowed with
unusual administrative energies.
The Duke de Mazarin, a relative and rich heir of the deceased
cardinal, and who assumed an austere and cynical character, ventured
on one occasion, when displeased with some act of the king, to
approach him in the presence of several persons and say,
"Sire, Saint Genevieve appeared to me last night. She is much offended
by the conduct of your majesty, and has foretold to me that if you do
not reform your morals the greatest misfortunes will fall upon your
kingdom."
The whole circle stood aghast at his effrontery. But the king,
without exhibiting the slightest emotion, in slow and measured
accents, replied,
"And I, Monsieur de Mazarin, have recently had several visions, by
which I have been warned that the late cardinal, your uncle, plundered
my people, and that it is time to make his heirs disgorge the booty.
Remember this, and be persuaded that the very next time you permit
yourself to offer me unsolicited advice, I shall act upon the
mysterious information I have received."
The duke attempted no reply. Such developments of character
effectually warded off all approaches of familiarity.
The fugitive and needy Charles II. had sold to Louis XIV., for about
one million of dollars, the important commercial town of Dunkirk, in
French Flanders. The king, well aware of the importance of the
position, had employed thirty thousand men to fortify the place.
Louis now sent an army of thirty-five thousand men, in the highest
state of military discipline, to seize the coveted Spanish provinces
of Flanders and Franche-Comte. At the same time, he sent a reserve of
eight thousand troops to Dunkirk. The widowed Queen of Spain, acting
as regent for her infant son, could make no effectual resistance. She
had but eight thousand troops, in small garrisons, scattered over
those provinces. The march of the French army was but as a holiday
excursion. Fortress after fortress fell into their hands. Soon the
banners of Louis floated proudly over the whole territory. The king
displayed his sagacity by granting promotion for services rendered
rather than to birth. This inspired the army with great ardor. He also
boldly entered the trenches under fire, and exposed himself to the
most imminent peril.
The opposite side of the king's character is displayed in the fact
that he accompanied the camp with all the ladies of his court,
eighteen in number. In each captured city, the king and court, in
magnificent banqueting-halls and gorgeous saloons, indulged in the
gayest revelry. Amidst the turmoil of the camp, these haughty men and
high-born dames surrounded themselves with the magnificence of the
Louvre and the Tuileries, and were served with every delicacy from
gold and silver plate.
The king, by the advice of his renowned minister of war, Marshal
Louvois, placed strong garrisons in the cities he had captured, while
the celebrated engineer, M. Vauban, was intrusted with enlarging and
strengthening the fortifications. From this victorious campaign Louis
XIV. returned to Paris, receiving adulation from the courtiers as if
he were more than mortal.
Madame de Montespan accompanied the court on this military pleasure
tour. She availed herself of every opportunity to attract the
attention of the king and ingratiate herself in his favor. She so far
succeeded in exciting the jealousy of the queen against Madame de la
Valliere, upon whom she was at the same time lavishing her most tender
caresses, that her majesty treated the sensitive and desponding
favorite with such rudeness that, with a crushed spirit, she decided
to leave the court and retire to Versailles, there to await the
conclusion of the campaign. The king, however, interposed to prevent
her departure, while at the same time he was daily treating her with
more marked neglect, as he turned his attention to the rival, now
rapidly gaining the ascendency. The unfortunate Louise was doomed to
daily martyrdom. She could not be blind to the fact that the king's
love was fast waning. Conscience tortured her, and she wept bitterly.
Before her there was opened only the vista of weary years of neglect
and remorse.
But the Marchioness of Montespan was mingling for herself a cup of
bitterness which she, in her turn, was to drain to its dregs. Her
noble husband wrote most imploring letters, beseeching her to return
to him with their infant child.
"Come," he wrote in one of his letters, "and take a near view, my dear
Athenais, of these stupendous Pyrenees, whose every ravine is a
landscape, and every valley an Eden. To all these beauties yours alone
is wanting. You will be here like Diana, the divinity of these noble
forests."
The excuses which the marchioness offered did by no means satisfy her
husband. His heart was wounded and his suspicions aroused. At last he
was apprised of her manifest endeavors to attract the attention of the
king. He wrote severely; informed her of the extent of his knowledge.
He threatened to expose her conduct to her own family, and to shut her
up in a convent. At the same time, he commanded her to send to him, by
the messenger who bore his letter, their little son, that he might not
be contaminated by association with so unworthy a mother.
It was too late. The marchioness was involved in such guilty relations
with the king that she could not easily be extricated. Still she was
much alarmed by the angry letter of her husband. The king perceived
her anxiety, and inquired the cause. She placed the letter in his
hands. He read it, changing color as he read. He then coolly remarked,
"Our position is a difficult one. It requires much precaution. I will,
however, take care that no violence shall be offered you. You had
better, however, send him your son. The child is useless here, and
perhaps inconvenient. The marquis, deprived of the child, may be
driven to acts of severity."
A mother's love was strong in the bosom of the marchioness. She wept
aloud, and declared that she would sooner die than part with her son.
Her husband soon after came to Paris. He addressed the king in a very
firm and reproachful letter, and for three months made earnest
applications to the pope for a divorce. But the pope, afraid of
offending Louis XIV., turned a deaf ear to his supplications. It was
in vain for a noble, however exalted his rank, to contend against the
king.
The injured marquis, finding all his efforts vain, returned wifeless
and childless to his chateau. Announcing that to him his wife was
dead, he assumed the deepest mourning, draped his house and the
liveries of his servants in crape, and ordered a funeral service to
take place in the parish church. A numerous concourse attended, and
all the sad ceremonies of burial were solemnized.
The king was greatly annoyed. The scandal, which spread throughout the
kingdom, placed him in a very unenviable position. The marquis would
probably have passed the rest of his life in one of the _oubliettes_
of the Bastile had he not escaped from France. Madame de Montespan, in
her wonderfully frank Memoirs, records all these facts without any
apparent consciousness of the infamy to which they consign her memory.
She even claims the merit of protecting her injured husband from the
dungeon, saying,
"Not being naturally of a bad disposition, I never would allow of his
being sent to the Bastile."
There were continual antagonisms arising between Madame de la Valliere
and Madame de Montespan. They were both ladies of honor in the
household of the queen, who, silent and sad, and ever seeking
retirement, endeavored to close her eyes to the guilty scenes
transpiring around her. Sin invariably brings sorrow. The king,
supremely selfish as he was, must have been a stranger to any peace of
mind. He professed full faith in Christianity. Even lost spirits may
believe and tremble. The precepts of Jesus were often faithfully
proclaimed from the pulpit in his hearing. Remorse must have
frequently tortured his soul.
From these domestic tribulations he sought relief in the vigorous
prosecution of his plans for national aggrandizement. He plunged into
diplomatic intrigues, marshaled armies, built ships, multiplied and
enlarged his sea-ports, established colonies, reared magnificent
edifices, encouraged letters, and with great sagacity pushed all
enterprises which could add to the glory and power of France.
The king had never been on good terms with his brother Philip. Louis
was arrogant and domineering. Philip was jealous, and not disposed
obsequiously to bow the knee to his imperious brother. The king was
unrelenting in the exactions of etiquette. There were three seats used
in the presence of royalty: the arm-chair, for members of the royal
family; the folded chair, something like a camp-stool, for the highest
of the nobility; and the bench, for other dignitaries who were honored
with a residence at court. Philip demanded of his brother that his
wife, Henrietta, the daughter of Charles I. of England, and the sister
of Louis XIII., being of royal blood, should be allowed the privilege
of taking an arm-chair in the saloons of the queen. The king made the
following remarkable reply:
"That can not be permitted. I beg of you not to persist in such a
request. It was not I who established these distinctions. They existed
long before you and I were born. It is for your interest that the
dignity of the crown should neither be weakened or encroached upon. If
from Duke of Orleans you should one day become King of France, I know
you well enough to believe that this is a point on which you would be
inexorable.
"In the presence of God, you and I are two beings precisely similar to
our fellow-men; but in the eyes of men we appear as something
extraordinary, superior, greater, and more perfect than others. The
day on which the people cast off this respect and this voluntary
veneration, by which alone monarchy is upheld, they will see us only
their equals, suffering from the same evils, and subject to the same
weaknesses as themselves. This once accomplished, all illusion will be
over. The laws, no longer sustained by a controlling power, will
become black lines upon white paper. Your chair without arms and my
arm-chair will be simply two pieces of furniture of equal importance."
To these forcible remarks, indicating deep reflection, the Duke of
Orleans, a nobleman rioting in boundless wealth, and enjoying amazing
feudal privileges, could make no reply. The coronet of the noble and
the crown of the absolute king would both fall to the ground so soon
as the masses of the people should escape from the thrall of ignorance
and deception. Philip left his brother silenced, yet exasperated. A
petty warfare was carried on between them, by which they daily became
more alienated from each other.
The king, elated by his easy conquest of Flanders, resolved to seize
upon Holland, and then proceed to annex to France the whole of the Low
Countries. The Dutch, a maritime people, though powerful at sea, had
but a feeble land force. Holland was in alliance with England. The
first object of Louis was to dissolve this alliance.
There were two influences, money and beauty, which were omnipotent
with the contemptible Charles II. Henrietta, the wife of Philip, was
sent as embassadress to the court of her brother. The whole French
court escorted her to the coast. The pomp displayed on this occasion
surpassed any thing which had heretofore been witnessed in France. The
escort consisted of thirty thousand men in the van and the rear of the
royal cortege. The most beautiful women of the court accompanied the
queen. Maria Theresa, the queen, and Henrietta, occupied the same
coach. The ladies of their households followed in their carriages.
The king's two favorites--Madame de la Valliere, whose beauty and
power were on the wane, and Madame de Montespan, who was then in the
zenith of her triumph--were often invited by the king to take a seat
in the royal carriage by the side of the queen and Madame. The most
beautiful woman then in the French court was Louise Renee,
subsequently known in English annals as the Duchess of Portsmouth. She
was to accompany her royal mistress to the court of Charles II., and
had received secret instructions from the king in reference to the
influence she was to exert. Louise Renee was to be the bribe and the
motive power to control the king.
Brilliant as was this royal cortege, the journey, to its prominent
actors, was a very sad one. The queen, pliant and submissive as she
usually was, could not refrain from some expressions of bitterness in
being forced to such intimate companionship with her rivals in the
king's favor. There were also constant heart-burnings and bickerings,
which etiquette could not restrain, between Philip and his spouse
Henrietta. _Madame_ was going to London as the confidential messenger
of the king, and she refused to divulge to her husband the purpose of
her visit. Louis XIV. was embarrassed by three ladies, each of whom
claimed his exclusive attention, and each of whom was angry if he
smiled upon either of the others. In such a party there could be no
happiness.
As this gorgeous procession, crowding leagues of the road, swept
along, few of the amazed peasants who gazed upon the glittering
spectacle could have suspected the misery which was gnawing at the
heart of these high-born men and proud dames. Upon arriving at the
coast, Henrietta, with her magnificent suite, embarked for England.
The negotiation was perfectly successful. The fascinating Louise Renee
immediately made the entire conquest of the king. Her consent to
remain a member of his court, and the offer of several millions of
money to Charles II., secured his assent to whatever the French king
desired. It is said that he the more readily abandoned his alliance
with Holland, since he hated the Protestants there, whose religion so
severely condemned his worthless character and wretched life. A treaty
of alliance was speedily drawn up between Charles II. and Louis XIV.
His Britannic majesty then, with a splendid retinue, accompanied his
sister Henrietta to the coast, where she embarked for Calais. The
French court met her there with all honors. The return to Paris was
slow. At every important town the court tarried for a season of
festivities. Henrietta, or _Madame_, as the French invariably entitled
her, established her court at St. Cloud. Her husband, Monsieur, was
very much irritated against her. Neither of them took any pains to
conceal from others their alienation.
Madame was in the ripeness of her rare beauty, and enjoyed great
influence in the court. The poor queen, Maria Theresa, was but a
cipher. She was heart-crushed, and devoted herself to the education of
her children, and to the society of a few Spanish ladies whom she had
assembled around her. The king, grateful for the services which
Henrietta had rendered him in England, and alike fascinated by her
loveliness and her vivacity, was lavishing upon her his constant and
most marked attentions, not a little to the chagrin of her irritated
and jealous husband.
On the 27th of June, 1669, Henrietta rose at an early hour, and, after
some conversation with Madame de Lafayette, to whom she declared she
was in admirable health, she attended mass, and then went to the room
of her daughter, Mademoiselle d'Orleans. She was in glowing spirits,
and enlivened the whole company by her vivacious conversation. After
calling for a glass of succory water, which she drank, she dined. The
party then repaired to the saloon of _Monsieur_. He was sitting for
his portrait. Henrietta, reclining upon a lounge, apparently fell into
a doze. Her friends were struck with the haggard and deathly
expression which her countenance suddenly assumed, when she sprang up
with cries of agony. All were greatly alarmed. Her husband appeared as
much so as the rest. She called for another draught of succory water.
It was brought to her in an enameled cup from which she was accustomed
to drink.
She took the cup in one hand, and then, pressing her hand to her side
in a spasm of pain, exclaimed, "I can scarcely breathe. Take me
away--take me away! I can support myself no longer." With much
difficulty she was led to her chamber by her terrified attendants.
There she threw herself upon her bed in convulsions of agony, crying
out that she was dying, and praying that her confessor might
immediately be sent for. Three physicians were speedily in attendance.
Her husband entered her chamber and kneeled at her bedside. She threw
her arms around his neck, exclaiming,
"Alas! you have long ceased to love me; but you are unjust, for I have
never wronged you." Suddenly she raised herself upon her elbow, and
said to those weeping around her, "I have been poisoned by the succory
water which I have drank. Probably there has been some mistake. I am
sure, however, that I have been poisoned. Unless you wish to see me
die, you must immediately administer some antidote."
Her husband did not seem at all agitated by this statement, but
directed that some of the succory water should be given to a dog to
ascertain its effects. Madame Desbordes, the first _femme de chambre_,
who had prepared the beverage, declared that the experiment should be
made upon herself. She immediately poured out a glass, and drank it.
Various antidotes for poisons were administered. They created the most
deadly sickness, without changing the symptoms or alleviating the
pain. It soon became evident that the princess was dying. The livid
complexion, glassy eyes, and shrunken nose and lips, showed that some
agent of terrific power was consuming her life. A chill perspiration
oozed from her forehead, her pulse was imperceptible, and her
extremities icy cold.
The king soon arrived, accompanied by the queen. Louis XIV. was
greatly affected by the changed appearance and manifestly dying
condition of Henrietta. He sat upon one side of the bed and _Monsieur_
upon the other, both weeping bitterly. The agony of the princess was
dreadful. In most imploring tones she begged that something might be
done to mitigate her sufferings. The attendant physicians announced
that she was dying. Extreme unction was administered, the crucifix
fell from her hand, a convulsive shuddering shook her frame, and
Henrietta was dead.
"Only nine hours previously, Henrietta of England had been full of
life, and loveliness, and hope, the idol of a court, and the centre of
the most brilliant circle in Europe. And now, as the tearful priest
arose from his knees, the costly curtains of embroidered velvet were
drawn around a cold, pale, motionless, and livid corpse."
A post-mortem examination revealed the presence of poison so virulent
in its action that a portion of the stomach was destroyed. Dreadful
suspicion rested upon her husband. The king, in a state of intense
agitation, summoned his brother to his presence, and demanded that he
should confess his share in the murder. Monsieur clasped in his hand
the insignia of the Holy Ghost, which he wore about his neck, and took
the most solemn oath that he was both directly and indirectly innocent
of the death of his wife. Still the circumstantial evidence was so
strong against him that he could not escape the terrible suspicion.
Notwithstanding the absolute proof that the death of the princess was
caused by poison, still an official statement was soon made out,
addressed to the British court, and widely promulgated, in which it
was declared that the princess died of a malignant attack of bilious
fever. Several physicians were bribed to sign this declaration.
Notwithstanding this statement, the king made vigorous exertions to
discover the perpetrators of the crime. The following facts were soon
brought to light. The king, some time before, much displeased with the
Chevalier de Lorraine, a favorite and adviser of Monsieur, angrily
arrested him, and imprisoned him in the Chateau d'If, a strong and
renowned fortress on Marguerite Island, opposite Cannes. Here he was
treated with great rigor. He was not allowed to correspond, or even to
speak with any persons but those on duty within the fortress.
_Monsieur_ was exceedingly irritated by this despotic act. He ventured
loudly to upbraid his brother, and bitterly accused _Madame_ of having
caused the arrest of his bosom friend, the chevalier.
Circumstances directed the very strong suspicions of the king to M.
Pernon, controller of the household of the princess, as being
implicated in the murder. The king ordered him to be secretly
arrested, and brought by a back staircase to the royal cabinet. Every
attendant was dismissed, and his majesty remained alone with the
prisoner. Fixing his eyes sternly upon the countenance of M. Pernon,
Louis said, "If you reveal every circumstance relative to the death of
_Madame_, I promise you full pardon. If you are guilty of the
slightest concealment or prevarication, your life shall be the
forfeit."
The controller then confessed that the Chevalier de Lorraine had,
through the hands of a country gentleman, M. Morel, who was not at all
conscious of the nature of the commission he was fulfilling, sent the
poison to two confederates at St. Cloud. This package was delivered to
the Marquis d'Effiat and Count de Beuvron, intimate friends of the
chevalier, and who had no hope that he would be permitted to return to
Paris so long as _Madame_ lived. The Marquis d'Effiat contrived to
enter the closet of the princess, and rubbed the poison on the inside
of the enameled cup from which Henrietta was invariably accustomed to
drink her favorite beverage.
The king listened intently to this statement, pressed his forehead
with his hand, and then inquired, in tones which indicated that he was
almost afraid to put the question, "And _Monsieur_--was he aware of
this foul plot?"
"No, sire," was the prompt reply. "_Monsieur_ can not keep a secret;
we did not venture to confide in him."
Louis appeared much relieved. After a moment's pause, he asked, with
evident anxiety, "Will you swear to this?"
"On my soul, sire," was the reply.
The king asked no more. Summoning an officer of the household, he
said, "Conduct M. Pernon to the gate of the palace, and set him at
liberty."
Such events were so common in the courts of feudal despotism in those
days of crime, that this atrocious murder seems to have produced but a
momentary impression. Poor Henrietta was soon forgotten. The tides of
gayety and fashion ebbed and flowed as ever through the saloons of the
royal palaces. No one was punished. It would hardly have been decorous
for the king to hang men for the murder of the princess, when he had
solemnly announced that she had died of a bilious fever. The Chevalier
de Lorraine was ere long recalled to court. There he lived in
unbridled profligacy, enjoying an annual income of one hundred
thousand crowns, till death summoned him to a tribunal where neither
wealth nor rank can purchase exemption from crime.
Henrietta, who was but twenty-six years of age at the time of her
death, left two daughters, but no son. _Monsieur_ soon dried his
tears. He sought a new marriage with his rich, renowned cousin, the
Duchess of Montpensier. But she declined his offered hand. With
inconceivable caprice, she was fixing her affections upon a worthless
adventurer, a miserable coxcomb, the Duke de Lauzun, who was then
disgracing by his presence the court of the Louvre. This singular
freak, an additional evidence that there is no accounting for the
vagaries of love, astonished all the courts of Europe. _Monsieur_ then
turned to the Princess Charlotte Elizabeth of Bavaria. The alliance
was one dictated by state policy. _Monsieur_ reluctantly assented to
it under the moral compulsion of the king. The advent of this most
eccentric of women at the French court created general astonishment
and almost consternation. She despised etiquette, and dressed in the
most _outre_ fashion, while she displayed energies of mind and
sharpness of tongue which brought all in awe of her. The following is
the portrait which this princess, eighteen years of age, has drawn of
herself:
"I was born in Heidelberg in 1652. I must necessarily be ugly, for I
have no features, small eyes, a short, thick nose, and long, flat
lips. Such a combination as this can not produce a physiognomy. I have
heavy hanging cheeks and a large face, and nevertheless am short and
thick. To sum up all, I am an ugly little object. If I had not a good
heart, I should not be bearable any where. To ascertain if my eyes
have any expression, it would be necessary to examine them with a
microscope. There could not probably be found on earth hands more
hideous than mine. The king has often remarked it to me, and made me
laugh heartily. Not being able with any conscience to flatter myself
that I possessed any thing good looking, I have made up my mind to
laugh at my own ugliness. I have found the plan very successful, and
frequently discover plenty to laugh at."
Notwithstanding the princess was ready to speak of herself in these
terms of ridicule, she was by no means disposed to grant the same
privilege to others. She was a woman of keen observation, and was ever
ready to resent any offense with the most sarcastic retaliation. She
perceived very clearly the sensation which her presence, and the
manners which she had very deliberately chosen to adopt, had excited.
Madame de Fienne was one of the most brilliant wits of the court. She
ventured to make herself and others merry over the oddities of the
newly-arrived Duchess of Orleans, in whose court both herself and her
husband were pensioners. The duchess took her by the hand, led her
aside, and, riveting upon her her unquailing eye, said, in slow and
emphatic tones,
"Madame, you are very amiable and very witty. You possess a style of
conversation which is endured by the king and by _Monsieur_ because
they are accustomed to it; but I, who am only a recent arrival at the
court, am less familiar with its spirit. I forewarn you that I become
incensed when I am made a subject of ridicule. For this reason, I was
anxious to give you a slight warning. If you spare me, we shall get on
very well together; but if, on the contrary, you treat me as you do
others, I shall say nothing to yourself, but I shall complain to your
husband, and if he does not correct you, I shall dismiss him."
The hint was sufficient. Neither Madame de Fienne nor any other lady
of the court ventured after this to utter a word of witticism on the
subject of the Duchess of Orleans.