THE SECRET MARRIAGE.
1685-1689
Temptation resisted.--Rumors of marriage.--Preparations for
the marriage.--The archbishop summoned.--An extraordinary
scene.--Ceremonies.--The _Widow Scarron_.--Etiquette.--Humiliation
of Madame de Montespan.--Routine of a day at Versailles.--The _First
Entree_.--The ceremony of dressing.--The _Grand Entree_.--Dressing
the king.--The royal breakfast.--Formalities.--The dressing
completed.--The king prays.--The king attends mass.--Etiquette at
the royal dinner.--Visits the kennel.--The morning drive.--The royal
supper.--Tasting and trying.--"Drink for the king!"--He feeds his
dogs at midnight.--Madame de Maintenon's apartments.--Her
tact.--Sickness of the king.--A surgical operation
necessary.--World-weariness of the king.--Dissatisfied with
Versailles.--The royal palaces unsatisfactory.--The "hermitage"
at Marly.--War with Germany.--The dauphin in command.--Devastation
of the Palatinate.--Designs upon England.--Civil war in
France.--Complications of the royal family.
The king exerted all his powers of persuasion to induce Madame de
Maintenon to enter into the same relations with him which Madame de
Montespan had occupied. At last she declared, in reply to some
passionate reproaches on his part, that she should be under the
necessity of withdrawing from the court and retiring to the cloister,
rather than continue to expose herself to a temptation which was
destroying her peace of mind and undermining her health. Under these
circumstances the king had been led to think of a private marriage. At
first his pride revolted from the thought. But in no other way could
he secure Madame de Maintenon.
Rumors of the approaching marriage were circulated through the court.
The dauphin expostulated with his father most earnestly against it,
and succeeded in inducing the king to consult the Abbe Fenelon and
Louvois. They both protested against the measure as compromising the
dignity of the monarch and the interests of the nation. Bossuet,
however, urged the marriage. Boldly he warned the king against
entering again into such connections as those which had hitherto
sullied his life, wounded his reputation, and endangered his eternal
welfare.
Pure as Madame de Maintenon was, the devotion of the king to her was
so marked that her reputation began to suffer. She felt the unjust
imputations cast upon her very keenly. The king at last resolved that
it should be so no longer. Having come to a decision, he acted very
promptly. It was a cold night in January, 1686. A smothering
snow-storm swept the streets of Paris. At half past ten o'clock a
court messenger entered the archiepiscopal palace with a sealed
packet, requesting the archbishop to repair immediately to Versailles
to perform the marriage ceremony. The great clock of the Cathedral was
tolling the hour of eleven as the prelate entered his carriage in the
darkness and the storm. At half past twelve he reached the gate of the
chateau. Here Bontems, the first valet de chambre of the king,
conducted the archbishop to the private closet of his majesty. Madame
de Maintenon was there in full dress. Louis XIV. stood by her side.
In the same apartment were the Marquis de Montechevreuil and the
king's confessor, Pere la Chaise.
Miss Pardoe thus describes the scene that ensued:
"As the eye of the king rested upon the archbishop, he exclaimed, 'Let
us go.' Taking the hand of the lady, he led her forward through the
long suite of rooms, followed by the other actors in this
extraordinary scene, who moved on in profound silence, thrown for an
instant into broad light by the torch carried by Bontems, and then
suddenly lost in the deep darkness beyond its influence. Nothing was
to be heard as the bridal party proceeded save the muffled sound of
their footsteps, deadened by the costly carpets over which they trod.
But it was remarked that as the light flashed for an instant across
the portraits of his family which clothed the walls, Louis XIV.
glanced eagerly and somewhat nervously upon them, as though he dreaded
the rebuke of some stern eye or haughty lip for the weakness of which
he was about to become guilty."
The marriage ceremony was performed by the Archbishop of Paris. There
were eight persons present as witnesses, most of them of high
distinction. The king was in the forty-eighth year of his age, and
Madame de Maintenon in her fifty-second. The marriage was celebrated
with all the established ceremonies of the Church, the solemnization
of the mass, the exchange of marriage rings, and the pronouncing of
the benediction by the archbishop. A magnificent suite of apartments
was prepared for Madame de Maintenon at Versailles. She retained her
own liveries, but thenceforward appeared in public only in the
carriage of the king. Though by her own private attendants she was
addressed as "your majesty," she was never publicly recognized as the
queen. The king addressed her simply as _Madame_.
Though the morning after the nuptials the astounding rumor spread
through the court that the king had actually married the _Widow
Scarron_, still there were no positive vouchers found for the fact. As
she was never recognized as the queen, for a long time many doubts
rested upon the reality of the marriage.
It was a matter of necessity that Madame de Montespan should call upon
Madame de Maintenon, and pay her respects to her as the real though
unrecognized wife of the monarch. Dressed in her richest robes, and
glittering with jewels, the discarded favorite entered the apartment
of her hated rival. The king was seated by her side. His majesty rose,
bowed formally, and took his seat. Madame de Maintenon did not rise,
but, with a slight flush upon her cheek, motioned to Madame de
Montespan to take a seat upon a _tabouret_ which stood near by. The
king scarcely noticed her. Madame de Maintenon addressed her in a few
words of condescension. The unhappy visitor, after a short struggle to
regain her composure, rose from the humble stool upon which she had
been seated, and, repeating the stately reverences which etiquette
required, withdrew from the room.
With crushed heart she retired to her apartment, and, weeping
bitterly, threw herself upon a sofa. She soon sent for her son, the
Duke du Maine, hoping to hear, from his lips at least, words of
sympathy. But the duke, who had reproached his mother with his
dishonorable birth, and who, by a royal decree, had been recognized as
a prince, was not at all disposed to cultivate intimate relations with
that mother, now that the memory of disgrace only would be perpetuated
by that recognition. Without the exhibition of the slightest emotion,
the duke addressed his mother in a few cold, formal words, and left
her. The marchioness summoned her carriage, and left Versailles and
the court forever. As she cast a last look upon the palace, she saw
the king standing at the balcony of a window watching her departure.
The reader will be interested in learning the routine of a day as
passed by this most sumptuous of earthly kings amidst the splendors of
Versailles. At eight o'clock in the morning the under valets carefully
entered the bedchamber, opened the shutters, replenished the wood
fire, if cold, and removed the ample refreshments which were always
placed by the royal bedside in case the king should need food during
the night.
The first valet then entered, carefully dressed, and took his stand
respectfully by the side of the bed-curtains. At half past eight
precisely he drew the curtains and awoke the king, assuming always
that he was asleep. The valet then immediately retired to an adjoining
room, where several distinguished members of the court were in
waiting, and communicated to them the important intelligence that the
king no longer slept.
The folding doors were thrown open, and the dauphin, attended by his
two sons, the eldest of whom was entitled _Monsieur_, and the youngest
the Duke of Chartres, entered, and inquired of the king how he had
passed the night. They were immediately followed by the Duke du Maine
and the Count de Toulouse, sons of Madame de Montespan, and by the
first lord of the bedchamber and the grand master of the robes. They
were succeeded by the first valet of the wardrobe, and by several
officers, each bearing a portion of the royal vestments. The two
medical attendants of the king, the physician and surgeon, also
entered at the same time.
The king, still remaining pillowed in his gorgeous bed, held out his
hands, and his first valet de chambre poured upon them a few drops of
spirits of wine, holding beneath them a basin of silver. The first
lord of the bedchamber presented a vase of holy water, with which the
king made the sign of the cross upon his brow and breast. His majesty
then repeated a short prayer. A collection of wigs was presented to
him. He selected the one which he wished to wear. As the king rose
from his couch, the first lord of the bedchamber drew upon him his
dressing-gown, which was always a richly embroidered and costly robe.
The king then sat down, and, holding out one sacred foot after the
other, his valet, Bontems, drew on his stockings and his slippers of
embroidered velvet. The monarch condescended to place upon his head,
with his own hand, the wig which he had selected. Again the devout
monarch crossed himself with holy water, and, emerging from the
balustrade which inclosed the bed, seated himself in a large
arm-chair. He was now prepared for what was called _The First Entree_.
The chief lord of the bedchamber, with a loud voice, announced _The
First Entree_. A number of courtiers, who were peculiarly favored,
were then admitted to the distinguished honor of seeing his majesty
washed and shaved. The barber of the king removed his beard and gently
washed his face with a sponge saturated with spirits of wine and
water. The king himself wiped his face with a soft towel, while
Bontems held the glass before him.
And now the master of the robes approached to dress the king. Those
who had been present at what was called the _petit lever_ retired. A
new set of dignitaries, of higher name and note, crowded the anteroom
to enjoy the signal honor of being present at the _Grand Entree_, that
is, of witnessing the sublime ceremony of seeing shirt, trowsers, and
frock placed upon his sacred majesty.
Three of the highest officers of the court stood at the door, attended
by several valets and door-keepers of the cabinet. Admission to the
_Grand Entree_ was considered so great an honor that even princes
sought it, and often in vain.
As each individual presented himself, his name was whispered to the
first lord of the bedchamber, who repeated it to the king. When the
monarch made no reply the visitor was admitted, and the duke walked
back to his station near the fireplace, where he marshaled the
new-comers to their several places in order to prevent their pressing
too closely about his majesty. Princes and governors, marshals and
peers, were alike subjected to this tedious and somewhat humiliating
ceremony, from which three individuals alone were excepted, Racine,
Boileau, and Mansard. On their arrival at the guarded door they simply
scratched against the panel, when the usher threw open the folding
door, and they stood in the presence of the monarch.
[Illustration: RACINE AND BOILEAU.]
In the mean time, a valet of the wardrobe delivered to a gentleman of
the chamber the socks and garters, which the _gentleman_ presented to
the monarch, and which socks his majesty deigned to draw on himself.
Even with his own hand he clasped the garters with their diamond
buckles. Etiquette did not allow the king to unclasp them at night.
The head valet de chambre enjoyed the privilege of unclasping the
garter of the right leg, while a more humble attendant performed the
same office for the left leg.
A distinguished officer of the household presented the monarch with
his _haut de chausses_ (breeches), to which silk stockings were
attached; the king drew them on; another gentleman put on his shoes;
another gentleman buckled them. Two pages, richly dressed in crimson
velvet embroidered with gold, removed the slippers which the king had
laid aside.
And now came the royal breakfast. Two officers of the household
entered, in picturesque attire, one bearing a loaf of bread on an
enameled salver, and another a folded napkin between two enameled
plates. The royal cup-bearer handed a golden vase, richly decorated,
to one of the lords. He poured into it a small quantity of wine and
water. Another lord tasted of it, to prove that it contained no
poison. The vase was then carefully rinsed, and being again filled
with the wine and water, was presented to the king on a gold salver.
His majesty drank. Then the dauphin, who was always present at these
solemnities, handed his hat and gloves to the first lord in waiting,
and presented the monarch with a napkin with which to wipe his lips.
Breakfast was a very frugal repast. Having partaken of these slight
refreshments, the king laid aside his dressing-gown. One of his lordly
attendants then assisted him in removing his night-shirt by the left
sleeve. It was Bontems's peculiar privilege to draw it off by the
right sleeve.
The royal shirt, which had been carefully warmed, was then given to
the first lord. He presented it to the dauphin, who approached and
presented it to the king. Some one of the higher lords, previously
designated for the honor, assisted the king in the arrangement of his
shirt and breeches. A duke enjoyed the honor of putting on his inner
waistcoat. Two valets presented the king with his sword, vest, and
blue ribbon. A nobleman then stepped forward and buckled on the sword,
assisted in putting on the vest, and placed over his shoulders a
scarf bearing the cross of the Holy Ghost in diamonds, and the cross
of St. Louis.
The king then drew on his under coat, with the assistance of the grand
master of the robes, adjusted his cravat of rich lace, which was
folded round his neck by a favorite courtier, and finally emptied into
the pockets of the loose outer coat, which was presented to him for
that purpose, the contents of those which he had worn the previous
day. He then received two handkerchiefs of costly point from another
attendant, by whom they were carried on an enameled saucer of oval
shape called salve. His toilet once completed, Louis XIV. returned to
the _ruelle_ of his bed, where he knelt down upon two cushions already
prepared for him, and said his prayers; all the bishops and cardinals
entering within the balustrade in his suite, and reciting their
devotional exercises in a suppressed voice.
The king, being thus dressed, retired from his chamber to his cabinet.
He was followed, in solemn procession, by all those dignitaries of
Church and State who had enjoyed the privilege of the _Grand Entree_.
He then issued the orders of the day, after which all withdrew
excepting some of his children, whom a royal decree had legitimatized
and raised to the rank of princes, with their former tutors or
governors.
In the mean time a crowd of courtiers were assembled in the great
gallery of Versailles, to accompany the king to mass. The captain of
the royal guard awaited orders at the door of the cabinet. At 12
o'clock the door was thrown open, and the king, followed by a splendid
retinue, proceeded to the chapel.
The service was short. At one o'clock the king returned to his room,
and dined sumptuously and alone. He was waited upon, at the table, by
the first gentleman of the chamber. Sometimes the dauphin or other
lords of highest rank were present, but they stood respectfully at a
distance. No one was permitted to be seated in the royal presence. The
brother of the king stood at times by the chair of his majesty,
holding his napkin for him. Upon the king's twice requesting him to be
seated, he was permitted to take a seat upon a stool, behind the king,
still holding his napkin.
Upon rising from the table the king repaired to the grand saloon,
where he tarried for a few moments, that persons of high distinction,
who enjoyed the privilege of addressing him, might have an
opportunity to do so. He then returned to his cabinet. The door was
closed, and the king had a brief interview with his children, of whom
he was very fond. He then repaired to the kennel of his dogs, of whom
he was also fond, and amused himself, for a time, in feeding them and
playing with them.
He now made some slight change in his dress. A small number of
persons, of high rank, enjoyed the distinguished honor of being
present in his chamber as the monarch, with all suitable stateliness
of ceremony, exchanged one royal garment for another. The carriage
awaited the king in the marble court. He descended by a private
staircase. His craving for fresh air was such that he took a drive
whatever the weather. Scarcely any degree of heat or cold, or floods
of rain, could prevent him from his drive, or his stag-hunt, or his
overlooking the workmen. Sometimes the ladies of his court rode out
with him on picnic excursions to the forests of Fontainebleau or
Marly.
Upon returning from the drive, the king again changed his dress and
repaired to his cabinet. He then proceeded to the apartments of Madame
de Maintenon, where he remained conversing with her, or reading, and
sometimes transacting business with his minister, until ten o'clock.
The hour for supper had now arrived. The house-steward, with his badge
of office in hand, gave the information to the captain of the guard.
He, entering the royal presence from the antechamber, announced the
fact to the king, and opened wide the door. After the delay of a
quarter of an hour, which etiquette required, his majesty advanced to
the supper-room. During the quarter of an hour which had elapsed, the
officers of the household had made preparations for the royal repast
by tasting the bread and the salt, and by testing the plates, the
fork, the spoon, the knife, and the tooth-pick of the king, so as to
be assured that no poison could be thus conveyed.
As the king, preceded by the house-steward and two ushers with
flambeaux, entered the supper-room, he found there awaiting him the
princes and princesses of France, with a numerous assemblage of
courtiers, gentlemen, and ladies. The king, having taken his seat,
requested the others to be seated also. Six noblemen immediately
stationed themselves at each end of the table, to wait upon the king.
Each one, as he presented a dish to the king, first tasted of it
himself. When the king wished for a drink, his cup-bearer exclaimed
aloud, "Drink for the king." Two of the principal officers, making a
profound obeisance, approached his majesty, one bearing an enameled
cup and two decanters upon a salver. The other poured out the wine,
tasted it, and presented the goblet to the king. With another low
salutation, the two officers replaced the decanters upon the
sideboard.
The repast being finished, the king rose, and, preceded by two guards
and an usher, and followed by all the company, proceeded to the
bedchamber. He there bowed adieu to the company, and, entering the
cabinet, took a seat in a large arm-chair. The members of the royal
family were introduced. His brother, Monsieur, was permitted to take
an arm-chair. All the rest remained standing except the princesses,
who were indulged with stools. After an hour or so of such converse as
these stately forms would admit, the king, about midnight, went again
to feed his dogs. He then retired to his chamber, with great pomp said
his prayers, and was undressed and put to bed with ceremonies similar
to those with which he had been dressed in the morning.
Such was the ordinary routine of the life of the king at Versailles.
Its dreary monotony was broken by occasional fetes, balls, and
theatric shows. Madame de Maintenon testifies to the almost
insupportable tedium of such a life. "If you could only," she
exclaims, "form an idea of what it is!"
Magnificent apartments were prepared for Madame de Maintenon at
Versailles, opposite the suite of rooms occupied by the king. Similar
arrangements were made for her in all the royal palaces. Royalty alone
could occupy arm-chairs in the presence of the sovereign. In each of
her apartments there were two such, one for the king and the other for
herself. The king often transacted business with his minister,
Louvois, in her room. She had sufficient tact never to express an
opinion, or to take a part in the conversation except when appealed
to.
Madame de Maintenon was exceedingly anxious that the king should
publicly recognize her as his wife. It is said that the king,
tormented by the embarrassments which the secret marriage had brought
upon him, seriously contemplated this. His minister, Louvois,
remonstrated even passionately against such a recognition. At the
close of a painful interview upon this subject, he threw himself upon
his knees before his majesty, and, presenting to him the hilt of a
small sword which the minister usually wore, exclaimed,
"Take my life, sire, that I may not become the witness of a disgrace
which will dishonor your majesty in the eyes of all Europe."
Others of the most influential members of the court joined in the
opposition, and so strenuously that the king commanded Madame de
Maintenon never again to allude to the subject.
Premature old age was fast advancing upon the king, though he had as
yet attained only his forty-ninth year. He was tortured by the gout.
He was also attacked by a very painful and dangerous internal malady.
His sufferings were dreadful. It became necessary for him to submit to
a perilous surgical operation. The king met the crisis with much
heroism. Four persons only, including Madame de Maintenon, were
present during the operation. Indeed, the greatest precautions had
been adopted to keep the fact that an operation was to be performed a
profound secret. During the operation the king uttered not a groan. It
was successful. In gratitude he conferred upon the skillful operator
who had relieved him from anguish and saved his life an estate valued
at more than fifty thousand crowns.
Weary of every thing else, the king now sought to find some little
interest in building. The renowned architect, Mansard, whose genius
still embellishes our most beautiful edifices, was commissioned to
erect a pavilion on the grounds of Versailles in imitation of an
Italian villa. Thus rose, within a year, the _Grand Trianon_, which
subsequently became so celebrated as the favorite rural residence of
Maria Antoinette.
[Illustration: THE TRIANON.]
[Illustration: MARLY.]
Most men who, with vast wealth, attempt to build a mansion which shall
eclipse that of all their neighbors, and which shall be perfect in all
the appliances of comfort and luxury, find themselves, in the end,
bitterly disappointed. This was pre-eminently the case with Louis XIV.
The palace of Versailles, still unfinished, had already cost him
countless millions. But it did not please the king. It had cold and
cheerless grandeur, but no attractions as a home. The king looked with
weary eyes upon the mountain pile of marble which had risen at his
bidding, and found it about as uncongenial for a home as would be
the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Disgusted with the etiquette which
enslaved him, satiated with sensual indulgence, and having exhausted
all the fountains of worldly pleasure, with waning powers of body and
of mind, it is not possible that any thing could have satisfied the
world-weary king.
He had other palaces. None suited him. The Tuileries and the Louvre
were in the heart of the noisy city. The banqueting hall at St.
Germain overlooked the sepulchre of St. Denis, where the grave-worm
held its banquet. Fontainebleau was at too great a distance from the
capital. To reach it required a carriage drive of four or five hours.
Vincennes, notwithstanding the grandeur of the antique, time-worn
castle, was gloomy in its surroundings, inconvenient in its internal
arrangements--a prison rather than a palace.
About nine miles from Paris, upon the left bank of the Seine, there
reposed the silent village of Marly. The king selected that as the
spot upon which he would rear a snug "hermitage" to which he could
retire "from noise and tumult far." The passion for building is a
fearful passion, which often involves its victim in ruin. The plans of
the king expanded under his eye. The little hermitage became a
spacious palace, where a court could be entertained with all the
appliances of regal elegance.
But dark and stormy days were rapidly gathering around the path of the
king. He became involved in war with Germany. The complicated reasons
can scarcely be unraveled. The king sent his son, the dauphin, at the
head of one hundred thousand men, to invade Holland. Situated upon
both sides of the Rhine there was a territory called the Palatinate.
It embraced one thousand five hundred and ninety square miles, being
not quite so large as the State of Delaware. It contained an
intelligent, industrious, and prosperous population of a little over
three hundred thousand. The beautiful city of Manheim was the capital
of the province.
Though the dauphin was nominally at the head of the invading army,
that the glory of its victories might redound to his name, the ablest
of the French generals were associated with him, and they, in reality,
took the direction of affairs. One city after another speedily fell
into the hands of the French. The king mercilessly resolved, and
without any justification whatever, to convert the whole province into
a desert. An order was issued by the king that every city, village,
castle, and hut should be laid in ashes.
It was midwinter--the month of February, 1689. There were many
beautiful cities in the province, such as Manheim, Philipsbourg,
Franckendal, Spire, Treves, Worms, and Oppendeim. There were more than
fifty feudal castles in the territory, the ancestral homes of noble
families. The citizens had but short warning. Houses, furniture, food,
all were consumed. The flames rose to heaven, calling upon God for
vengeance. Smouldering ruins every where met the eye. Men, women, and
children wandered starving through the fields.
Nearly all Europe soon became banded against this haughty monarch, and
he found it necessary to raise an army of four hundred thousand men to
meet the exigencies.
Intoxicated by the pride of past success, he thought that he should be
able to force upon England a Roman Catholic king, and the Roman
Catholic faith, and thus expel _heresy_ from England, as he dreamed
that he had expelled it from France. He equipped a fleet, and manned
it with twenty thousand soldiers, to force upon the British people
King James II., whom they had indignantly discarded.
Civil war was now also desolating unhappy France. The Protestants,
bereft of their children, robbed of their property, driven from their
homes, dragged to the galleys, plunged into dungeons, broken upon the
wheel, hanged upon scaffolds, rose in several places in the most
desperate insurrectionary bands. And the man who was thus crushing
beneath the heel of his armies the quivering hearts of the Palatinate,
and who was drenching his own realms with tears and blood, was clothed
in purple, and faring sumptuously, and reclining upon the silken sofas
of Marly and Versailles. It is not strange that Faith, with uplifted
hands and gushing eyes, should have exclaimed, "O Lord, how long!"
The singular complication of the royal family, with the various
mothers and the various children, some of which children were
recognized by royal decree as princes, and some of whom were not,
filled the palaces with bickerings, envyings, and discontent in every
form. The unhappy dauphiness, who had long been immersed in the
profoundest gloom, at last found a welcome retreat in the grave.
Neither her husband nor the king shed a single tear over her remains,
which were hurried to the vaults of St. Denis.