Mistresses and Wives of Louis XIV
The story of the wives and mistresses of Louis XIV., embraces that
which is most dramatic morally (or immorally dramatic) in the history
of French women. The record of the eighteenth century heroines is
essentially a tragic one, while that of those of the previous century
is essentially dramatic in its sadness, remorse, and repentance.
The mistress, as a rule, was unhappy; there were few months during the
period of her glory, in which she was entirely free from anxiety or in
which her conscience was at rest. Mme. de Montespan "was for so many
years the sick nurse of a soul worn out with pride, passion, and
glory." Mme. de Maintenon wrote to one of her friends: "Why cannot
I give you my experience? Why cannot I make you comprehend the ennui
which devours the great, and the troubles that fill their days? Do you
not see that I am dying of sadness, in a fortune the vastness of which
could not be easily imagined? I have been young and pretty; I have
enjoyed pleasures; I have spent years in intellectual intercourse;
I have attained favor; and I protest to you, my dear child, that
all such conditions leave a frightful void." She said, also, to her
brother, Count d'Aubigné: "I can hold out no longer; I would like
to be dead." It was she too, who, after her successes, made
her confession thus: "One atones heavily for the pleasures and
intoxications of youth. I find, in looking back at my life, that since
the age of twenty-two—which was the beginning of my fortune—I
have not had a moment free from sufferings which have constantly
increased."
M. Saint-Amand gives a description of the women of Louis XV. which
well applies to those of his predecessor: "These pretended mistresses,
who, in reality, are only slaves, seem to present themselves,
one after the other, like humble penitents who come to make their
apologies to history, and, like the primitive Christians, to reveal
publicly the miseries, vexations, and remorses of their souls. They
tell us to what their doleful successes amounted: even while their
triumphal chariot made its way through a crowd of flatterers, their
consciences hissed cruel accusations into their ears; like actresses
before a whimsical and variable public, they were always afraid that
the applause might change into an uproar, and it was with terror
underlying their apparent coolness that they continued to play their
sorry part.... If among these mistresses of the king there were a
single one who had enjoyed her shameful triumphs in peace, who had
called herself happy in the midst of her dearly bought luxury and
splendor, one might have concluded that, from a merely human point of
view, it is possible to find happiness in vice. But, no—there is not
even one!" Massillon, the great preacher of truth and morality,
said: "The worm of conscience is not dead; it is only benumbed. The
alienated reason presently returns, bringing with it bitter troubles,
gloomy thoughts, and cruel anxieties"—a true picture of every
mistress.
The remarkable power and influence of these women, the love and
adoration accorded them, ceased with their death; the memory of them
did not survive overnight. When, during a terrible storm, the remains
of the glorious Mme. de Pompadour were being taken to Paris, the king,
seeing the funeral cortége from his window, remarked: "The Marquise
will not have fine weather for her journey."
Each one of these powerful mistresses represents a complete epoch of
society, morals, and customs. Mme. de Montespan—that woman whose
very look meant fortune or disfavor—with all her wit and wealth, her
magnificence and pomp and superb beauty—she, in all her splendor, is
a type of the triumphant France, haughty, dictatorial, scornful
and proud, licentious and decayed at the core. Voluptuousness and
haughtiness were replaced by religiosity and repentance in Mme. de
Maintenon, with her temperate character, consistency, and propriety.
The Regency was a period of scandal and wantonness, personified in the
Duchess of Berry. The licentious and extravagant, yet brilliant and
exquisite, frivolous but charming, intriguing and diplomatic, was
represented by the talented and politically influential Mme. de
Pompadour. Complete degeneracy, vice with all manner of disguise
thrown off, adultery of the lowest order, were personified in the
common Mme. du Barry, who might be classed with Louise of Savoy of
the sixteenth century, while Mme. de Pompadour might be compared with
Diana of Poitiers.
In this period the queens of France were of little importance, being
too timid and modest to assert their rights—a disposition which was
due sometimes to their restricted youth, spent in Catholic countries,
sometimes to a naturally unassuming and sensitive nature. To this rule
Maria Theresa, the wife of Louis XIV., was no exception. She inherited
her sweetness of disposition and her Christian character from her
mother, Isabella of France, the daughter of Henry IV. and Marie de'
Medici. She was pure and candid; a type of irreproachable piety and
goodness, of conjugal tenderness and maternal love; and recompensed
outraged morality for all the false pride, selfish ambition,
depravity, and scandals of court. She is conspicuous as a model wife,
one that loved her husband, her family, and her children.
Around Maria Theresa may be grouped the noble and virtuous women of
the court of Louis XIV., for she was to that age what Claude of France
was under Francis I., Elizabeth of Austria under Charles V., Louise de
Vaudemont under Henry III. However, in extolling these women, it
must be remembered that they had not, as queens, the opportunity to
participate in debauchery, licentiousness, and intrigue, as had the
mistresses of their husbands; they had no power, were not consulted on
state or social affairs, and had granted to them only those favors to
the conferring of which the mistresses did not object.
Maria Theresa was a perfect example of the self-sacrificing mother and
devoted wife. Her feelings toward the king are best expressed by the
Princesse Palatine: "She had such an affection for the king that she
tried to read in his eyes whatever would give him pleasure; providing
he looked kindly at her, she was happy all day." Mme. de Caylus
wrote: "That poor princess had such a dread of the king and such great
natural timidity that she dared neither to speak to him nor to run the
risk of a tête-à-tête with him. One day, I heard Mme. de Maintenon say
that the king having sent for the queen, the latter requested her to
go with her so that she might not appear alone in his presence: but
that she (Mme. de Maintenon) conducted her only to the door of the
room and there took the liberty of pushing her so as to make her
enter, and that she observed such a great trembling in her whole
person that her very hands shook with fright."
From about 1680, especially after the death of Mlle. de Fontanges, his
last mistress, Louis XIV. began to look with disfavor upon the women
of doubtful morality and to advance those who were noted for their
conjugal fidelity. He became more attentive to the queen—a change of
attitude which was due partly to the influence of Mme. de Maintenon
and partly to the fact that he was satiated with the excesses of his
debauches, by which his physical system had been almost wrecked. He
would not have dared to legitimatize his bastard children, had he not
been so thoroughly idolized by his greatest heroes and most powerful
ministers. As an illustration, it may be remarked that the Great Condé
proposed the marriage of his son to the king's daughter by Mlle. de La
Vallière.
The queen became so religious that she derived more enjoyment from
praying at the convents or visiting hospitals than from remaining
at her magnificent apartments. She waited upon the sick with her own
hands and carried food to them; she never meddled in political affairs
or took much interest in social functions.
Timidity, an instinctive shrinking from the slanders, calumnies,
and intrigues of the court, appeared to be the most pronounced
characteristic of queens who seemed to believe themselves too inferior
to their husbands to dare to offer any political counsel. While none
of them were superior intellectually, they possessed dignity, good
sense, and tact, "a reverential feeling for the sanctity of religion
and the majesty of the throne," an admirable resignation, a painful
docility and submission—qualities which might have been turned to
the advantage of their owners and the state, had the former been more
self-assertive.
The infidelities of their husbands caused the queen-consorts constant
torture; they were forced to behold the kings' favorites becoming part
of their own households and were compelled to endure the presence,
as ladies in waiting, of those who, as their rivals, caused them to
suffer all possible torments of jealousy and outraged conjugal love.
First among the mistresses of Louis XIV. was Mlle. de La Vallière,
whom Sainte-Beuve mentions as the personification of the ideal of
a lover, combining disinterestedness, fidelity, unique and delicate
tenderness with a touching and sincere kindness. When, at the age of
seventeen, she was presented at court, the king immediately selected
her as one of his victims. Her beauty was so striking, of such an
exquisitely tender type, that no woman actually rivalled her as
queen of beauty. Distinguished by blond hair, dark blue eyes, a most
sympathetic voice, and a complexion of rare whiteness mingled
with red, she was guileless, animated, gentle, modest, graceful,
unaffected, and ingenuous; although slightly lame, she was, by
everyone, considered charming.
Mlle. de La Vallière was the mother of several children of whom Louis
XIV. was the father. On realizing that she had rivals in the favor
of the sovereign, she fled several times from the Tuileries to the
convent; on her second return, the king, about to go to battle,
recognized his daughter by her, whom he made a duchess. Remorse
overcame the mistress so deeply that she, for the third and final
time, left court. Especially on the rise to power of Mme. de Montespan
was she painfully humiliated, suffering the most intense pangs of
conscience. The evening before her final departure to the convent, she
dined with Mme. de Montespan, to drink "the cup to the dregs and
to enjoy the rejection of the world even to the last remains of its
bitterness."
Guizot describes this period most vividly: "When Mme. de Montespan
began to supplant her in the king's favor, the grief of Mlle. de La
Vallière was so great that she thought she would die of it. Then she
turned to God, penitent and in despair; twice she sought refuge in
a convent at Chaillot. On leaving, she sent word to the king: 'After
having lost the honor of your good graces I would have left the court
sooner, if I could have prevailed upon myself never to see you again;
but that weakness was so strong in me that hardly now am I capable
of sacrificing it to God. After having given you all my youth, the
remainder of my life is not too much for the care of my salvation.'"
The king still clung to her. "He sent M. Colbert to beg her earnestly
to come to Versailles that he might speak with her. M. Colbert
escorted her thither and the king conversed for an hour with her and
wept bitterly. Mme. de Montespan was there to meet her, with open arms
and tears in her eyes." "It is all incomprehensible," adds Mme. de
Sévigné; "some say that she will remain at Versailles and at court,
others that she will return to Chaillot; we shall see."
Mlle. de La Vallière remained three years at court, "half penitent,"
she said, humbly, detained by the king's express wish, in consequence
of the tempers and jealousies of Mme. de Montespan who felt herself
judged and condemned by her rival's repentance. Attempts were made to
turn Mlle. de La Vallière from her inclination for the Carmelites':
"Madame," said Mme. Scarron to her, one day, "here are you one
blaze of gold; have you really considered that, before long, at the
Carmelites' you will have to wear serge?" She, however, was not to
be dissuaded from her determination and was already practising, in
secret, the austerities of the convent. "God has laid in this heart
the foundation of great things," said Bossuet, who supported her in
her conflict; "the world puts great hindrances in her way, and God
great mercies; I have hopes that God will prevail; the uprightness of
her heart will carry everything before it."
"When I am in trouble at the Carmelites'," said Mlle. de La Vallière,
as for the last time she quitted the court, "I shall think of what
those people have made me suffer." "The world itself makes us sick of
the world," said Bossuet in the sermon which he preached on the day
she took the veil; "its attractions have enough of illusion, its
favors enough of inconstancy, its rebuffs enough of bitterness.
There is enough of bitterness, enough of injustice and perfidy in the
dealings of men, enough of inconsistency and capriciousness in their
intractable and contradictory humors—there is enough of it all, to
disgust us."
When, in 1675, she took the final vows, she cut off her beautiful hair
and devoted herself to the church and to charity, receiving the veil
from the queen, whose forgiveness she sought before entering the
convent. The king showed himself to be such a jealous lover, that when
Mlle. de La Vallière entirely abandoned him for God, he forgot her
absolutely, never going to the convent to see her.
She was by far the most interesting and pathetic of the three
mistresses of Louis XIV.; her heart was superior to that of either
of her successors, though her mind was inferior; she belonged to a
different atmosphere—such kindness, charity, penitence, resignation,
and absolute abandonment to God were rare among the conspicuous French
women. Sainte-Beuve says: "She loved for love, without haughtiness,
coquetry, arrogance, ambitious designs, self-interest, or vanity; she
suffered and sacrificed everything, humiliated herself to expiate her
wrong-doing, and finally surrendered herself to God, seeking in prayer
the treasures of energy and tenderness; through her heart, her mental
powers attained their complete development."
The fate of Mlle. de La Vallière was the same as that of nearly all
royal mistresses; abandoned and absolutely forgotten by her lover, she
sought refuge and consolation in religion and God's mercy. "She
was dead to me the day she entered the Carmelites'," said the king,
thirty-five years later, when the modest and fervent nun at last
expired, in 1710, without having ever relaxed the severities of her
penance.
Of an entirely different type from Mlle. de La Vallière was that
haughtiest and most supercilious of all French mistresses, Mme. de
Montespan. The picture drawn by M. Saint-Amand does her full justice:
"A haughty and opulent beauty, a forest of hair, flashing blue eyes, a
complexion of splendid carnation and dazzling whiteness, one of those
alluring and radiant countenances which shed brightness around them
wherever they appear, an incisive, caustic wit, an unquenchable thirst
for riches and pleasure, luxury and power, the manners of a goddess
audaciously usurping the place of Juno on Olympus, passion without
love, pride without true dignity, splendor without harmony—that was
Mme. de Montespan." And these qualities were the secret of her success
as well as of her fall.
From this description it can easily be divined of what nature was her
influence and how she gained and held her power over the king. She
won Louis XIV. entirely by her sensual charms, provoked him by her
imperious exactions, her ungovernable fits of temper, and her daring
sarcasm; always extravagant and unreasonable, she talked constantly of
balls and fêtes, the glories of court and its scandals. Most exacting,
yet never satisfied, she had no regard for the interests or honor of
the weak king, to whose lower nature only she appealed.
Mme. de Montespan was of noble birth, being the youngest daughter of
Rochechouart, first Duke of Mortemart. She was born in 1641, at the
grand old château of Tonnay-Charente, and was educated at the convent
of Sainte-Marie. Brought up religiously, she at first evinced a much
greater tendency toward religion than toward worldly ambition and
vanity. Mme. de Caylus, in her _Souvenirs_, wrote that "far from being
born depraved, the future favorite had a nature inherently disinclined
to gallantry and tending to virtue. She was flattered at being
mistress, not solely for her own pleasure, but on account of the
passion of the king; she believed that she could always make him
desire what she had resolved never to grant him. She was in despair at
her first pregnancy, consoled herself for the second one, and in all
the others carried impudence as far as it could go."
She was known first as Mlle. Tonnay-Charente, and was maid of honor
to the Duchess of Orléans. When, at the age of twenty-two, she married
the Marquis de Montespan and became lady in waiting to the queen, her
beauty, wit, and brilliant conversational powers at once made her the
centre of attraction; for several years, however, the king scarcely
noticed her. Upon secretly becoming his mistress in 1668 and openly
being declared as such two years later, her husband attempted to
interfere, and was unceremoniously banished to his estates; in 1676 he
was legally separated from her. She persuaded the king to legitimatize
their children, who were confided to Mme. Scarron,—afterward Mme. de
Maintenon,—who later influenced the king to abandon his mistress.
Mme. de Montespan's power, lasting fourteen years, was almost
unlimited, and was the epoch of courtiers intoxicated with passion
and consumed by vice, infatuated with the king and his mistress,
whose title as _maîtresse-en-titre_ was considered an official one,
conferring the same privileges and demanding the same ceremonies and
etiquette as did a high court position. The only opposition incurred
was from the clergy, who eventually, by uniting their forces with
the influence of Mme. de Maintenon, brought about the disgrace of the
mistress.
When, in 1675, she desired to perform her Easter duties publicly at
Versailles, the priest refused to grant absolution until she should
discontinue her wanton, adulterous life. She appealed to the king, and
he referred the decision of the matter to Bossuet, who decided that
it was an imperative duty to deny absolution to public sinners of
notorious lives who refused to abandon them. This was immediately
before her legal separation from her husband.
Influenced by the preaching of men like Bourdaloue and Bossuet,
the king resolved to abandon his powerful mistress; in 1686 she was
finally separated from Louis XIV., but did not leave Versailles until
1691, when, becoming reconciled to her fate, she decided to retire
to a convent. Bossuet became her spiritual adviser, and described her
habits in the following letter to the king:
"I find Mme. de Montespan sufficiently tranquil. She occupies herself
greatly in good works. I see her much affected by the verities I
propose to her, which are the same I uttered to your majesty. To
her—as to you—I have offered the words by which God commands us
to yield our whole hearts to him; they have caused her to shed many
tears. May God establish these verities in the depths of the hearts of
both of you, in order that so many tears, so much suffering, so many
efforts as you have made to subdue yourselves, may not be in vain."
The king did not wholly abandon his mistress; from a material point of
view, she was more powerful than ever, for Louis XIV. gave orders
to his minister, Colbert, to do for Mme. de Montespan whatever she
wished, and her wishes caused a heavy drain upon the treasury. The
king continued to pay court to other favorites, such as the Princesse
de Soubèse and Mlle. de Fontanges; the latter was his third mistress,
but her career was of short duration, as one of the last acts of Mme.
de Montespan was, it is said, the poisoning of Mlle. de Fontanges;
this, however, is not generally accepted as true, although the
Princesse Palatine wrote the following which throws suspicion upon
the former favorite: "Mme. de Montespan was a fiend incarnate, but the
Fontanges was good and simple. The latter is dead—because, they say,
the former put poison in her milk. I do not know whether or not this
is true, but what I do know well is that two of the Fontanges's
people died, saying publicly that they had been poisoned." With the
increasing influence of Mme. de Maintenon, the king completely forgot
his former mistress.
Mme. de Montespan was possibly the most arrogant and despotic of all
French mistresses and she was, also, the most humiliated. She had
inspired no confidence, friendship, love, or respect in Louis XIV.,
who eventually looked with shame and remorse upon his relations with
her. It took her sixteen years to overcome her terrible passion and to
give up the court forever. Not until 1691 did she become reconciled
to departure from Versailles; thenceforth, penitence conquered immoral
desires. M. Saint-Amand says she not only "arrived at remorse, but
at macerations, fasts, and haircloths. She limited herself to the
coarsest underlinen and wore a belt and garters studded with iron
points. She came at last to give all she had to the poor;" she also
founded a hospital in which she nursed the sick.
While at the convent, she tried, in vain, to effect a reconciliation
with her husband; not until every avenue to a social life was cut
off from her, did she entirely surrender herself to charity and the
service of God. In her latest years, she was so tormented by the
horrors of death that she employed several women whose only occupation
was to watch with her at night. She died in 1707, forgotten by the
king and all her former associates; Louis XIV. formally prohibited
her children, the Duke of Maine, the Comte de Toulouse, the Comte
de Vexin, and Mlles. de Nantes, de Blois, and de Tours, from wearing
mourning for her.
A striking contrast to Mme. de Montespan in character, disposition,
morality, and birth was Mme. de Maintenon, one of the greatest and
most important women in French history. What is known of her is so
enveloped in calumny and falsehood and made so uncertain by dispute,
that to disentangle the actual facts is almost an impossibility,
despite the glowing tribute paid to her in the immense work published
recently by the Comte d'Haussonville and M. Gabriel Hanotaux.
It would seem that the more the history of Mme. de Maintenon is
studied, the more one is led away from a first impression—which
usually proves to be an erroneous one. Thus, M. Lavallée, in his
first work, _Histoire des Français_, wrote that she "was of the most
complete aridity of heart, narrow in the scope of her affections, and
meanly intriguing. She suggested fatal enterprises and inappropriate
appointments; she forced mediocre and servile persons upon the king;
she had, in fine, the major share in the errors and disasters of the
reign of Louis XIV." A few years later he wrote, in his _Histoire de
la maison royale de Saint-Cyr_: "Mme. de Maintenon gave Louis XIV.
none but salutary and disinterested counsels which were useful to
the state and instrumental in making less heavy the burdens of the
people."
Opinion in general, especially French opinion, has been very bitter
toward her. History has even reproached her with having been a
usurper, a tyrant, and a selfish master. The great preacher, Fénelon,
wrote to her:
"They say you take too little part in affairs. Your mind is more
capable than you think. You are, perhaps, a little too distrustful
of yourself, or, rather, you are too much afraid to enter into
discussions contrary to the inclination you have for a tranquil and
meditative life."
Is this picture, left by Emile Chasles and accepted by M. Saint-Amand,
truthful? "This intelligent woman, far from being too much heeded,
was not enough so. There was in her a veritable love for the public
welfare, a true sorrow in the midst of our misfortunes. To-day, it is
necessary to retrench much from the grandeur of her worldly power and
add a great deal to that of her soul." M. Saint-Amand believes her
sincere when she wrote to Mme. des Ursins:
"In whatever way matters turn, I conjure you, madame, to regard me
as a person incapable of directing affairs, who heard them talked too
late to be skilful in them, and who hates them more than she ignores
them.... My interference in them is not desired and I do not desire
to interfere. They are not concealed from me, but I know nothing
consecutively and am often badly informed."
The opinions of her contemporaries are not always flattering, but
such are possibly due to envy and jealousy or to some purely personal
prejudice. Thus, when the Duchess of Orléans, the Princesse
Palatine, calls her "that nasty old thing, that wicked devil, that
shrivelled-up, filthy old Maintenon, that concubine of the king," and
casts upon her other gross aspersions that are unfit to be repeated,
one must remember that the calumniator was a German, the daughter of
the Elector Palatine Charles-Louis, a woman honest in her morals, but
shameless in her speech, who loved the beauties of nature more than
those of the palaces; more shocked at hypocrites than at religion or
irreligion, she took Mme. de Maintenon to be a type of the impostors
whom she detested. It was her son who became regent, and it was her
son who married one of the illegitimate daughters of Louis XIV.—an
alliance of which his mother had a horror.
The memoirs of Saint-Simon are interesting, but the odious picture
he has drawn of Mme. de Maintenon is hardly in accord with later
appreciations. M. Saint-Amand sums up the two classes of critics thus:
"The revolutionary school which likes to drag the memory of the great
king through the mire, naturally detests the eminent woman who was
that king's companion, his friend and consoler. Writers of this
school would like to make of her a type not only odious and fatal, but
ungraceful and unsympathetic, without radiance, charm or any sort of
fascination. She is too frequently called to mind under the aspect
of a worn old woman, stiff and severe, with tearless eyes and a
face without a smile. We forget that in her youth she was one of
the prettiest women of her time, that her beauty was wonderfully
preserved, and that in her old age she retained that superiority of
style and language, that distinction of manner and exquisite tact,
that gentle firmness of character, that charm and elevation of mind,
which, at every period of her life, gained her so much praise and so
many friends."
Mme. de Maintenon was born in prison. Her maiden name was Françoise
d'Aubigné. She was the granddaughter of Agrippa d'Aubigné, the
historian. Her father had planned to settle in the Carolinas, and
his correspondence with the English government, to that effect,
was treated as treason; he was thrown into prison, where his wife
voluntarily shared his fate and where the future Mme. de Maintenon
was born. After the death of her father, she was confided to her aunt,
Mme. de Villette, a Calvinist, who trained her in the principles of
Protestantism. Because of the refusal of her daughter to attend mass,
her mother put her in charge of the Countess of Neuillant who, with
great difficulty, converted Françoise back to Catholicism.
At the home of the Countess of Neuillant, she often met Scarron, the
comic poet—a paralytic and cripple—who offered her money with which
to pay for admission to a convent, a proposition which she refused;
subsequently, however, the countess sent her to the Ursulines to be
educated. When, after two years, she lost her mother and was thus left
without home, fortune, or future prospects, she consented, at the age
of seventeen, to marry the poet. Thus, born in a prison, without even
a dowry, harshly reared by a mother who was under few obligations
to life, more harshly treated in the convent, introduced as a poor
relation into the society of her aunt and to the friends of her
godmother, the Countess of Neuillant, she early learned to distrust
life and suspect man, and to restrain her ambitions.
Exceedingly beautiful, graceful, and witty, she soon won her way to
the brilliant and fashionable society of the crippled wit, buffoon,
and poet, who was coarse, profane, ungodly, and physically an
unsightly wreck. In this society, which the burlesque poet amused by
his inexhaustible wit and fancy, and his frank, Gallic gayety, she
showed an infinite amount of tact and soon made his salon the most
prominent social centre of Paris. There, Scarron, never tolerated a
stupid person, no matter of what blood or rank.
When asked what settlement he proposed to make upon his wife, he
replied: "Immortality." At another time, he remarked: "I shall not
make her commit any follies, but I shall teach her a great many." On
his deathbed he said: "My only regret is that I cannot leave anything
to my wife with whom I have every imaginable reason to be content." In
this free-and-easy salon, a young noble said, soon after the marriage
of Scarron: "If it were a question of taking liberties with the queen
or Mme. Scarron, I would not deliberate; I would sooner take them with
the queen."
The reputation made by the young Mme. Scarron gained her many
influential friends, especially among court people. At the death of
her husband, in 1660, to avoid trouble with his family, she renounced
the marriage dowry of twenty-four thousand livres. Her friends
procured her a pension of two thousand livres from the queen. Thus
freed from care, she lived according to her inclination, which tended
toward pleasing and doing good; taking good cheer and her services
voluntarily and unaffectedly to all families, she gradually made
herself a necessity among them—thus she laid the foundation of her
future greatness. She was received by the best families, grew in favor
everywhere, and even won over all her enemies. Modest, complaisant,
promptly and readily rendering a favor, prudent, practical and
virtuous, her one desire was to make friends, not so much for the
purpose of using them, but because she realized that a person in
humble circumstances cannot have too many friends.
Her portrait as a widow is admirably drawn by M. Saint-Amand: "Mme.
Scarron seeks esteem, not love. To please while remaining virtuous,
to endure, if need be, privations and even poverty, but to win
the reputation of a strong character, to deserve the sympathy and
approbation of honest persons—such is the direction of all her
efforts. Well dressed, though very simply; discreet and modest,
intelligent and _distingué_, with that patrician elegance which luxury
cannot create, but which is inborn and comes by nature only; pious,
with a sincere and gentle piety; less occupied with herself than with
others; talking well and—what is much rarer—knowing how to listen;
taking an interest in the joys and sorrows of her friends, and skilful
in amusing and consoling them—she is justly regarded as one of the
most amiable as well as one of the superior women in Paris. Economical
and simple in her tastes, she makes her accounts balance perfectly,
thanks to an annual pension of two thousand livres granted her by
Queen Anne of Austria."
When Mme. Scarron was about to leave Paris because of lack of funds
and the loss of her pension, after the death of Queen Anne, her friend
Mme. de Montespan, the king's mistress, interfered in her behalf and
had the pension renewed, thus inadvertently paving the way for her
own downfall. Three years later Mme. Scarron was established in an
isolated house near Paris, where she received the natural children
of Louis XIV. and Mme. de Montespan, as they arrived, in quick
succession, in 1669, 1670, 1672, 1673, and 1674. There, acting as
governess, she hid them from the world. This is the only blemish upon
the fair record of her life. It is maintained by her detractors that
a virtuous woman would not have undertaken the education of the
doubly adulterous children of Louis XIV. (thus, in a way, encouraging
adultery), and that she would have given up her charge upon the first
proposals of love.
However deep this stain may be considered, one must remember that
the standard of honor at the court of Louis XIV. did not encourage
delicacy in matters of love, and Mme. Scarron knew only the standard
of society; her morality was no more extraordinary than was her
intelligence, and it was to her credit that she preserved intact
her honor and her virtue. At first the king looked with much
dissatisfaction upon her appointment, not admiring the extreme gravity
and reserve of the young widow; however, the unusual order of her
talents and wisdom soon attracted his attention, and her entrance at
court was speedily followed by quarrels between the mistress and Louis
XIV. In 1674 the king, wishing to acknowledge his recognition of
her merits, purchased the estate of Maintenon for her and made her
Marquise de Maintenon.
Her primary object became the gaining of the favor of Mme. de
Montespan; for this purpose she taught herself humility, while
toward the king she directed the forces of her dignity, reserve, and
intellectual attainments. Being the very opposite of the mistress who
won and retained him by sensuous charms (in which the king was fast
losing pleasure and satisfaction), she soon effected a change
by entertaining her master with the solid attainments of her
mind—religion, art, literature.
Mme. de Maintenon was always amiable and sympathetic, kind and
thoughtful, never irritating, crossing, or censuring the king;
wonderfully judicious, modest, self-possessed, and calm, she was
irreproachable in conduct and morals, tolerating no improper advances.
Although the characteristics and general deportment of Mme. de
Montespan were entirely different from those of Mme. de Maintenon, the
latter entertained true friendship for her benefactress, displaying
astonishing tact, shrewdness, and self-control.
If Mme. de Maintenon were not, at first, loved by the king, it was
because she appeared to him too ideal, sublime, spirituelle, too
severely sensible. Then came the turning point; at forty years of age
she was "a beautiful and stately woman with brilliant dark eyes, clear
complexion, beautiful white teeth, and graceful manners;" sedate,
self-possessed, and astonished at nothing, she had learned the art of
waiting, and studied the king—showing him those qualities he desired
to see.
Her aim became to take the king from his mistress and lead him back
to the queen. After gaining his confidence by her sincerity and
trustworthiness, and making herself indispensable to him, she
succeeded in bringing about the desired separation, through the medium
of the dauphiness, whom she won over to her cause. Thus, without
perfidy, hypocrisy, intrigue, or manœuvring, by simply being herself,
she replaced the haughty and beautiful Mme. de Montespan.
When, after the queen's death, and after having lived about the king
for fifteen years, "she had succeeded in making the devotee take
precedence of the lover, when piety had overcome passion, when
religion had effected its change, then Louis the Great offered his
hand in marriage to her who had only veneration, gratitude, and
devotion for him, but no passion or love." Reasons of state demanded
the secrecy of the marriage; for had he raised her to the throne,
political complications would have arisen and disturbed his subsequent
career; Mme. de Maintenon fully appreciated the intricacies of the
situation, and was therefore content to remain what she was.
She came to the king when he was beginning to feel the effects of his
former mode of life; he needed fidelity and friendship, and he saw
these in her. His feelings for her are well described in the following
extract by M. Saint-Amand:
"To sum up: the king's sentiment for her was of the most complex
nature. There was in it a mingling of religion and of physical love, a
calculation of reason and an impulse of the heart, an aspiration after
the mild joys of family life and a romantic inclination—a sort of
compact between French good sense, subjugated by the wit, tact, and
wisdom of an eminent woman, and Spanish imagination allured by the
fancy of having extricated this elect woman from poverty in order to
make her almost a queen. Finally, it must be noted that Louis XIV.,
always religiously inclined, was convinced that Mme. de Maintenon
had been sent to him by Heaven for his salvation, and that the pious
counsels of this saintly woman, who knew how to render devotion so
agreeable and attractive, seemed to him to be so many inspirations
from on High."
It must not be inferred, however, that the feeling for Mme. de
Maintenon was purely ideal. "He was unwilling to remarry," says
the Abbé de Choisy, "because of tenderness for his people. He had,
already, three grandsons, and wisely judged that the princes of a
second marriage might, in course of time, cause civil wars. On the
other hand, he could not dispense with a wife and Mme. de Maintenon
pleased him greatly. Her gentle and scintillating wit promised him
an agreeable intercourse which would refresh him after the cares of
royalty. Her person was still engaging and her age prevented her from
having children."
As his wife, Mme. de Maintenon took more interest in the king and his
family than she did in the affairs of the kingdom. To be the wife of
the hearth and home, to educate the princes, to rear the young Duchess
of Bourgogne, granddaughter of Louis XIV., to calm and ease the old
age of the king and to distract and amuse him, became her sole objects
in life. Her power, thus directed, became almost unbounded; she was
the dispenser of favors and the real ruler, sitting in the cabinet
of the king; and her counsels were so wise that they soon became
invaluable.
At court, she opposed all foolish extravagance, such as the endless
fêtes and amusements of all kinds which had become so popular
under Mme. de Montespan—a procedure which caused her the greatest
difficulties and provoked revolts and quarrels in the royal family. By
her prudence, tact, wisdom, and the loyalty of her friendship, she won
and retained the respect and favor—if not the love—of everyone. Her
reputation was never tarnished by scandal. "When one reflects that
Louis XIV. was only forty-seven years old and in the prime of life
and Mme. de Montespan in the full blaze of her marvellous beauty,
that this woman of humble birth, in her youth a Protestant, poor, a
governess, the widow of a low, comic poet, should win so proud a man
as Louis XIV., seems incredible."
When one considers that throughout life her one aspiration was
an irreproachable conduct, that her manner of action was always
defensive, never offensive, that her chief aim was to restore the king
to the queen (who died in her arms) and not to replace his mistress,
one cannot withhold admiration and esteem from this truly great woman
who accomplished all those honorable designs.
The obstacles to be conquered before reaching her goal were indeed
numerous, but she managed them all. There were so many persons hostile
to her,—mistresses and intriguers, bishops and priests, courtesans
and valets, princes and members of the royal family,—to overcome whom
she had to be on her guard, make use of every opportunity, show a
rare knowledge of society and court, a profound skill and address,
resolution and will; and she was equal to all occasions.
Her greatest defect was the narrowness of her religious views.
Entirely in the hands of her spiritual advisers, obeying them
faithfully and blindly, she was not inclined to theological
investigation, but was sincerely devout. More interested in the
various persons than in doctrines, she showed a passion for making
bishops, abbots, and priests, as well as for negotiating compromises,
reconciling _amours propres_ and doing away with all religious hatred.
Lacking, above all else, clearness of conception, promptness and
firmness of decision, she was finally persuaded to encourage the
bigotry of Louis XIV. and his intolerance toward those who differed
from him. Hence, in 1685, she permitted that fearfully destructive
persecution of the Protestants, which caused over three hundred
thousand of France's most solid people to leave the country; and by
her fanaticism and false zeal, she caused the king to be a party to
that awful catastrophe.
"This one act of hers counterbalances nearly all her virtues, and we
remember her more as the murderess of thousands of innocents than as
the calm and virtuous governess. But we must remember the nature of
her advisers and the eternal policy of the Catholic Church, which
are ever identical with absolutism. To uphold the institutions and
opinions already established, was the one sentiment of the age;
innovation, progress, were destructive—Mme. de Maintenon became the
watchful guardian of royalty and the Church." Such is the verdict of
English opinion. M. Saint-Amand judges the affair differently:
"A woman as pious and reasonable as she was, animated always by the
noblest intentions, loving her country and always showing sympathy for
the poor people—not merely in words but in deeds as well—detesting
war and loving justice and peace, always moderate and irreproachable
in her conduct—such a woman cannot be the mischievous, crafty,
malicious, and vindictive bigot imagined by many writers; she did not
encourage such an act, nor would her nature permit to do so.... The
prayer she uttered every morning, best portrays the woman and her
rôle: 'Lord, grant me to gladden the king, to console him, to sadden
him when it must be for Thy glory. Cause me to hide from him nothing
which he ought to know through me, and which no one else would have
courage to tell him.' ... To Madame de Glapion she said: 'I would like
to die before the king; I would go to God; I would cast myself at the
foot of His throne; I would offer Him the desires of a soul that
He would have purified; I would pray Him to grant the king greater
enlightenment, more love for his people, more knowledge of the state
of the provinces, more aversion for the perfidy of the countries, more
horror of the ways in which his authority is abused: and God would
hear my prayers.'"
This pious woman was weary of life before her marriage, and but
changed the nature of her misery upon reaching the highest goal open
to a woman. Marly, Versailles, Fontainebleau were only different names
for the same servitude. When she had attained her desire, she thought
her repose assured; instead, her ennui, her disgust of life and
the world, only increased; realizing this, she began to direct her
thoughts entirely toward God and her aspirations toward things not
of this earth—hence the almost complete absence of her influence in
politics.
She was never happy, and that her life was a disappointment to her may
be gathered from the following words from her pen: "Flee from men as
from your mortal enemies; never be alone with them. Take no pleasure
in hearing that you are pretty, amiable, that you have a fine voice.
The world is a malicious deceiver which never means what it says; and
the majority of men who say such things to young girls, do it hoping
to find some means of ruining them."
Her most intense desire seemed to be to please, and be esteemed—to
receive the _honneur du monde_, which appeared to be her sole motive
for living. When in power, she did not use her influence as the
intriguing women of the epoch would have done, because she did
not possess their qualities—taste, breadth of vision, and selfish
ambitions. Her objects in life were the reform of a wicked court,
the extirpation of heresy, the elevation of men of genius, and the
improvement of the society and religion of France. After the death of
the king (in 1715), she retired to Saint-Cyr, and spent the remainder
of her life in acts of charity and devotional exercises.
After the king's death she dismissed all her servants and disposed of
her carriages as well, "unable to reconcile herself to feeding horses
while so many young girls were in need," as she said. For almost four
years she peacefully and happily lived in a very modest apartment. She
seldom went out and then only to the village to visit the sick and the
poor. On June 10, 1717, when she was eighty-one years old, Peter the
Great went to Saint-Cyr for the purpose of seeing and talking to
the greatest woman of France. He found her confined to her bed; the
chamber being but dimly lighted, he thrust aside the curtain in order
to examine the features of the woman who had ruled the destinies of
France for so many years. The Czar talked to her for some time, and
when he asked Madame de Maintenon from what she was suffering, she
replied: "From great old age." She died on August 15, 1719, and was
buried in the choir of the church of Saint-Cyr, where a modest slab of
marble indicated the spot where her body reposed until, in 1794, when
the church was being transformed into hospital wards, "the workmen
opened the vault, and took out the body and dragged it into the court
with dreadful yells and threw it, stripped and mutilated, into a hole
in the cemetery."
The greatest work of Mme. de Maintenon was the founding of the
Seminary of Saint-Cyr, which the king granted to her about the time
of their marriage and of his illness; it was probably intended as the
penance of a sick man who wished to make reparation for the wrongs
inflicted upon some of the young girls of the nobility, and as a
wedding gift to Mme. de Maintenon. There, aided by nuns, she cared
for and educated two hundred and fifty pupils, dowerless daughters of
impoverished nobles. It was "the veritable offspring of her who was
never a daughter, a wife, nor a mother." There she was happy and
content; there she recalled her own youth when she was poor and
forsaken; there she found respite from the turmoils and agitations of
Versailles; there she was supreme; there she governed absolutely and
was truly loved.
For thirty years she was queen at Saint-Cyr, visiting it every other
day and teaching the young girls for whom it was a protection against
the world. Since childhood, she had been so accustomed to serve
herself, to wait upon others and to care for the smallest details of
the management of the household, that she introduced this spirit into
society and at Saint-Cyr, where she managed every detail, from the
linen to the provisions; this showed a reasonable and well-balanced
mind, but not any high order of intelligence.
Of the young girls in her charge, she desired to make model women,
characterized by simplicity and piety; they were to be free from
morbid curiosity of mind, were to practise absolute self-denial and
to devote their lives to a practical labor. Her advice was: "Be
reasonable or you will be unhappy; if you are haughty, you will be
reminded of your misery, but if you are humble, people will recall
your birth.... Commence by making yourself loved, without which you
will never succeed. Is it not true that, had you not loved me or had
you had an aversion for me, you would not have accepted, with such
good grace, the counsels that I have given you? This is absolutely
certain—the most beautiful things when taught by persons who
displease us, do not impress but rather harden us."
A counsel that strikes home forcibly to-day, one which strongly
attacks the modern fad of neglecting home for church, is expressed
well in one of her letters: "Your piety will not be right if, when
married, you abandon your husband, your children and your servants, to
go to the churches at times when you are not obliged to go there. When
a young girl says that a woman would do better properly to raise
her children and instruct her servants, than to spend her morning in
church, one can accommodate one's self to such religion, which she
will cause to be loved and respected."
At the hour of leisure, she gave the girls those familiar talks which
were anticipated by them with so much pleasure, and extracts from
which are still cherished by the young women of France. She believed
that the aim of instruction for young girls should be to educate them
to be Christian women with well-balanced and logical minds. With her
varied experience of the ups and downs of life, she gradually came to
the conclusion that, after all, there is nothing in the world so good
as sound common sense, but one that is not enamored of itself, which
obeys established laws and knows its own limits. Her sex is intended
to obey, thus her reason was a Christian reason.
"You can be truly reasonable only in proportion as you are subservient
to God.... Never tell children fantastic stories, nor permit them to
believe them; give them things for what they are worth. Never tell
them stories of which, when they grow to independent reasoning, you
must disillusion them. You must talk to a girl of seven as seriously
and with as much reason as to a young lady of twenty. You must take
part in the pleasures of children, but never accommodate them with a
childish language or with foolish or puerile ways. You can never be
too reasonable or too sane. Religion, reason, and truth are always
good."
To appreciate the importance of Mme. de Maintenon's position and the
revolutionary effect which her attitude produced upon the customs of
the time, one must remember with what she had to contend. Hers was a
period of passion and adventure—a period which was followed by sorrow
and disaster. The novels of Mlle. de Scudéry, which were at the
height of their popularity, had over-refined the sentiments; the
_chevaleresque_ heroes and picturesque heroines turned the heads
of young girls, who dreamed of an ideal and perfect love; their one
longing was for the romantic—for the enchantments and delights
of life. In this stilted and amorous atmosphere, Mme. de Maintenon
preserved her poise and fought vigorously against the fads of the day.
The young girls under her care were taught to love just as they were
taught to do other things—with reason. Also, she guarded against the
weaknesses of nature and the flesh. "Than Mme. de Maintenon, no one
ever better knew the evils of the world without having fallen prey to
them," says Sainte-Beuve; "and no one ever satisfied and disgusted the
world more, while charming it at the same time."
Mme. de Maintenon's ideal methods of education were not immediately
effective; there were many periods of hardship, apprehension, and
doubt. Thus, when Racine's _Esther_ (written at the request of Mme. de
Maintenon, to be presented by the pupils at Saint-Cyr) was performed,
there sprang up a taste for poetry, writing, and literature of all
kinds. The acting turned the girls' thoughts into other channels and
threatened to counteract the teachings of simplicity and reason; no
one ever showed more genuine good sense, wholesomeness of mind, and
breadth of view, than were displayed by Mme. de Maintenon in dealing
with these disheartening drawbacks.
In endeavoring to impress upon those young minds the correct use of
language and the proper style of writing, she wrote for them models
of letters which showed simplicity, precision, truth, facility, and
wonderful clearness; and these were imitated by them in their replies
to her.
She wished, above all, to make them realize that her experience
with that social and court life, for which they longed, was one of
disappointment: that was a world apart, in which amusing and being
amused was the one occupation. She had passed wearily through that
period of life, and sought repose, truth, tranquillity, and religious
resignation; to make those young spirits feel the fallacy of such
a mode of existence was her earnest desire, and her efforts in that
direction were characterized by a zeal, energy, and persistence
which were productive of wonderful results. That was one phase of her
greatness and influence.
But Mme. de Maintenon was somewhat too severe, too narrow, too
strict,—one might say, too ascetic,—in her teaching. There was
too little of that which, in this world, cheers, invigorates, and
enlivens. Her instruction was all reason, without relieving features;
it lacked what Sainte-Beuve calls the _don des larmes_ (gift of
tears). Hers was a noble, just, courageous, and delicate judgment; but
it was without the softening qualities of the truly feminine, which
calls for tears and affection, tenderness and sympathy.
She remains in educational affairs the greatest woman of the
seventeenth century, if not of all her countrywomen. M. Faguet says:
"This widow of Scarron, who was nearly Queen of France, was born
minister of public instruction." She powerfully upheld the cause of
morality, was a liberal patroness of education and learning, and all
aspiring geniuses were encouraged and financially aided by her. It was
she who impressed upon Louis XIV. the truth of the existence of a God
to whom he was accountable for his acts—a teaching which contributed
no little to the general purification of morals at court.
The writings of Mme. de Maintenon occupy a very high place in the
history of French literature; in fact, her letters have often been
compared with those of Mme. de Sévigné, although, unlike the latter,
she never wrote merely to please, but to instruct, to convert, and to
console. In her works there was no pretension to literary style; they
were sermons on morals, characterized by discretion and simplicity,
dignity and persuasiveness, seriousness and earnestness; Napoleon
placed her letters above those of Mme. de Sévigné. M. Saint-Amand
says of her writings: "More reflection than vivacity, more wisdom
than passion, more gravity than charm, more authority than grace,
more solidity than brilliancy—such are the characteristics of a
correspondence which might justify the expression, the style is the
woman."
He gives, also, the following discriminating comparison between the
two writers: "Enjoyment, Gallic animation, good-tempered gayety,
fall to the lot of Mme. de Sévigné; what marks Mme. de Maintenon is
experience, reason, profundity. The one laughs from ear to ear—the
other barely smiles. The one has pleasant illusions about everything,
admiration which borders on _naïveté_, ecstasies when in the presence
of the royal sun: the other never permits herself to be fascinated by
either the king or the court, by men, women, or things. She has seen
human grandeur too close at hand not to understand its nothingness,
and her conclusions bear the imprint of a profound sadness. At times
Mme. de Sévigné, also, has attacks of melancholy, but the cloud
passes quickly and she is again in the sunshine. Gayety—frank,
communicative, radiant gayety—is the basis of the character of this
woman who is more witty, seductive, and amusing than is any other.
Mme. de Sévigné shines by imagination—Mme. de Maintenon by judgment.
The one permits herself to be dazzled, intoxicated—the other always
preserves her indifference. The one exaggerates the splendors of
the court—the other sees them as they are. The one is more of a
woman—the other more of a saint."
Mme. de Maintenon may be called "a woman of fate," She was never
daughter, mother, or wife; as a child, she was not loved by her
mother, and her father was worthless; married to two men, both aged
beyond their years, she was, indeed, but an instrument of fate.
Truthful, candid, and discreet she was entirely free from all morbid
tendencies, and was modest and chaste from inclination as well as
from principle. Though outwardly cold, proud, and reserved, yet in
her deportment toward those who were fortunate enough to possess
her esteem, she was kind—even loving. While not intelligent to a
remarkable degree, she was prudent, circumspect, and shrewd, never
losing her self-control. When once interested, and convinced as to the
proper course, she displayed marvellous strength of will, sagacity,
and personal force. Beautiful and witty, she easily adapted herself
to any position in which she might be placed; though intolerant and
narrow in her religious views, she was otherwise gentle, charitable,
and unselfish. Therefore, it is evident that she possessed, to a
greater degree than did any other woman of her time, unusual as
well as desirable qualities—qualities that made her powerful and
incomparable.