The Grande Mademoiselle in Love--Sketch of Lauzun and their
Romance--The Court on its Travels--Death of
Madame--Announcement of the Marriage of Mademoiselle--General
Consternation--Louis XIV. Breaks the Affair.
In the spring of 1669, Louis XIV. one day was listening to the Comtesse
de Soissons sing. She was the second of the Mazarin nieces, and the only
really wicked one in the family. She sang a new song containing many
naughty couplets, in which mud was thrown upon some of the courtiers.
Men and women received their packet under the guise of mock praise,
according to a fashion much in vogue. The phrase "mock praise" had
become the name of a form of satire, which made an almost unique
literature. The King permitted the couplets to pass in silence. He did
not even protest at this one:
Et pour M. Le Grand,[209]
Il est tout mystere;
Quand il est galant,
Il a comme La Valliere
L'esprit penetrant.
The Countess then arrived at a couplet on Puyguilhem, better known under
the name of Lauzun.[210]
De la cour
La vertu la plus pure
Est en Peguilin....
At this place the King interrupted: "If it is wished to vex him, they
are wrong, but when people act as he has done, they must be let alone;
as for others, they are badly treated." The sudden displeasure of the
King at the mention of Puyguilhem caused a general silence, and the song
stopped at this point.
The Grande Mademoiselle was present at this scene, and was surprised to
discover that she was not indifferent to its import. Up to this time,
she had scarcely known Lauzun, who did not belong to her coterie. "It
pleased me," says her _Memoires_, "to hear the manner in which the King
spoke of him; I felt some instinct of the future." This was the first
warning of the passion which had already insinuated itself into the
depths of her heart; but she did not yet comprehend it. The idea came to
her, however, of seizing an occasion to converse with Lauzun. She felt
an inclination for this at once. "He has," said she, "a manner of
explaining himself which is very extraordinary." Mademoiselle was
interested, but she still believed that it was only the conversational
capacity which pleased her in the little cadet of Gascony. She began to
query, however, why, having been sufficiently content during her five
years of exile, she was now so willing to remain a fixture. The year had
ended before she found a satisfactory response to this question: "I went
in the month of December (the 6th) to Saint-Germain, from which I did
not depart. I soon accustomed myself to it. Ordinarily, I only stayed
three or four days, and my present long sojourn surprised every one."
On the 31st, she decided at length to return to Paris: "I was very bored
there, and could not discover what I had done at Saint-Germain which had
so much diverted me." She hastened to rejoin the Court, without knowing
why, and commenced again her conversations with Lauzun, but still
remained unconscious of any sentiment. She only knew that she was
troubled and agitated, and discontented with her condition, and that she
felt a desire to marry. The desire dated back a long time, but of late
it had become so insistent that Mademoiselle was forced to examine
herself seriously.
The passage in which she relates her discovery is charmingly natural and
significantly true:
I reasoned with myself (for I did not speak to any one) and I
said, 'this is no longer a vague thought; it must have some
object.' I did not discover who it was. I sought, I dreamed,
but could not find out. Finally, after some days of anxiety, I
perceived that it was M. de Lauzun whom I loved, who had glided
into my heart. I thought him the most worthy man in the world,
the most agreeable; nothing was lacking to make me happy but a
husband like him, whom I should love and who would love me
devotedly; that heretofore I had never been loved; that it was
necessary once in life to taste the sweetness of being adored by
some one, which would make worth while the sufferings caused by
the pangs of love.
This explanation of her own heart was followed by days of intoxication.
Mademoiselle lived in a dream, and all was easy, all was arranged: "It
appeared to me that I found more pleasure in seeing him and in talking
to him than heretofore; that the days in which he was absent, I was
bored, and I believe that the same feeling came to him; that he did not
care to confess this, but the pains he took to come wherever he was
likely to meet me made the fact clear." In the absence of Lauzun, she
sought solitude in order to think of him freely. "I was delighted to be
alone in my chamber; I formed plans of what I could do for him which
would give him a higher position."
One single thought, characteristic of her generation, came to trouble
her happiness; she queried of herself if the great princesses of the
theatre of Corneille would have married a cadet of Gascogne. Assuredly,
passion blows where it listeth. Corneille had never denied this; but he
had maintained that the will should render us masters of our affections,
and his plays bear witness that love, even when founded in a just
feeling of admiration, can efface itself before the sentiment of the
duty owed to rank. Happily, poets, even when they are named Corneille,
sometimes contradict themselves, and Mademoiselle, who had seen plays
since the days of swaddling clothes, well knew her _repertoire_. She now
recalled for her comfort a passage in the _Suite du Menteur_ which
clearly established the "predestination of marriage, and the foresight
of God," so that it was a Christian duty to submit without resistance to
sentiments sent to us "from the sky."
Although sure of her own memory, which was indeed excellent,
Mademoiselle sent in great haste to Paris to secure a copy of the play,
and found the page (Act IV.) in which Melisse confides to Lise his love
for Dorante:
Quand les ordres du ciel nous ont faits l'un pour l'autre,
Lise, c'est un accord bientot fait que le notre.
Sa main entre les c[oe]urs, par un secret pouvoir,
Seme l'intelligence avant que de se voir;
Il prepare si bien l'amant et la maitresse,
Que leur ame au seul nom s'emeut et s'interesse.
On s'estime, on se cherche, on s'aime en un moment;
Tout ce qu'on s'entredit persuade aisement;
Et, sans s'inquieter de mille peurs frivoles,
La foi semble courir au-devant des paroles.
How was it possible to doubt for a single instant after having read
these verses that there is impiety in disobeying the "commands" to love
which come to us from on high? Nevertheless, serious conflicts took
place in the soul of the royal pupil of Corneille. Sometimes she
represented to herself with vivacity the joys of marriage, among the
keenest of which would be the witnessing the vexation of her heirs, who
were already beginning to find that she was making them wait too long,
and whom she longed to disappoint. Sometimes her mind could only dwell
upon the scandal which such a _mesalliance_ would cause, the reprobation
of some, and the laughter of others, and then her pride rose in arms.
She thus on one day desired the marriage eagerly, while on the next she
detested the thought of it, the vacillation depending upon the fact of
her having between times seen or not seen M. de Lauzun.
This struggle between the head and the heart was prolonged during
several weeks;
finally, after having often passed and repassed the pro and con
through my brain, my heart decided the affair, and it was in
the Church of Recollects in which I took my final resolution.
Never had I felt so much devotion in church, and those who
regarded me perceived that I was much absorbed; I believe that
God surprised me with His commands. The next day, which was the
second of March, I was very gay.
If Mademoiselle had been of the age of Juliet, this would have been a
pretty romance. But she was perhaps slightly too mature to play with the
grand passion.
The man who was the cause of these agitations is one of the best-known
figures of his times. Traces of him are found in all the contemporary
writings. The singularity of his personality joined to the prodigies of
his luck, good and bad, had made him an object of interest to his
contemporaries. It was of him that La Bruyere said: "No one can guess
how he lives."[211] The political world, the ministers at the head,
observed him with an anxious attention, because he had accomplished the
miracle of becoming the favourite of the King, while possessing
precisely the defects which Louis XIV. feared the most. Lauzun did not
attain the position of such a favourite as the Constable de Luynes under
Louis XIII., but he secured sufficient influence to accumulate offices
and honours.
Antonin Nompar de Caumont, Marquis de Puyguilhem, later Comte de Lauzun,
was born in 1633 (or 1632) of an ancient family of Perigord. His parents
had nine children and nothing to give to the younger ones; but their
birth assured to this youthful throng access to the Court and hope of
aid from it. The third of the boys resembled Poucet in form and also
possessed his keenness of mind. It was decided to send him to seek his
fortune, not in the forest, as with the hero of the tale, but in the
vicinity of the Court of France, the parents being convinced that with
his acuteness he would not permit himself to be eaten by the ogre, but
would rather succeed in devouring others.
The Marechal de Gramont, first cousin of the old Lauzun, saw arrive at
his mansion a very little man, with the face of "a flayed cat,"[212]
surrounded with flaxen hair, who claimed to be fourteen years of age.
This grotesque person was as lively as a sparrow and Gascon to the tips
of his fingers.
The Marshal kept him and provided for his education. In winter the
little man went to the "academy" to learn to dance, to shoot, and to
ride. In the summer he campaigned with a cavalry regiment belonging to
his uncle. There was apparently no plan for serious study of any kind,
nor even any attention paid to making the youth read. Complete ignorance
was still accepted among the nobility without remark; there had been
little change for the better in this respect since the previous century.
The parents of Lauzun had well judged. In a short time the boy had
wormed himself into the most imposing mansions, the most sacred
chambers. He was seen with the King, he was met in the company of
beautiful ladies. The Court and the city became familiar with his
furtive and impudent physiognomy, which soon grew haughty and insolent.
At eighteen, his father gave him his first military charge. At
twenty-four, he possessed a regiment; then suddenly, when the King came
to power, he received advancements, favours, an always increasing and
inexplicable credit, which aroused for him the hatred of Louvois, for in
the frequent discussions in relation to the service, "the favourite
always conquered." One of his tricks, which was unparalleled for
impudence, and the discovery of which might well have crushed him for
ever, ended in proving his strength.
[Illustration:
Cliche Braun, Clement & Cie.
=DUC DE LAUZUN=
By permission of Messrs. Hachette & Co.]
At about the time when he attracted the attention of the Grande
Mademoiselle, the insatiable little man extracted from his master (under
the condition of secrecy for fear of Louvois) the promise of being
shortly made Grand Master of Artillery. Lauzun was foolish enough not to
be silent. Louvois, once warned, made such strong and convincing
opposition that the King was aroused, and the favourite heard no more of
the appointment. In his anxiety he appealed to Mme. de Montespan. She
was his great friend and promised her aid; but he was distrustful and
wished to "have his mind clear"; then occurred a scene which outraged
Saint-Simon himself, as he related it long after. This writer avows in
his _Memoires_ that it would have been incredible "if the truth had not
been attested by all the Court."
Like most great workers, Louis XIV. was orderly and methodical in
everything. He had fixed hours for his ministers and for appearing in
public, hours for his wife and for his mistresses. It could always be
known where he was and what he was doing. Mme. de Montespan's hour was
in the afternoon. With the complicity of a chambermaid Lauzun was
introduced into the room, concealed himself under the bed, and by
keeping his ears open soon "cleared his mind." Mme. de Montespan did not
forget him in her conversation, but he heard himself severely criticised
and his bad character exploited; the slight dependence which could be
placed upon him and his arrogance towards Louvois were also emphasised.
All these charges were made with so much wit that the King, carried
away, replied with almost as little charity.
The listener under the bed, through rage and constraint, was thrown into
a "great perspiration." Finally the King returned to his own affairs and
Mme. de Montespan to hers, which were to attire themselves for a ballet.
After her toilet, Madame found Lauzun at her door. He offered
his hand and demanded if he dared flatter himself that she had
remembered him with the King. She assured him that she had not failed to
do so, and expatiated upon "all the services which she had just rendered
him." M. de Lauzun permitted her to finish, only forcing her to walk
slowly, and then softly in a low voice repeated, word for word, all that
had passed between the King and herself, without leaving out a single
phrase; and always retaining the sweet and gentle voice, he proceeded to
call her the most infamous names, assured her that he would "spoil her
face," and led her most unwillingly to the ballet, more dead than alive,
and almost without consciousness.
The King and Mme. de Montespan both believed that it was only the devil
himself who could have so accurately reported what had been said.
Royalty and the mistress were in trouble, and in a "horrible rage"; they
had not yet recovered their equanimity when the favourite recommenced
his intrigues.
Three days after this apparently inexplicable event, he came to break
his sword before the King, declaiming that he would no longer serve a
prince who forswore his word for a ---- (the word cannot be repeated).
The conduct of Louis XIV. at this juncture has remained famous. He
opened the window and threw out his cane, saying that he should regret
having struck a gentleman.
The next day Lauzun found himself in the Bastile, and it might have been
supposed for a long sojourn, under a monarch who never as a child had
pardoned a lack of respect. The public was still more astonished to
learn, at the end of the second month, that it was the King who sought
pardon, and Lauzun who held his head high, refusing recompense and
asserting that the prison was preferable to the Court.
The feelings of Louvois and others can be imagined during the strange
interchange of visits between Saint-Germain and the Bastile, for the
purpose of obtaining from this dangerous personage the acceptance of the
much-desired charge of Captain of the Body Guard; also the alarm at the
prompt[213] return of the favourite, more of a spoiled child than before
the punishment.
Whence came this credit with a prince so little susceptible to
influence, who had always pretended to be as opposed to the rule of
favourites as of prime ministers? In what did this little Lauzun show
special merit? and what attracted women who pursued and sought his
favour through cajoleries and gifts? Little Poucet he still was; for he
had not increased in stature. "He is," wrote Bussy-Rabutin, "one of the
smallest men God has ever made."[214] He had not become more beautiful.
We can on this point believe the testimony of Mademoiselle herself.
However strong her passion, she is yet able to paint Lauzun in these
terms, writing to Mme. de Noailles: "He is a small man. No one can say
that his figure is not the straightest, prettiest, most agreeable. The
limbs are fine; he has good presence in all that he does; but little
hair, blond mixed with grey, ill-combed, and often somewhat greasy; fine
blue eyes, but generally red; a shrewd air; a pretty countenance. His
smile pleases. The end of his nose is pointed and red; something
elevated in his physiognomy; very negligent in attire; when, however, it
appeals to him to be careful, he looks very well. Behold the man!"
This is not an alluring picture. There was but little to attract. It was
murmured that he possessed secret methods of making himself beloved. "As
for his temper and manners," continues Mademoiselle, "I defy any one to
understand them, to explain or to imitate them." The world was not
entirely of this opinion. It could recognise at least that M. de Lauzun
was "the most insolent little man born in the century,"[215] also the
most malicious. Many cruel traits were ascribed to him, and his fashion
of turning on his heel and plunging into the crowd before his victims
had regained their composure was well known.
The world was also well assured that the favourite was an intriguer.
Lauzun was always occupied with some machination, even against those to
whom he was indifferent; this kept his hand in. For the rest,
Mademoiselle was right; he was _not_ understood. He was very
intelligent. His clever phrases were repeated. For example, his response
to the wife of a minister who said rather foolishly, in emphasising the
trouble her husband gave himself: "There is nothing more embarrassing
than the position of the one who holds _la queue de la poele_, is
there?" "Pardon, Madame, there are those who are within."
But Lauzun also loved to play the imbecile and to utter with the tone of
a simpleton phrases without sense; he indulged in this singular taste
even before the King. The contrast was great between his pretensions to
the "haughty air" and the desire to be imposing and the habit of
adorning himself in grotesque costumes in order to see whether any one
dared to laugh at M. de Lauzun. He was once found at home arrayed in a
dressing gown and great wig, his mantle over the gown, a nightcap upon
his wig, and a plumed hat above all. Thus attired, he walked up and down
scanning his domestics, and woe to him who did not keep his countenance.
He was at once avaricious and lavish, ungrateful and the reverse,
delighting in evil but at the same time loyal as relative or friend
while not ceasing to be dangerous. He undertook at one time to advance
in the world his nephew, lately come from Perigord. He furnished him
with a purse and took the trouble to present him at Court, at which
their apparition was an event. They were pointed out to every one, and
no one, not even the King, composed as he was by profession, could help
laughing; Lauzun had indulged in the fantasy of dressing his nephew in
the costume of his grandfather. The poor lad felt so ridiculous that he
almost died from shame, and fled from Paris without daring to show
himself again.
In this freak, his uncle had not acted maliciously: he had simply
disregarded consequences. There was certainly a strain of madness in
Lauzun. If not too large, a tinge of this kind often gives to people a
certain fascination. It had captivated Mademoiselle, who in trying to
define her attraction for Lauzun was forced to conclude, "Finally, he
pleased me; and I love him passionately."
The King had also not been insensible to this indefinable charm, but it
must be said that he had been slightly dazzled by the perfection of the
qualities of a courtier which were shown by this half-madman. The Court
of France possessed no more servile being bowing down before the master
than "the most insolent little man seen during the century." This Gascon
played comedies of devotion for the benefit of Louis XIV. and flattered
him in the most shameful manner, which succeeded only too well.
The King was persuaded that M. de Lauzun loved him alone, lived but for
him, and had no thought apart, and the King was touched by this
illusion. He found such absolute devotion delightful, and was ready to
pardon much to the man who gave so good an example to other courtiers.
But even in giving full weight to the originality and the
unscrupulousness of this man, which undoubtedly added to his force, and
also bearing in mind that Louis XIV. did not entirely escape a certain
terror which his favourite inspired, it is still difficult to account
for a success so disproportioned to the merit. Lauzun had almost reached
the heights when the mad strain became ascendant and ruined him. Once
decided upon her desires, Mademoiselle became completely absorbed in
finding the best means of satisfying these. The first steps appeared to
be the most difficult. Considering her rank, the advances must be made
by her, and it fell to the Grande Mademoiselle to demand the hand of M.
de Lauzun. Everything had been prepared and the Princess did not
anticipate a refusal. But it was not sufficient to be married; she
wished to live her romance, to be loved, and to be told so, and this
delight was not easy to attain. "I do not know," says she, "if he
perceived what was in my heart. I was dying of desire to give him an
opportunity to tell me what his feelings were to me. I knew not how to
accomplish this."
Probably in all the Court there did not exist another woman so naive as
Mademoiselle in regard to the manipulation of a lover! After having
seriously thought over the matter, she decided upon a classic expedient.
She resolved to tell Lauzun that it was a question of an alliance, and
that she wished to ask his advice. If he loved her, he would certainly
betray himself. She entered upon the attempt, on the same second of
March on which she had awakened so gaily, and met her lover in the
palace of the Queen, at the time when that lady retired to her
_oratoire_ to "pray God."
While Marie-Therese was prolonging her devotions a certain freedom was
permitted in the anteroom.
"I went to him and led him near a window. With his pride and his haughty
air, he appeared to me the Emperor of all the world. I commenced: 'You
have testified so much friendship for me during so long a time, that I
have the utmost confidence in you, and I do not wish to act without your
advice.'" Lauzun protested, as was fitting, his gratitude and his
devotion, and Mademoiselle continued: "It is plainly to be seen that the
King wishes to marry me to the Prince de Lorraine; have you heard this
mentioned?" No, he had "heard nothing of it." Mademoiselle poured out
some confused explanations as to her reasons for wishing to remain in
France, in the hope of finding at length true happiness. "For myself,"
concluded she, "I cannot love what I do not esteem." Lauzun approved
all and demanded: "Do you think of marrying?" She responded naively, "I
become enraged when I hear people calculating upon my succession." "Ah,"
said he, "nothing would give me greater delight than to marry." At this
moment, the Queen came out of the _oratoire_ and it was necessary to
part. Lauzun had betrayed nothing. Nevertheless, Mademoiselle felt very
happy: "I thought, there is one important step taken, and he can no
longer mistake my sentiments; on the first occasion, I will learn his. I
was well content with myself and with what I had done."
Lauzun had in fact really comprehended that the Grande Mademoiselle was
throwing herself at his head, and he was well pleased to enter into the
game at all risks, in order to gain what he could. Without actually
reaching the marriage ceremony, the love of a grand princess can be of
advantage in many ways. He took pains, therefore, to renew the
conversation, and employed all his art, all his wit, in default of
feeling, in keeping the flame alight in the breast of the old maid and
in flattering the weaknesses which united with the movements of her
heart in increasing the desire for marriage. Mademoiselle could not
support the vision of the heirs always on the watch; Lauzun accentuated
and sympathised with her annoyance at overhearing such phrases as "This
one will have that territory, another will inherit this land." "I find
your vexation very reasonable," said he, "for one should live as long
as possible and not love those who desire our death."
Mademoiselle could not resign herself to growing old. This was not
coquetry, of which she could not be accused; it was the conviction that
on account of her high birth she was a privileged creature. She said
very seriously, "People of my quality are always young," and she dressed
as at twenty, and continued to dance.
Lauzun attacked this delicate subject and did not hesitate to speak
unpleasant truths before offering the soothing balm held in reserve. It
was his habit to treat women brutally in order to make them submissive,
and in this case there were double reasons for doing so. "His maxim,"
relates Saint-Simon, "was that the Bourbons must be rudely treated and
the rod must be held high over their heads, without which no empire
could be preserved over them." This system had succeeded tolerably well
with Louis XIV. Lauzun could well believe, in these early times, that it
would also be successful with his cousin, so humbly did she accept his
harshness.
He said to her: "I find that you are right to take a husband, nothing in
the world being so ridiculous, no matter what may be the rank, as to see
a woman of forty wrapped up in the pleasures of the world, like a girl
of fifteen, who thinks of nothing else. At this age, a woman should be a
nun or at least a _devote_, or she should remain at home modestly
dressed."
He admitted that Mademoiselle, on account of her high rank, might
constitute an exception, and that she might be permitted at long
intervals to hear one or two acts of the opera; but her duty as old maid
was "to attend vespers, and to listen to sermons, to receive the
benediction, to go to assemblies for the poor, and to the hospitals." Or
else to marry; this was the alternative which pointed his moral. "For
once married," continued he, "a woman can go anywhere at any age; she
dresses like others, to please her husband, and goes to amusements
because he wishes his wife not to appear peculiar."
Every word impressed itself on the mind of the loving Princess. When
Saint-Simon, who was intimate with Lauzun, read the _Memoires_ of
Mademoiselle, he found the account of this adventure so true and lively
that he renounced the attempt to relate it himself. "Whoever knew Lauzun
will at once recognise him in all that Mademoiselle relates, and his
voice can almost be heard." Through a very natural contradiction, the
Grande Mademoiselle, even at the height of her passion, preserved "some
regret that she would no longer be queen in foreign lands." Lauzun tried
to banish this regret. He represented to her that the trouble of playing
at royalty
surpassed the pleasure. If you had been really Queen or Empress
you would soon have been bored.... You can now dwell here all
your life.... If you desire to marry you can raise a man to be
the equal in grandeur and power to sovereigns. Above all, he
will realise that you have taken pleasure in bringing him to
prominence; he will be deeply grateful. It would not be needful
to describe the man who may possess so much honour; for in pleasing
you and in being your choice, he must of necessity be an estimable
being. He will lack nothing; but where is he?
This language, so clear in its import to the reader, did not entirely
satisfy Mademoiselle. The poor Princess was ever expecting an avowal or
caresses which never came. Lauzun acted the disinterested friend, the
person who was entirely out of the running, and he detailed all the
reasons which made an unequal marriage distasteful to him. Far from
seeking her, he held himself at a respectful distance when he met her.
"It was I," says she, "who sought him." His reserve and his reticence
added fuel to the flames, and this diverted him, but for the moment he
did not dare to promise himself anything more than greater credit at
Court.
In the meantime, the Duchesse de Longueville[216] wished to establish
the Count de Saint-Paul, the one of her sons who resembled "infinitely"
La Rochefoucauld. In spite of the great difference in age--her son was
only twenty--she thought of Mademoiselle, who remained by far the best
match in the kingdom, and commenced overtures. These were eluded, but
with a gentleness which astonished the social world. Mademoiselle had
her reasons: "For myself, who had my own desires buried in my heart, it
did not at all vex me that the report should be spread that there was
question of marrying me to M. de Longueville.[217] It occurred to me
that this might in some measure accustom people to my future action."
For once, the diplomacy of Mademoiselle did not prove a failure, and her
calculations were found to be justified. Some days later, when the
affair was being discussed before Lauzun, one of his friends, who had
perceived that the Princess was listening with pleasure, asked him why
he did not try his fortune.[218] Others joined in the suggestion and all
assured him that nothing was impossible for a man so advanced in the
good graces of the King. Lauzun expressed himself shocked at the idea of
an alliance with Mademoiselle; but on returning to his lodging, he
ruminated the entire night upon this conversation, and from that time
the thought did not appear to him so chimerical. It was necessary,
however, to delay the assurance; the King led the Court into Flanders
and gave the command of the escort to his favourite.
This was a political journey. Spain had been vanquished almost without
resistance in the war of Devolution[219] (1667-1668). Louis XIV. deemed
it useful to display French royalty in all its pomp to the populations
lately united with his kingdom, by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle (May 2,
1668), and all prepared to make a fine figure in a spectacle whose
strangeness finds nothing analogous in modern life.
In 1658, Loret the journalist had valued at about twelve hundred souls
(the servitors were not included) the convoy formed by the Court at its
departure for Lyons. This figure was certainly surpassed in 1670, when
the royal family alone, more than complete, since it included Mme. de
Montespan and Mlle. de La Valliere, took in their train a suite of
several thousand persons, not counting the army of escorts.
This suite was composed of ladies and maids of honour, gentlemen, pages,
domestics of all orders and of both sexes, footmen and valets of valets.
The King even brought his nurse with him. On the other hand, the
nobility were better disciplined than in the times of Mazarin and Anne
of Austria, and no one had dared to remain behind. The departure was
from Saint-Germain, April 28. Pellison wrote the next day to his friend
Mlle. de Scudery: "It is impossible to tell you how numerous the Court
is; it is much larger than at Saint-Germain or Paris. Every one has
followed."[220]
The quantity of luggage gave to this crowd the appearance of a wandering
nomadic tribe. All the personages of high rank took with them complete
sets of furniture. Louis XIV. had on this journey "a chamber of crimson
damask," for ordinary use, and another "very magnificent" where greater
accommodation would be had. The bed of the last was "of green velvet
embroidered with gold, immensely large, which could of itself fill
several small rooms." There were also entire suites of needful furniture
when the King lodged at his ease, and the same for the Queen, beautiful
Gobelin tapestries and a quantity of silver plaques,[221] chandeliers of
silver, and other pieces.
The commissary department carried a monster cooking apparatus and
necessary utensils to supply, morning and evening, several large tables
with food served on plated dishes. When all was unpacked, their
Majesties were "almost as at the Tuileries."
Monsieur could not do without pretty things nor infinite variation of
toilet; he was much encumbered on a journey. Mademoiselle, demanding
little, had nevertheless her rank to maintain, and her "campaign
chamber" was imposing. On one journey, she was obliged to lodge ten days
in a peasant's hut where the ceilings were so low that it was necessary
to increase the height of the room by digging out the ground which
formed the floor, in order to erect the canopy of her bed. Those of the
courtiers obliged, from their rank as chiefs of _Commandments_, to keep
open table led with them a staff of domestics and enough material for an
itinerant inn. Others wished to make themselves conspicuous by the
fineness of their equipage. That of Lauzun had been much admired at his
departure from Paris. "He passed through the St. Honore," wrote
Mademoiselle, who had come across him by chance; "he was very splendid
and magnificent." The most modest carried at least a camp-bed, under
pain of sleeping upon mother earth during the entire trip.
The train of chariots, carts, and horses, or mules with pack-saddles,
which rolled along the route to Flanders in 1670, can be pictured; also
the difficulty of uniting luggage and owner when the resting-places were
scattered over an entire village or group of villages; the accidents of
all sorts which happened to the caravan, on roads almost always in a
frightful condition, and in traversing rivers often without bridges; the
indifference of some, the impatience of others, and the universal
disorder; the anguish of losing one's cooks if one were a Marie-Therese,
the desolation of not finding the rouge and powder if one were Monsieur
or some pretty woman! Surely those who preserved their equanimity
through such trials and under excessive fatigue deserve praise.
Louis XIV. was a good traveller, arranged everything for himself, and
expected others to do as much. He detested groans, timid women, and
those to whom a bed was important. The Queen Marie-Therese began to
grumble before actually stepping into her coach, and the fact that she
was in a placid frame of mind during a trip was spread far and wide as
a piece of good news. The frugal suppers and the nights passed in a
waggon, while awaiting the carriage which had missed the way, appeared
to her frightful calamities. The bad condition of the roads made her
weep, and she uttered loud cries in traversing fords. She was once found
in tears, stopping the horses in the open plain and refusing to go on or
to turn back. An intelligent interest in new surroundings did not give
her compensation for her woes, for she possessed no curiosity. The
conferences with which the King entertained the ladies along the route,
upon military tactics and fortifications, mortally bored and wearied the
poor Queen, and she did not know how to conceal her feelings.
To tell the truth, among all the women who pressed behind the King upon
the ramparts of the cities or on the fortifications of old
battle-fields, appearing to absorb his words and explanations,
Mademoiselle was the only one who really listened with pleasure. Since
the exploits during the Fronde, the Princess had always considered
herself as belonging to the profession of arms.
Monsieur had one great resource in travelling. When he joined the King,
he brought with him some choice bits of gossip which entertained the
entire coach. In the evening, when the beds were being anxiously
awaited, he started games, or ordered the King's violins and gave a
dance. If no other place offered, the company would use a barn for the
impromptu ball. Monsieur, however, was much annoyed at any mishaps which
might interfere with his toilet, and could never take accidents of this
kind lightly.
The journey of 1670 was made more difficult by torrents of rain, and the
one who was generally drenched was the Commander-in-chief of the troops,
who was obliged to stand with uncovered head to receive the King's
orders. Monsieur looked with a sort of indignation upon the piteous
countenance of Lauzun, his hair uncurled and dripping, and once said:
"Nothing would induce me to show myself in such a condition. He does not
look at all well with his wet hair; I have never seen a man so
hideous."[222]
Mademoiselle was more indignant than Monsieur; chiefly over the fact
that any one could consider M. de Lauzun ugly "in any state," and that
the King should gaily expose him to the risk of catching cold. "M. de
Lauzun is always without a hat and has his head drenched. I said to the
King, 'Sire, command him to cover his head; he will be ill.' I said this
so repeatedly that I was afraid my solicitude would be noticed."
Mademoiselle cared but little on her own account for the discomforts of
the journey. No woman made fewer grimaces at a bad supper, or for being
forced to make a bedchamber of her carriage, and sometimes to sleep upon
a chair. She did not, however, enjoy the reputation of being a good
traveller, on account of the insurmountable terror which water
inspired. During a ford, she cried out as loudly as the Queen; the signs
of the King's impatience could not restrain her; "as soon as I see it,"
said she, of the water, "I no longer know what I am doing."
The rest of the party belonging to the caravan resigned themselves to
the discomforts of camping through "the grace of God." It was realised
that any expression of discontent caused the danger of incurring the
royal displeasure, and discomfort was expected as a necessary
accompaniment of a royal progress.
In 1667, Court had passed one night at the Chateau of Mailly near
Amiens. The Abbe de Montigny, Almoner of the Queen, wrote the next day
to some friends, "Mailly, ladies, is a caravansary. There was such a
crowd that Mme. de Montausier slept upon a heap of straw in a cupboard,
the daughters of the Queen in a barn on some wheat, and your humble
servant on a pile of charcoal."[223] In 1670 the account of the night of
the 3d of May filled many letters. May 3d had been a painful day. The
immense convoy had departed from Saint-Quentin for Landrecies at an
early hour, during a beating rain, which had visibly increased the
water-courses and swamps. Hour by hour the vehicles sank deeper in the
mud and the roads were encumbered with horses and mules, dead or
overcome, with carts sunk in the mire, and with overturned baggage. It
was not long before the chariots met the same fate. The Marechal de
Bellefonte was forced to abandon his in a slough, and make the remainder
of his way to the resting-place on foot, in the company of Benserade and
two others. M. de Crussol[224] met the water above the doors of the
carriage in traversing the Sambre, and M. de Bouligneux,[225] who
followed him, was forced to unharness in the middle of the stream and to
save himself on one of the horses. When it came to the Queen and
Mademoiselle, it was in vain to promise to conduct them to another ford
reported as "very safe." Their cries and agitation were such that the
attempt was abandoned. They sought shelter in the single habitation on
the bank. It was a poor hut composed of two connecting rooms with only
the ground for floor; on entering, Mademoiselle sank up to the knees in
a muddy hole. Landrecies was upon the other bank of the Sambre. The
night fell and all were dying with hunger, for there had been no meal
since Saint-Quentin. The King, very discontented, declared that no
further attempt should be made to proceed and the night should be passed
in the carriages. Mademoiselle remounted into hers, put on her nightcap
and undressed. She could not, however, close her eyes; "for there was
such a frightful noise." Some one said, "The King and Queen are going to
sup." Mademoiselle ordered herself borne through the mud into the hut,
and found the Queen very sulky. Marie-Therese had no bed and was
lamenting, saying "that she would be ill if she did not sleep," and
demanding what was the pleasure in such journeyings.
Louis XIV. added the last touch to her vexation in proposing that the
entire royal family and some intimates should sleep in the largest of
the two rooms, letting the other serve as a military headquarters for
Lauzun. "Look," said the King, "they are bringing mattresses;
Romecourt[226] has an entirely new bed upon which you can sleep."
"What!" cried the Queen, "sleep all together in one room? that will be
horrible!" "But," rejoined the King, "you'll be completely dressed.
There can be no harm. I find none." Mademoiselle, chosen as arbitrator,
found no impropriety, and the Queen yielded.
The city of Landrecies had provided their sovereigns with a "bouillon
very thin," the distasteful appearance of which alarmed Marie-Therese.
She refused it with disgust. When it was well understood that she would
not touch it, the King and Mademoiselle, aided by Monsieur and Madame,
devoured it in an instant; as soon as it was all gone, the Queen said,
"I wanted some soup and you have eaten it all." Every one began to
laugh, in spite of etiquette; when there appeared a large dish of
chicken cutlets, also sent from Landrecies, which was eaten with
avidity, soothing the injured feelings of the Queen. "The dish
contained," relates Mademoiselle, "meat so hard that it took all one's
strength to pull a chicken apart."
When the company retired for the night, those not yet prepared arrayed
themselves in nightcaps and dressing-gowns,[227] and French royalty for
this memorable night must be represented in the apparel of Argan.
In the corner of the chimney, upon the bed of Romecourt, lay the Queen,
turned so that she might see all that was passing. "You have only to
keep open your curtain," suggested the King; "you will be able to see us
all."
Near to the Queen, upon a mattress, lay Mme. de Bethune, the lady of
honour, and Mme. de Thianges, sister of Mme. de Montespan, pressed
together for lack of space. Monsieur and Madame, Louis XIV. and the
Grande Mademoiselle, Mlle. de La Valliere, and Mme. de Montespan, a
duchess and a maid of honour were crowded on the remaining mattresses,
placed at right angles and proving a most troublesome obstruction to the
officers going and coming on official business to the headquarters in
the other room. Happily, the King at length ordered Lauzun to use a hole
in the outer wall for his commands. The royal dormitory was at last left
in peace, and the occupants could slumber.
At four in the morning, Louvois gave warning that a bridge had been
built. Mademoiselle awakened the King and all got up. It was not a
beautiful spectacle. Locks were hanging in disorder and countenances
were wrinkled. Mademoiselle believed herself less disfigured than the
others, because she felt very red, and she rejoiced, as she found it
impossible to avoid the glance of Lauzun. The royal party mounted into
their carriages and attended mass at Landrecies, after which these
august personages went to bed and reposed a portion of the day.
The same evening Mademoiselle, only half aroused, was severely scolded
by Lauzun for her ridiculous dread of the water. This was very sweet to
her; it being the first time he had taken such a liberty, and the most
passionate women in the early days of love adore the masterful tone. The
two saw each other less often than at Saint-Germain, but with more
freedom. The chances of travel gave, from time to time, the opportunity
for long tete-a-tetes, by which they profited; she, to become more
pressing, he, to make himself more keenly desired.
Lauzun said one day that he thought of retiring from the world. "I am
having a vision of such beautiful and great hopes; and if they are only
delusions I shall die of grief."
"But," said Mademoiselle, "do you never think of marrying?"
"The one thing of importance in marriage," replied he, "would be belief
in the virtue of the lady, for if there had been the slightest lapse I
would have none of her; even if it were a question of yourself, far
above others as you are!"
He said this because there was a rumour that the King had the plan of
marrying Mlle. de La Valliere to his favourite.
Mademoiselle cried out ingenuously: "But you would wish me; for I am
good. 'Do not talk even delightful nonsense, when we are speaking
seriously.' But return then to me."
This was precisely what he did not wish. He recollected all at once that
the Venetian Ambassador was expecting him.
On another occasion, Mademoiselle said to him, in confessing the fact
that she was "entirely resolved to marry," and that her choice was made:
"I intend to speak to the King, and to have the wedding in Flanders;
that will make less stir than at Paris."
"Ah, I beseech you not to do this!" cried Lauzun alarmed, for he did not
consider the ground sufficiently prepared, "I do not wish it; ... I am
absolutely opposed to it." Some days after, they were together looking
through a window and exchanging impressions upon the persons of quality
who were passing, "their forms, their bearing, their appearance, their
wit." At length, Lauzun remarked, "Judging by what I hear, none of these
would suit you?" "Assuredly not," replied Mademoiselle, "I wish that the
person of my choice might go by, that I could point him out to you."
As every one had now passed, she continued: "He must be sought, there is
still some one else." After this, relates her _Memoires_, "he smiled and
we talked of something else."
They had arrived at the point of smiles and mutual intelligence.
Nevertheless the Court returned to Saint-Germain (June 7th) without
Mademoiselle having obtained the decisive word for which she was meekly
begging. Lauzun opposed some barriers to every advance. Acting through
prudence or calculation, he was to have cause to congratulate himself.
Fifteen days elapsed in _detours_ and feigned flights. Mademoiselle was
exasperated. Comprehending perfectly well that a Gascony cadet could not
say bluntly, "Take me!" she still was so little capable of subterfuge
that she found the "manners of M. de Lauzun towards her extraordinary."
Lauzun was too subtle for one so simple. La Bruyere himself was going to
renounce the hope of penetrating into his motives, and to avow it in the
passage in which he paints him under the name of Straton: "A character
equivocal, unintelligible; an enigma; a problem never solved."
Persuaded that her lover held back through respect, Mademoiselle
resolved to attack affairs boldly. On June 20th, she went to enjoy the
diversions of the fine season[228] at Versailles. Monsieur and Madame
were at their chateau at Saint-Cloud. Mademoiselle followed the Court.
Lauzun was absent, but he took pains from time to time to appear in the
Queen's salon. One evening, when he had met Mademoiselle and when he was
chaffing her on the subject of the Duc de Longueville, the Princess said
to him vivaciously: "Assuredly I shall marry; but it will not be with
that person. I pray that I may speak with you to-morrow, for I am
resolved to address the King and I desire that all should be finished
before July 1st." He replied: "I am going to-morrow to Paris, and Sunday
without fail I shall be here, and we will then talk over everything; I
begin also to desire to have all ended."
On Sunday (June 29th), towards evening, Lauzun had not yet arrived.
Mademoiselle was notified that the Queen was awaiting her for the daily
drive. She went out quickly, and ran across the Comte d'Ayen,[229] who
had also an appearance of being in haste, and who said to her in
passing, "Madame is dying; I am seeking M. Vallot,[230] whom the King
has commanded me to lead to her!" Below in her carriage the Queen
related the tale of the glass of chicory water and the fact that Madame
believed herself to be poisoned. All were astonished and exclaimed, "Ah,
what a horror!" People looked at each other and did not know what to do.
Marie-Therese descended from her carriage and was peacefully entering a
boat on the grand canal, when a gentleman arrived in haste; Madame was
in extremity and besought the Queen not to delay if she wished to see
her alive. The chateau was speedily regained, where the confusion
recommenced. The Queen demanded every instant: "What shall I do? What
shall I do?" She could not decide to go herself, and she prevented
Mademoiselle from departing without her. Finally, the King appeared. He
took the Queen in his coach with Mademoiselle and the Comtesse de
Soissons. Mlle. de La Valliere and Mme. de Montespan followed. It was
eleven o'clock when the royal family descended at the gate of the
Chateau Saint-Cloud.
The spectacle which awaited it has been described a hundred times. A
poor little dishevelled figure, pathetic from suffering, and already
drawn by the approach of the dying agony, lay upon the bed. The
unfastened chemise permitted her emaciation to be seen, and she was so
pale that if it had not been for her cries it might have been thought
that the end had already come. We know through Mme. de La Fayette[231]
that the first sentiments of the spectators had been those of pity,
natural in such a case, and here doubled by the sight of the frightful
sufferings and the gentleness of this young and charming being in the
presence of death. The state of Madame had touched even her husband, so
embittered against her by her frivolities, and only the sound of
"weeping was heard in the chamber."
With the entrance of the sovereigns and their suite the aspect of the
room was at once altered. Louis was indeed sincerely affected,
Mademoiselle much moved, and many of the others felt "that they were
losing with Madame all the joy, all the agreeableness, all the pleasures
of the Court."[232] But egotism and intrigue marched on the heels of
their Majesties. Even while weeping, each began to dream over the
consequences of this death. Who would inherit the prestige of Madame?
Whom would Monsieur marry? Would it be the Grande Mademoiselle? How
would this affect the interests of each? The dying woman felt a sudden
chill in the atmosphere. "She perceived with pain the tranquillity of
every one," reports Mademoiselle, "and I have never seen any sight so
pitiable as her state when she realised the real attitude of those
surrounding her bed. The crowd kept on talking, moving about in the
room, almost laughing."
Monsieur was only "astonished" at what was happening. Mademoiselle
having urged him to send for a priest, he said, "Whom shall we call?
Whose name will appear well in the _Gazette_?" This preoccupation truly
reveals Monsieur.
After the departure of the King, who took away others in his train, the
scene again changed. Monsieur had sent for Bossuet, who, in a letter to
one of his brothers, has related details of these last hours. To judge
from this letter, it appears that the presence of the priest at the
bedside of Madame turned all minds from terrestrial preoccupations and
banished all thoughts except those impressed by the grandeur of death.
Madame herself gave the example, proving with her last sigh that she
felt she was accomplishing "the most important action of life."[233] "I
found her fully conscious," said Bossuet, "speaking and acting without
ostentation, without effort, without violence; but so well, so suitably,
with so much courage and piety, that I was completely overcome." Thus
God had the last word!
On returning to Versailles, the Queen quietly ate her supper.
Mademoiselle perceived Lauzun among those present. "In rising from
table, I said to him, 'This is very disconcerting.' He replied, 'Very,
and I am afraid that it may spoil our plans.' I responded, 'Ah, no. No
matter what may happen.'"
The poor woman could not sleep during the night: how rid herself of
Monsieur, if the King should wish "the marriage"? At six in the morning,
word came from Saint-Cloud that Madame was dead. "At this news,"
continues Mademoiselle, "the King resolved to take medicine," and
Mademoiselle, arriving with the Queen, found him in a dressing-gown,
weeping bitterly over the loss of Madame, and very tenderly pitying his
own woe. He said to Mademoiselle: "Come, watch me take medicine; let us
make no more fuss; better act as I am doing." After his draught he
retired, and the morning was passed in his bedchamber speaking of the
dead.
In the afternoon, the King dressed and went to consult Mademoiselle, as
the great authority in matters of Court etiquette, upon the proper
arrangements for the funeral ceremony. After these details had been
discussed, the King spoke the word she was expecting and dreading: "'My
cousin, here is a vacant place, will you fill it?' I became pale as
death, and said, 'You are the master, your wish is mine.' He urged me to
speak frankly. I said, 'I can say nothing about this.' 'But have you any
aversion to the idea?' I was silent; he went on, 'I will further the
affair and report to you.'"
In the salons, the crowd of courtiers was busily engaged in remarrying
Monsieur. The question was, "To whom?" and every one looked at the
Grande Mademoiselle. Lauzun bore the situation like a man of spirit,
without troubling himself with useless regrets or feigning a loving
despair which was very foreign to his nature. His manner was free, very
gay, too easy to please Mademoiselle when he congratulated her and
refused to listen to her protestations that "it would never be." "The
King said that he wished you would marry Monsieur; it will be necessary
to obey." He besought her not to hesitate, and dilated on the joys of
grandeur, and the happiness she might have with Monsieur. She responded,
"I am more than fifteen, and I do not propose to accept a life fit only
for children."
Of all the honours attached to the rank of sister-in-law to the King,
one alone appealed to her,--that she would then have a good place in the
royal carriage, instead of being always on the basket seat, and she
represented to Lauzun that the "good place would not long remain
vacant." It would be assigned to the children of the King as soon as
they should be grown up. Once he added: "The past must be forgotten. I
remember nothing of what you have told me; I have lately forgotten all."
Another time, he showed that he was not ignorant of what he was losing.
She had just repeated, "Ah, this shall never be!" "But yes," rejoined
Lauzun, "I shall be glad; for I prefer your grandeur to my own joy and
fortune; I owe you too much to feel otherwise." "He had never before
admitted as much," remarks Mademoiselle. After such delightful
conversations, she shut herself up to weep. The idea of marrying
Monsieur was odious to her, for other reasons besides the desires
aroused by her passion.
Not that she suspected him of having poisoned his wife. Mademoiselle
considered her cousin incapable of such a crime. But she could not bear
the thought of the many favourites of Monsieur and of their power. One
of these, M. de Beuvron,[234] had confirmed this repugnance by coming
insolently and inopportunely to assure her of his protection and of that
of the Chevalier de Lorraine. He frankly told her: "It will be more to
our advantage to have you than a German princess without a sou, who
would only be an expense, while you have so much that the allowance of
Monsieur can be spent for his liberalities; thus we shall come off
better." This was not a clever address to a princess who sincerely loved
money. The following displayed even less tact: "If we aid in making your
marriage, you will be under obligation to us, and you will realise our
power."
Mademoiselle heard all and recounted the conversation to the King. "He
has spoken like a fool," said Louis with his shrewd common-sense.
Mademoiselle could not resign herself to this alliance, and Lauzun
trembled lest he should be held responsible. He came once again, to find
the Princess with the Queen, and said to her:
I come very humbly to supplicate, that you will speak no more
to me. I am most unhappy at displeasing Monsieur. He might
believe that all the difficulties you are making come from me.
Thus I shall no longer enjoy the honour of addressing you. Do
not summon me, for I shall not respond. Do not write to me, nor
address me in any way. I am in despair to be forced to act in
this fashion; but I must do so for love of you.
She equivocated, tried to retain him. He repeated to her his accustomed
refrain that he must obey, and coldly took leave while she cried out:
"Do not go away! What, shall I speak to you no more?" From that day
Lauzun carefully avoided her. One day, when Mademoiselle requested him
to re-knot her muff ribbon, he replied "that he was not sufficiently
adroit," and yielded to Mlle. de La Valliere. He even avoided glancing
in her direction.
Louis XIV. had found his brother well convinced of the advantage of
marrying many millions; Monsieur only demanded delay, not wishing, with
the rumours which were circulating, to appear too eager to replace the
dead. Mademoiselle also on her side was endeavouring to hinder the
progress of affairs. Success crowned the efforts of both, and the month
of September was well advanced when the King said to his cousin in the
presence of the Queen: "My brother has spoken to me; he wishes in case
you have no children that you should make his daughter your heir,[235]
and he says he will be well content not to have any more offspring,
provided he is assured that my daughter shall marry his son. I
counselled him to desire children, because this could not be a
certainty."
Monsieur was thirteen years younger than Mademoiselle, and the latter
very well understood the significance of words. She began to laugh. "I
have never heard persons on the brink of marriage say that they did not
wish children, and I hardly know whether this is a courteous
proposition. What does your Majesty think?" The King also laughed. "My
brother has said so many ridiculous things on this subject that I have
advised silence."
The joking continued in spite of the Queen, who cried out, "This is
really disagreeable!" Finally, Mademoiselle concluded in a serious tone:
"Although I am no longer young, I have not reached the age at which
children are impossible.... Such suggestions are most disagreeable to
me." The King also became serious, and warned his cousin that she could
never expect from him the gift of any government or any appointment
which would permit the exercise of power, but only precious stones and
furniture and other playthings. This again was a lesson from the Fronde,
and in his _Memoires_[236] Louis confirms this same resolution.
Mademoiselle thanked her cousin somewhat ironically for what he had done
to render Monsieur desirable, and, realising by the questions of the
King that some hints had reached his ears, she pictured in covered words
the future of which she had had a glimpse. The Queen demanded her
meaning, but the King remained silent. "I do hope," observed
Mademoiselle in ending, "that I may be permitted to act as I wish and
that the King will not force me against my desires." "No, surely,"
replied Louis, "I will leave you free and will never constrain any one";
he added an instant after, "Let us go to dinner," and they separated.
Some weeks rolled by. The favourites of Monsieur were cold about an
alliance which the temper of Mademoiselle might make somewhat difficult,
and which might in the end prove _not_ to their advantage.[237]
Events moved quietly enough when the Princess one evening in October
supplicated the King that there should be no more said of the project.
Louis XIV. appeared to be indifferent. Monsieur was at first vexed and
then dismissed the subject from his thoughts. Marie-Therese alone,
interested neither in her brother-in-law nor in her cousin, "was in
despair," relates Mademoiselle, "for she wishes that we should marry and
have children." But no one paid much attention to the despair of
Marie-Therese. Lauzun approved the course of Mademoiselle and ceased to
avoid her. That was all. For an ambitious man, he was not a really
clever schemer; he had too great a fear of being duped. He again assumed
a sombre attitude and refused to hear the name of the one chosen by
Mademoiselle. On a certain Thursday evening, when she had menaced him
with the threat of breathing against the mirror and of writing the name
of the man she loved, midnight sounded during this contest. "Nothing
more can be said," observed Mademoiselle, "for it is already Friday."
The next day, taking a sheet of paper, she wrote distinctly, "It is
you," and sealed it. "That day I met him only on the way to supper. I
said: 'I have the name in my pocket, but I do not wish to give it to you
on Friday.' He responded: 'Give it to me! I promise that I will put it
under my pillow and that I will not open the paper until midnight has
passed.'" She did not trust him, and it did not occur to him to
sacrifice a race that had been arranged for the Saturday. "Ah, well, I
will wait until Sunday," said Mademoiselle with inconceivable patience,
and her only vengeance was to let herself be implored a little, before
giving up the paper. The couple were alone in a corner of the fireplace,
in the salon of the Queen. "I drew forth the leaf, upon which only a
single word was written, which, however, told much; I showed it to him,
and then replaced it in my pocket, afterward in my muff. He urged me
very strongly to give it to him, saying that his heart was beating
rapidly.... Before yielding I said, 'You will reply on the same
leaf.'"... In the evening she did not dare to raise her eyes; he
declared that she was mocking him, that "he was not sufficiently foolish
to be deceived," and this was the theme of the letter which he remitted
to her. At the same time, he thought of the prodigious elevation which
he was beginning to realise was a possibility before him. He was at last
aroused, and could not always refrain from responding seriously to
Mademoiselle. She spoke of the happiness which awaited them, and of her
plans to make him the greatest lord in the kingdom. He counselled her
always to bow before fate, but one day he added: "In marrying, the
temperament of those throwing their fates together should be known. I
will disclose mine." He said that he possessed a nature bizarre and
unsociable, being able to live only in the wake of the King; "thus I
shall be a peculiar and not very diverting husband." Later, he amplified
a little, affirming that he was cured of desire for women, and had no
more ambition. "When a post was proposed to me I refused it. After all,
do you really want me?"--"Yes; I wish you."--"Do you find nothing in my
person which is disgusting?" This question was reasonable enough. Lauzun
was decidedly "unclean"[238]--but it roused the indignation of
Mademoiselle: "When you say that you are afraid of not pleasing, you are
simply mocking; you have pleased too easily in your life; but now about
me, do you find anything unpleasant in my face? I believe that my only
exterior fault is my teeth, which are not fine. That is a defect of my
race, which fact bears its own compensations." "Assuredly" replied he,
and she could not extract the expected compliment.
In the course of these events, the Court returned to the Louvre and the
Tuileries, Mademoiselle to the Luxembourg. After much hesitation Lauzun
consented that Mademoiselle should write a letter in which she should
supplicate the King to forget all that he had said against mixed
marriages, and permit her to be happy. The contemporaneous opinion was
that Lauzun had made the first move. The Spanish _Charge d'Affaires_
wrote from Paris, December 21: "It is certain, as every one says, that
he has arrived at this point with the authorisation and permission of
the King."[239] The public voice, whose echo has been preserved for us
by the novelists of the period, added that Mme. de Montespan had been
mixed up in the affair, a version which two of her letters to Lauzun
confirm,[240] and that she had obtained the consent of the King by
saying: "Ah, Sire, let him alone. He has merit enough for this."[241]
There was evidently some secret bond between the mistress and Lauzun
which united them when any mischief was at hand. The King had responded
to Mademoiselle without actually saying yes, or no; he confessed that
her letter had astonished him and asked her to reflect again. He
repeated the advice three days later, during a _tete-a-tete_ which took
place behind closed doors at two o'clock in the morning. "I neither
counsel you nor forbid you; but I pray you to consider well." He added
that the affair was being discussed and that many people disliked M. de
Lauzun. "Think over this fact and take your own measures."
[Illustration: =MADAME DE SEVIGNE= From the painting by Pietro Mignard
in the Uffizi Gallery, Florence (Photograph by Alinari)]
The couple profited by the warning. On Monday, December 15, 1670, in the
afternoon, the Ducs de Montausier and de Cregny, the Marechal d'Albret
and the Marquis de Guitry presented themselves before Louis XIV., and
demanded the hand of the Grande Mademoiselle for M. de Lauzun, "as
deputies from the French nobility, who would consider it a great
honour and grace if the King would permit a simple gentleman to marry a
Princess of the blood."[242] This proceeding was a plan of Lauzun's. It
succeeded with the King, and after he had been thanked in the name of
the entire nobility of the kingdom, Mademoiselle, who was apparently
listening to the reading of a sermon, behind the chair of the Queen, was
notified that M. de Montausier was asking for her. The Duke reported the
good reception which they had received and ended in these terms: "Your
affair is accomplished, but I counsel you not to let things lag; if you
follow my advice, you will marry this very night."
"I was convinced that he was right" adds Mademoiselle, "and I prayed him
to give the same advice to M. de Lauzun if he should see him before I
did."
There is no clearer fact in history than the evidence of the
consternation into which France was thrown by the news that the Duchesse
de Montpensier, granddaughter of Henri IV., was to marry the Comte de
Lauzun, "a simple (qualified) gentleman." To-day, an alliance of this
kind, provided it does not concern the heir to the throne, is only a
piece of society gossip, even in lands still profoundly loyal to
monarchical sentiments. In the seventeenth century such an event touched
so nearly the social hierarchy upon which all rested that Mademoiselle,
in thus confusing social ranks, appeared to have failed seriously in
her duty as Princess.
Louis, as King, had not considered it his duty to oppose. The criticism
was more severe inasmuch as custom, encouraged by illustrious examples,
offered to lovers separated by birth easy means for completing their
private happiness, sustaining at the same time public decorum.
"Marriages of conscience" had been invented for such cases; why not be
content with this means of doing your duty and of satisfying at the same
time conscience and passion? Paris sought a reply to this question, and
the whole city was whispering and busying itself in a manner not easily
to be forgotten.
Ten years later, when the trials of the "Corrupters" disturbed the
community, some one wrote to Mme. de Sevigne that "the last two days
have been as agitated as during the time when the news of the projected
marriage between the Grande Mademoiselle and M. de Lauzun was announced.
All were seeking news and, eager with curiosity, were running from one
house to another to gather details."[243]
The princes and princesses of the blood considered themselves insulted,
and rebelled, a boldness so unexpected, on account of their habitual
submission, that even Louis XIV. was somewhat moved. The timid
Marie-Therese gave the example. Mademoiselle came to announce formally
the proposed marriage. "I entirely disapprove," said the Queen in a very
sharp tone, "and the King will never sanction it." "He does approve it,
Madame, that is settled." "You would do better never to marry, to keep
your wealth for my son Anjou."[244] Anger gave the Queen courage to
address the King, who was vexed, and the result was a scene, tears, a
night of despair; but also nothing gained, and finally the Queen was
forced into a public declaration that she would sign the contract.
Monsieur loudly protested. He heaped abuses on the "deputies of French
nobility," reproached Mademoiselle in the presence of the King for being
"without heart," and said that she was a person who should be "placed in
an insane asylum,"[245] and also declared that he would _not_ sign the
contract. The gravest accusation made by Monsieur was a statement,
repeated to all, that Mademoiselle had said that the King had himself
counselled the marriage. In vain Mademoiselle asserted that she had said
nothing of the kind; the charge made a great impression upon Louis, and
he expressed his first regret over the affair. The Prince de Conde,
sometimes taunted with having become, somewhat late in life, an
accomplished courtier, remonstrated respectfully but firmly with the
King.
The old Madame, forgotten in her corner of the Luxembourg, never really
felt the wave of disgust and protest, but she was sufficiently aroused
from her apathy to sign a letter to the King, written in her name by M.
Le Pelletier, President of the Department of Inquests. Outside the Court
circle, Louis XIV. felt himself blamed by all classes of society. The
nobles in general refused to ratify the "Mandate" that the deputies had
given in their name. Without doubt, the honour of this marriage would be
great: the permission given to a princess of the blood to marry so far
beneath her rank, a most unexpected favour from a monarch who had worked
so systematically to undermine the power of the aristocracy; but the
larger portion of the French nobility was so much impressed with the
danger of insulting royalty, and weakening the sentiment of the sanctity
of the Heaven-sent rulers, that it joined in the criticism of the rest
of the nation.
The Parliamentary world and the society of the higher middle class were
equally outraged. It was plain that the marriage could be made only with
the King's consent, and the giving of this was considered a "shame." The
bourgeoisie showed an inconceivable irritation; Segrais heard Guilloire,
Intendant of Mademoiselle, say to his mistress in an excited tone,
knowing very well that he was risking his position, "You are derided and
hated by all Europe." As to the common people, their attitude was
touching. "They were," reports a witness,[246] "in a state of
consternation." They grieved as if their Prince had deceived them.
The enemies of Lauzun increased the discontent and endeavoured to gain
time. Louvois was credited with having persuaded the Archbishop of Paris
to forbid the bans. The minister felt himself directly menaced, and this
was also the opinion of the political world, in which many believed that
the projected marriage was a stroke directed "against M. de Louvois, an
avowed enemy of M. de Lauzun,"[247] by Colbert and Mme. de Montespan.
While the tempest was gathering, the friends of the two lovers pressed
them to hasten the end. "In the name of God," said Rochefort, Captain of
the Guards, "Marry to-day rather than to-morrow!" Montausier "scolded"
them for dallying. Mme. de Sevigne represented to Mademoiselle that they
"were tempting God and the King."[248]
Nothing can be done for people who are walking in the clouds. Lauzun,
"intoxicated with vanity,"[249] believed himself already safe in port,
sheltered from all trouble, with the King and Mme. de Montespan on his
side. Mademoiselle, "dazzled by love," permitted herself to be guided.
Her first desire had been to marry upon the evening of the deputation to
the King, without saying anything about it, but Lauzun refused. "He was
persuaded that Mme. de Montespan would not fail him, and that nothing
could now turn the King against him, and considered everything secure,
saying, "I distrust only you." To marry thus clandestinely would not
satisfy his vanity. He wished that the deed should be done as "from
crown to crown, openly and with all forms observed." He desired the
chapel of the Tuileries, pomp, a crowd, rows of astonished and envious
faces, "rich livery" that he had hastened to order for the occasion. In
short, he longed for the moon and he did not succeed in seizing it.
Tuesday, December 16th, was passed in talking, in expressing
astonishment, in paying compliments. A multitude came to the Luxembourg,
among whom the Archbishop of Reims, brother of Louvois, who said to
Mademoiselle: "Would you do me the injury of choosing any other than
myself to perform the marriage ceremony?" Another had already solicited
the honour, a proof that so far a rupture had not been thought of.
Mademoiselle replied: "M. the Archbishop of Paris has said that he
desired the office."
Wednesday, there was a fresh crowd, Louvois in person and all the
ministers; but there was no longer the same cordiality, and Mademoiselle
herself perceived the difference. "They made low bows, they conversed,
but no longer about the affair." The evening of the same day, the
Princess gave to Lauzun ("awaiting something better," said Mme. de
Sevigne), the Comte of Eu, which represented the first peerage of
France, assuring the first rank, the Principality of Dombes and the
Duchy of Montpensier, of which last Lauzun assumed the title and name.
It was agreed that the ceremony should take place the next day at noon.
On Thursday, the 18th, the contract was not yet prepared; the lawyers
had delayed on purpose. Towards evening, Lauzun, who was losing his
assurance, offered to break with Mademoiselle.
She was offended and tried once more to make him declare his love, but
he responded, "I will say I love you only when we issue from church."
There was no longer question of the Tuileries chapel, nor even of
dazzling the Parisians, and Friday found a new delay, Mademoiselle
having herself wavered.
After consideration, a rendezvous was arranged at Charenton, in the
house of a friend, where the wedding was to be secretly solemnised the
next evening at midnight, without even an archbishop. The Parisian offer
began to inspire distrust: "The cure of the place would do well enough."
When all was settled, Mademoiselle amused herself with showing to her
intimates the chamber that she had arranged for the future Duc de
Montpensier. "It was magnificently furnished," relates the Abbe de
Choisy. "'Do not you think,' said Mademoiselle to us, 'that a Gascony
cadet will be sufficiently well lodged?'" Lauzun took leave early to
pass the night in a "bath house," as was the custom before a wedding.
Mademoiselle opposed this, because he was suffering from a bad cold. He
had also "trouble with his eyes." I said to him, "Your eyes are very
red." He replied, "Do they make you ill?" I said, "No; for they are in
no way disgusting." It may be noticed that these illustrious lovers did
not possess the light graces of conversation; their phrases were
singularly heavy. "These ladies are mocking us," pursued the Princess.
"I do not know, however, what caused me to have a presentiment. I began
to weep in seeing him depart; he, too, was sad; we were ridiculed. The
ladies also departed, only Mme. de Nogent remaining."
This last was the sister of Lauzun, and Mademoiselle had, during the
past months, been very intimate with her.
While time was thus being wasted at the Luxembourg, Louis submitted to
the almost universal antagonism and withdrew his authorisation to the
alliance. "The Queen and the princes of the blood redoubled their
entreaties; the Marechal de Villeroy[250] threw himself upon his knees,
with tears in his eyes; the ministers and all those approaching the King
expressed the voice of the people. At length God touched the King's
heart."[251] God? No, but a creature of flesh; Mme. de Montespan for the
second time betrayed Lauzun.
La Fare affirms the statement that it was the counsel of Mme. de
Maintenon (still only Mme. Scarron) painfully earning her bread in
bringing up in obscurity the children of Mme. de Montespan and the
King. Mme. Scarron had cleverness and prudence, and at that time was far
from any thought of rivalry; the King could not suffer her. She said
later that he had taken her for a "learned woman," only caring for
"sublime things"[252]; and Louis distrusted Philimantes. It was,
therefore, as a disinterested friend that she "pointed out to Mme. de
Montespan the tempest which she would draw down upon her head in
sustaining Lauzun in this affair; that the royal family and the King
himself would reproach her for the steps she had urged. Mme. Scarron
succeeded so well that the one who urged the marriage was responsible
for preventing it."[253]
Louis XIV. yielded to the urgency of Mme. de Montespan and sent to the
Luxembourg for Mademoiselle. It was eight o'clock in the evening.
Mademoiselle uttered a cry on hearing that the King commanded her
presence. "I am in despair; my marriage is broken." On reaching the
Tuileries, the Princess was led to the King by the back staircase, and
quickly perceived that something was being concealed from her. In fact,
Louis had hidden Conde behind a door, that he might listen and be
witness to what passed.
The door was closed behind me. I found the King alone, moved
and sad. "I am in despair at the thought of what I must tell
you. I am told that the world is saying that I am
sacrificing you to make Lauzun's fortune; that this would injure me
in foreign lands, and that I must not permit the affair to be
consummated. You are right in complaining of me; beat me if you
wish. I will bear the weight of any expression of anger in which
you may indulge, and feel that I merit your indignation." "Ah!"
cried I, "Sire, what do you tell me? What cruelty!"
She mingled protestations with reproaches, sobbed out her despair on her
knees, and pleaded to know the fate of Lauzun. "Where is he, Sire, M. de
Lauzun?" "Do not be troubled! No harm shall come to him."
True sorrow is always eloquent, and Louis XIV. let his own emotion be
visible without shame:
He threw himself on his knees and embraced me. We wept together
three quarters of an hour, his cheek pressed against mine, he
weeping bitterly as I did: "Ah! why have you wasted time in
reflection? why did you not hasten?"--"Alas, Sire! who could
have distrusted your Majesty's word? You have never failed any
one before, and you now begin with me and M. de Lauzun! I shall
die, and be happy in dying. I had never loved any one before in
all my life; I now love, and love passionately and in good
faith, the most worthy man in your kingdom; my only joy and
pleasure will be in his elevation. I hoped to pass the
remainder of my days agreeably with him, and in honouring and
loving you as warmly as my husband. You gave him to me; you now
take him away; it is tearing out my heart."
Some one coughed behind the door. "To whom are you betraying me, Sire?
Can it be M. le Prince?" Mademoiselle grew bitter, and the King wished
to end the scene; but she continued to supplicate him: "What, Sire, will
you not yield to my tears?" He replied, raising his voice so that he
might be heard, "Kings must satisfy the public"; and added, an instant
after, "It is late; I can say no more nor differently, even if you
remained longer." "He embraced me and conducted me to the door."
Such is the recital of Mademoiselle. Another account of the interview
exists, dictated the same evening by Louis to his Minister of Foreign
Affairs, as the following letter, written the next morning, testifies.
Before the King had risen, M. de Lyonne wrote in haste to M. de
Pomponne, the French Ambassador to Holland:
I am overwhelmed with business, and have no time for details,
but I do not doubt that every letter from Paris has brought
news of the projected marriage of the Grande Mademoiselle with
Comte de Lauzun. I must now warn you that the King broke this
off yesterday at eleven o'clock in the evening, so that few
people could be aware of the fact before the departure of the
post. I have already outlined a circular letter from his
Majesty, to be sent to all the Foreign Ministers, to inform
them of what has passed in regard to this affair during the
past seven or eight days; but as the King does not wake before
nine o'clock, and as the courier will by that time have
departed, his Majesty will not be able to sign in time for the
letters to be forwarded to-day, and you must be contented with
the simple news, that the affair is ended. I pray you to send a
copy of this note to M. le Chevalier de Terlon and to the Sieur
Rousseau,[254] and to advise them that I have requested you so
to do.
Before referring to the circular letter of His Majesty upon the subject
which caused the cries and tears of his poor cousin, it should be noted
that it seemed perfectly natural, to judge by the documents of the
times, to advise officially foreign powers of events with which they
were actually but little concerned. In the opinion of the seventeenth
century, the man was inseparable from the sovereign, and France was
deeply impressed with the universal importance of Louis XIV. and by
consequence of the obligations devolving upon him. "He must account to
all Europe for his actions," says, in regard to the "Affair Lauzun," the
"relation" already quoted.[255]
It is also well to recollect, in order to understand the text of the
letter, that one of the half-sisters of Mademoiselle had married the Duc
de Guise, cadet of the House of Lorraine; an alliance hardly less
unequal in the eyes of the French aristocracy than that of Lauzun with
the Princess. This marriage had excited but little attention, there
being a wide difference between the importance of the sisters. Referring
to this event, the "Deputies of the nobility of France" had not failed
to assert that the nobles of France and the officers of the Crown were
quite equal to foreign princes, and in particular to the "Lorraines" in
spite of their pretensions. With this explanation, the text of the long
despatch addressed to the ambassadors is given. It begins in these
terms:
As what has taken place during the past five or six days in
regard to a plan formed by my cousin for marrying the Comte de
Lauzun, one of the Captains of the Body Guard, will probably make a
great noise everywhere, and as my conduct in the matter is liable
to be interpreted malignantly, and to be blamed by those who may be
incorrectly informed of the facts, I believe it a duty to instruct
all my Foreign Ministers."
The King then explains in detail the affair, and this explanation
exactly accords with the recital of Mademoiselle, save that Louis XIV.
states that he was opposed to the marriage from the beginning, and only
yielded because he was weary of the discussion, being constantly
harassed by his cousin and the Deputies of the nobility: "She
[Mademoiselle] continued ... through notes and every other available
means to press me urgently to give the consent she demanded of me, as
this alone could, as she said, give the happiness and repose of her
life." The Deputies had also represented to him
that after having consented to the marriage of my cousin de
Guise, not only without making the least difficulty but with
pleasure, I should resist this, so ardently desired by her
sister, I should clearly show that I made a great distinction
between the cadets of royal houses and the Officers of my
Crown. Such a distinction Spain did not make, but on the other
hand, gave precedence to its own Grandees over any foreign
Princes, and it was impossible that the making of this
difference in France should not greatly mortify the entire
nobility of the kingdom. In conclusion, the urgency of these
four persons was so strong, and their reasons so convincing,
especially that emphasising the danger of insulting the French
nobility, that I yielded, and gave consent to the marriage,
shrugging my shoulders at the folly of my cousin, and only
saying that as she was forty-three, she might do as she pleased.
He continued, "From this moment it was considered that the affair was
concluded." Then follow the details already known, preparations for the
ceremony, the crowd at the Luxembourg; rumours "very injurious" that the
King was responsible for the marriage, wishing to favour Lauzun; and
finally, the resolve to break off the affair.
This is the single point on which Louis XIV. believed it to be his duty
to restrict his confidences to the universe. He passes over in silence
the supplications of Mme de Montespan and the fact of Conde being hidden
behind the door:
I sent for my cousin. I declared to her, that I would not
suffer her to cross the frontier for marriage, and that I could
not consent that she should marry any Prince who was my
subject,[256] but that she might choose among the (qualified)
nobles of France, with the exception of Lauzun, and that I
myself would conduct her to church.
It is superfluous to tell you with what grief she received this
announcement, how she wept and sobbed. She threw herself upon her knees.
"I had pierced her heart with a hundred dagger strokes; she wished to
die"; I remained firm.
The King added that he made the same communication to Lauzun, "and I may
say that he received it with all the self-control, submission, and
resignation which I could desire."[257] It is with the unfavourable
comparison to Mademoiselle that this curious document terminates. Louis
displayed but little generosity before a grief so deep.
The Princess regained her chamber in a pitiable state. She went into
hysterics and broke the windows of the carriage. At the Luxembourg, the
salon was filled with a curious crowd awaiting her return. "Two of her
footmen entered into the room, saying in loud voices, 'Depart at once,
by degrees.' Every one scattered immediately; but I remained the last,
and saw Mademoiselle advance from the hall of the Guards like a
dishevelled fury, menacing heaven and earth with extended arms." She had
barely time to regain a slight degree of calm, when Lauzun entered,
accompanied by Messieurs de Montausier, Crequi, and Guitry. "On seeing
him, I uttered loud cries, and he could hardly restrain himself from
weeping." The nobles of France came at the command of the King to thank
the granddaughter of Henri IV. for the honour that she wished to confer
upon them. M. de Montausier bore the address.
Mademoiselle sobbed. M. de Lauzun had, with full understanding, taken
the expected attitude, of a man who blesses the most cruel blows coming
from the hand of his King. "M. de Lauzun," wrote Mme de Sevigne, "has
played his role to perfection; he has sustained his misfortune with
firmness and courage, and has nevertheless displayed a grief, mingled
with profound respect, which has won the admiration of all."[258]
The Princess would have been contented with something less admirable.
She said to him: "'You show such strength of mind, that all will believe
you to be indifferent to me. What do you say?' and I sobbed with each
word." He responded very coolly: "If you take my counsel, you will go
to-morrow to dine at the Tuileries, and will thank the King for the
honour that he has done you, in having prevented an action of which you
would have repented all your life." She led her lover aside and had the
pleasure of seeing him weep. "He could not speak, nor could I. I could
only say: 'What! I am never to see you more? I shall certainly die.'
Then we turned around.... These gentlemen departed; I went to bed; I
remained twenty-four hours almost without consciousness." She forbade
any one to be admitted. Her door was, however, opened on Friday morning
for Mme. de Sevigne. Just twenty-four hours had elapsed since
Mademoiselle had overflowed with joy before her friend and despised any
warnings. "I found her in bed[259]; she redoubled her cries on seeing
me; called me, embraced me, and deluged me with her tears. She said:
'Alas! do you remember what you said yesterday? Ah! what cruel
prudence!' I wept through sympathy with her woe." A little later the
King was announced. "When he entered," reports Mademoiselle, "I began to
cry with all my strength; he embraced me and placed his cheek against
mine. I said, 'Your Majesty acts like monkeys who stifle their children
embracing them.'" As he was promising all kinds of wonderful things to
console her, among others "that he would do fine things for M. de
Lauzun," she had the presence of mind, in spite of her anguish, to
demand if she might not see her friend again. The reply of the King
should be remembered, as it brought serious results for his cousin. He
said: "I do not forbid you to see him; ... and assuredly you cannot take
advice of a worthier man in regard to any of your affairs than Lauzun."
She hastened to confirm the permission. "It is my intention, Sire, and I
am very happy that you desire that he should continue to be my best
friend; but at least, Sire, you will not change as you did before? I
cannot help reproaching you."
The succeeding days she was obliged to reopen her doors, and the same
crowd which had feigned to rejoice with her now pretended to pity her.
It was necessary to see again the same faces, to submit to curious
looks, glances filled with raillery, and to reply to _banal_ remarks.
There was much joking in Paris at her having received condolences in
bed, after the fashion of widows. "I have heard in the salon of Mme. de
Maintenon," relates Mme. de Caylus,[260] "that she cried out in her
despair, 'He should be there beside me!'"
A grand Princess, to be dying of love and for a simple cadet from
Gascogne, almost a country fellow; this was a novel spectacle, which so
shocked all ideas of decorum that the public could not take to heart
very seriously this slightly theatrical grief. It was pretended that
Louis had said, "This is only a fantasy born in three days and which
will pass as rapidly." True or false, the King wished to believe this,
and the phrase received general approbation. It relieved the fashionable
world from the duty of sympathising with the unfortunate, who was eating
out her own heart, and visibly fading away.
"I grew thin, with hollow cheeks, as a person who neither eats nor
sleeps, and I wept the minute that I was alone, or when I met any
friends of M. de Lauzun and they talked of events which had any
connection with him. I always desired to speak of him." The hope of a
speedy death was her sole consolation, for no one, she was convinced had
so deeply suffered. "My state was pitiable, and it must have been
experienced to be appreciated, for such feelings cannot be expressed. It
is necessary to know one's self, in order to judge, and no one can have
felt a grief equal to mine; there is nothing which can compare with it."
This is the universal language of disappointed lovers; but the
expressive phrase below is not at the disposal of all souls. It is only
applicable to moments in which the excess of grief renders it almost
unconscious: "On account of feeling too much, I felt nothing."
The fifth day, etiquette exacted that she should find herself consoled.
Her duties as Princess were recalled to her. "It was needful to go to
Court, it was not well to pass eight days without seeing the King."
In vain she fought against such cruel exactions; she was forced to make
a spectacle of herself, still with "discomposed face, red and swollen
eyes, with constant floods of tears, at proper or improper moments, with
sharp cries at sight of Lauzun."
Lauzun opened his eyes wide upon her as upon a naughty child, and
severely menaced her: "If you act in this manner, I will never be found
again in the same room with you!" But she could not compose herself. One
evening, at a great Court ball, she stopped in the middle of a dance and
began to weep. The King rose and placed his hat before her face, leading
her out of the room and explaining, "My cousin has vapours." The public
did not pity her. It would have liked to celebrate her defeat. "All have
praised the King for this action," wrote Olivier d'Ormesson.
Louis XIV. was again popular, a transient popularity which lasted only a
few days. "It may be said that not only the Court, but the entire
kingdom has rejoiced in the rupture of the proposed marriage."[261] The
sentiment of approval was unanimous. As to the Princess, who was guilty
of asserting the right to "personal happiness," opinion judged her
severely. The seventeenth century did not admit, as has been seen, that
individual sentiments or the interests of the heart could predominate
over the exactions of rank or society, and the age of the lovers and
disparity of their appearance, she so tall, he almost a dwarf, aroused
ridicule instead of sympathy. The Grande Mademoiselle was suddenly
rewarded "with contempt," "for," says La Fare, "if this contemplated
alliance appeared extraordinary as soon as the news was made public, it
became ridiculous as soon as it was broken."
It is agreeable to meet among these people, who were right in the main,
but who were malicious and uncharitable, one good Samaritan.
While Mme. de Sevigne wrote gaily, "All is finished,"[262] the tears of
Mademoiselle inspired kind and courageous words from a person
comparatively obscure, and who excused herself from corresponding
because she did not have enough "wit." A letter, dated January 21, 1671,
addressed to Bussy-Rabutin by Mme. de Scudery, sister-in-law of the
illustrious Madeleine, contains this paragraph:
I will say nothing of the affair of Mademoiselle. You are no
doubt acquainted with all that has passed. I will only add
that, if you realise what a great passion can be, in the heart
of a pure woman like the Princess, you will not wonder, but
will have sympathy. For myself, who know nothing of love
through experience, I comprehend that Mademoiselle is much
to be pitied; for she has become sleepless. During the day she
is agitated and weeps, and in fact is leading the most miserable
existence possible.[263]
Bussy-Rabutin replied (A Chaseu, January 29, 1671):
I comprehend what passion means in a woman of the age and
temperament of Mademoiselle, who has preserved her heart
hitherto untouched, and I confess that this tale arouses my
pity. Love seems to me a malady like the small-pox; the later
it attacks the victim, the more severe the illness.
The writer had indeed well understood the characteristics of late love
on only its displeasing side. But his attitude was, unfortunately, the
one adopted by almost every one.
Regarded half-pityingly, but with an undercurrent of ridicule, the
Grande Mademoiselle ceased to be interesting to the fickle French
public. The fall from favour was very definite. The heroine of the
Fronde was effaced in the eyes of contemporaries, and remained only a
ridiculous old maid, whose woes amused the gallery.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 209: The Grande Equerry, Louis de Lorraine, Comte d' Armagnac.]
[Footnote 210: The Marquis de Puyguilhem (written Peguilin) had taken
the name of Comte de Lauzun the following January. The latter title will
be used in this volume.]
[Footnote 211: See the portrait of Straton in the chapter entitled "De
la Cour."]
[Footnote 212: Saint-Simon, _Ecrits inedits_.]
[Footnote 213: Lauzun became Captain of the Body Guard in July, 1669.]
[Footnote 214: Letter to Mme. de Sevigne, dated February 2, 1669.]
[Footnote 215: _Memoires et Reflexions_ of the Marquis de la Fare.]
[Footnote 216: The sister of the Grand Conde. Upon her part in the
Fronde, see _The Youth of La Grande Mademoiselle_.]
[Footnote 217: M. de Saint-Paul began toward this time to bear the name
of de Longueville.]
[Footnote 218: This conversation, which gives the key to the conduct of
Lauzun, is reported in _Le Perroquet or Les amours de Mademoiselle_, an
anonymous recital printed by M. Livet following the _Histoire amoureuse
des Gaules_ (Paris, Jannet, 1857); and in the _Histoire de Mademoiselle
et du Comte de Losun_ (Bibl. Saint-Genevieve MS. 3208), not always
sources to be relied on, but to be trusted here.]
[Footnote 219: War between relatives for the succession.]
[Footnote 220: _Lettres historiques._ Pellison accompanied the Court as
historiographer.]
[Footnote 221: Plaques: pieces of embossed silver, at the lower part of
which was placed a chandelier.]
[Footnote 222: _Memoires_ of Mademoiselle.]
[Footnote 223: _De La Valliere a Montespan_, by Jean Lemoine and Andre
Lichtenberger.]
[Footnote 224: Emmanuel II. de Crussol, Duc d'Uzes. He married the
daughter of the Duc de Montausier and of Julie d'Angennes.]
[Footnote 225: Probably the uncle by marriage of Bussy-Rabutin.]
[Footnote 226: Romecourt was Lieutenant of the King's Guards.]
[Footnote 227: It is evident that these last were carried in the private
carriages, ready for any accident.]
[Footnote 228: _Gazette de Renaudot._]
[Footnote 229: Captain of the Body Guard. Afterward, Duc de Noailles,
and Marshal of France.]
[Footnote 230: First physician to the King.]
[Footnote 231: _Histoire de Madame Henriette d'Angleterre._]
[Footnote 232: Mme. de Sevigne to Bussy-Rabutin. Letter of July 6,
1670.]
[Footnote 233: Mme. de Sevigne to Bussy-Rabutin (letter dated January
15, 1687), speaking of Conde's death.]
[Footnote 234: Charles d'Harcourt, chevalier, afterward Comte de
Beuvron, was one of those whom rumour accused of having contributed to
the death of Madame.]
[Footnote 235: Monsieur had two daughters by his first marriage;
Marie-Louise d'Orleans, who married, in 1679, Charles II. of Spain, and
Anne-Marie de Valois, married, in 1684, to Victor-Amedee II., Duc de
Savoie.]
[Footnote 236: Cf. _Memoires de Louis XIV_. "for the year 1666." Edited
by Charles Dreyss.]
[Footnote 237: Cf. _Segraisiana._]
[Footnote 238: _Memoires de l'Abbe de Choisy._]
[Footnote 239: Don Miguel de Iturrieta to Don Diego de la Torre.
_Archives de la Bastille._]
[Footnote 240: _Mme. de Montespan et Louis XIV._, by P. Clement.]
[Footnote 241: _Histoire_ etc. (Bibl. Sainte-Genevieve, MS. 3208). The
same version is found with slight variations in _Le Perroquet_, etc.]
[Footnote 242: _Memoires de la Fare._]
[Footnote 243: Letter dated January 26, 1680.]
[Footnote 244: Second son of Louis XIV. He died young.]
[Footnote 245: _Cf._ for this chapter, the _Melanges_ of Philibert
Delamare (Bibl. Nationale, French MS. 23,251), the _Journal_ of
d'Ormesson, and generally the memoirs, correspondences, pamphlets, and
songs of the period.]
[Footnote 246: Philibert Delamare, _loc. cit._]
[Footnote 247: _Journal_ of Olivier d'Ormesson.]
[Footnote 248: Letter to Coulanges, December 31st. The letter announcing
the marriage, too well known to quote, is dated the 15th.]
[Footnote 249: _Memoires de la Fare._]
[Footnote 250: Ancient Governor of the King, who had kept a strong
affection for his pupil.]
[Footnote 251: Philibert Delamare, _loc. cit._]
[Footnote 252: Mme. de Maintenon, _Lettres historiques et edifiantes_;
_cf. Memoire de Mlle. d'Aumale_, published by M. le Comte
d'Haussonville.]
[Footnote 253: The Abbe de Choisy relates the same scene, but attributes
it to the Princesse de Carignan (Marie de Bourbon-Soissons,
1666-1692).]
[Footnote 254: The French Charge d'Affaires in Sweden and Germany,
_Archives de la Bastille_.]
[Footnote 255: Philibert Delamare, _loc. cit._]
[Footnote 256: This exclusion probably refers to the Prince de Conde,
with whom an alliance would have been considered a danger to the peace
of France.]
[Footnote 257: _La Correspondance de Pomponne_ (Bibl. de l'Arsenal,
4712, 1598, 11. F.), fol. 373. M. Cheruel in the appendix to volume iv.
of _the Memoires de Mademoiselle_, and M. Livet in _l'Histoire amoureuse
des Gaules_, have published this letter after an inexact copy.]
[Footnote 258: Letter dated December 24, 1670.]
[Footnote 259: Letter dated December 31, ----.]
[Footnote 260: _Souvenirs et Correspondance._]
[Footnote 261: Philibert Delamare, _loc. cit._]
[Footnote 262: Letter dated December 24, 1670.]
[Footnote 263: _Correspondance de Bussy-Rabutin_, published by Ludovic
Lalanne.]