Book: The Memoirs of Louis XIV., His Court and The Regency, Complete

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Towards the end of the year, and not long after my return from the army,
the King fixed the day for the marriage of the Duc de Bourgogne to the
young Princesse de Savoy. He announced that on that occasion he should
be glad to see a magnificent Court; and he himself, who for a long time
had worn only the most simple habits, ordered the most superb. This was
enough; no one thought of consulting his purse or his state; everyone
tried to surpass his neighbour in richness and invention. Gold and
silver scarcely sufficed: the shops of the dealers were emptied in a few
days; in a word luxury the most unbridled reigned over Court and city,
for the fete had a huge crowd of spectators. Things went to such a
point, that the King almost repented of what he had said, and remarked,
that he could not understand how husbands could be such fools as to ruin
themselves by dresses for their wives; he might have added, by dresses
for themselves. But the impulse had been given; there was now no time to
remedy it, and I believe the King at heart was glad; for it pleased him
during the fetes to look at all the dresses. He loved passionately all
kinds of sumptuosity at his Court; and he who should have held only to
what had been said, as to the folly of expense, would have grown little
in favour. There was no means, therefore, of being wise among so many
fools. Several dresses were necessary. Those for Madame Saint-Simon and
myself cost us twenty thousand francs. Workmen were wanting to make up
so many rich habits. Madame la Duchesse actually sent her people to take
some by force who were working at the Duc de Rohan's! The King heard of
it, did not like it, and had the workmen sent back immediately to the
Hotel de Rohan, although the Duc de Rohan was one of the men he liked the
least in all France. The King did another thing, which showed that he
desired everybody to be magnificent: he himself chose the design for the
embroidery of the Princess. The embroiderer said he would leave all his
other designs for that. The King would not permit this, but caused him
to finish the work he had in hand, and to set himself afterwards at the
other; adding, that if it was not ready in time, the Princess could do
without it.

The marriage was fixed for Saturday, the 7th of December; and, to avoid
disputes and difficulties, the King suppressed all ceremonies. The day
arrived. At an early hour all the Court went to Monseigneur the Duc de
Bourgogne, who went afterwards to the Princess. A little before mid-day
the procession started from the salon, and proceeded to the chapel.

Cardinal de Coislin performed the marriage service.

As soon as the ceremony was finished, a courier, ready at the door of the
chapel, started for Turin. The day passed wearily. The King and Queen
of England came about seven o'clock in the evening, and some time
afterwards supper was served. Upon rising from the table, the Princess
was shown to her bed, none but ladies being allowed to remain in the
chamber. Her chemise was given her by the Queen of England through the
Duchesse de Lude. The Duc de Bourgogne undressed in another room, in the
midst of all the Court, and seated upon a folding-chair. The King of
England gave him his shirt, which was presented by the Duc de
Beauvilliers. As soon as the Duchesse de Bourgogne was in bed, the Duc
de Bourgogne entered, and placed himself at her side, in the presence of
all the Court. Immediately afterwards everybody went away from the
nuptial chamber, except Monseigneur, the ladies of the Princess, and the
Duc de Beauvilliers, who remained at the pillow by the side of his pupil,
with the Duchesse de Lude on the other side. Monseigneur stopped a
quarter of an hour talking with the newly-married couple, then he made
his son get up, after having told him to kiss the Princess, in spite of
the opposition of the Duchesse de Lude. As it proved, too, her
opposition was not wrong. The King said he did not wish that his
grandson should kiss the end of the Princess's finger until they were
completely on the footing of man and wife. Monsieur le Duc de Bourgogne
after this re-dressed himself in the ante-chamber, and went to his own
bed as usual. The little Duc de Berry, spirited and resolute, did not
approve of the docility of his brother, and declared that he would have
remained in bed. The young couple were not, indeed, allowed to live
together as man and wife until nearly two years afterwards. The first
night that this privilege was granted them, the King repaired to their
chamber hoping to surprise them as they went to bed; but he found the
doors closed, and would not allow them to be opened. The marriage-fetes
spread over several days. On the Sunday there was an assembly in the
apartments of the new Duchesse de Bourgogne. It was magnificent by the
prodigious number of ladies seated in a circle, or standing behind the
stools, gentlemen in turn behind them, and the dresses of all beautiful.
It commenced at six o'clock. The King came at the end, and led all the
ladies into the saloon near the chapel, where was a fine collation, and
the music. At nine o'clock he conducted Monsieur and Madame la Duchesse
de Bourgogne to the apartment of the latter, and all was finished for the
day. The Princess continued to live just as before, and the ladies had
strict orders never to leave her alone with her husband.

On the Wednesday there was a grand ball in the gallery, superbly
ornamented for the occasion. There was such a crowd, and such disorder,
that even the King was inconvenienced, and Monsieur was pushed and
knocked about in the crush. How other people fared may be imagined. No
place was kept--strength or chance decided everything--people squeezed in
where they could. This spoiled all the fete. About nine o'clock
refreshments were handed round, and at half-past ten supper was served.
Only the Princesses of the blood and the royal family were admitted to
it. On the following Sunday there was another ball, but this time
matters were so arranged that no crowding or inconvenience occurred. The
ball commenced at seven o'clock and was admirable; everybody appeared in
dresses that had not previously been seen. The King found that of Madame
de Saint-Simon much to his taste, and gave it the palm over all the
others.

Madame de Maintenon did not appear at these balls, at least only for half
an hour at each. On the following Tuesday all the Court went at four
o'clock in the afternoon to Trianon, where all gambled until the arrival
of the King and Queen of England. The King took them into the theatre,
where Destouches's opera of Isse was very well performed. The opera
being finished, everybody went his way, and thus these marriage-fetes
were brought to an end.

Tesse had married his eldest daughter to La Varenne last year, and now
married his second daughter to Maulevrier, son of a brother of Colbert.
This mention of La Varenne brings to my recollection a very pleasant
anecdote of his ancestor, the La Varenne so known in all the memoirs of
the time as having risen from the position of scullion to that of cook,
and then to that of cloak-bearer to Henry IV., whom he served in his
pleasures, and afterwards in his state-affairs. At the death of the
King, La Varenne retired, very old and very rich, into the country.
Birds were much in vogue at that time, and he often amused himself with
falconry. One day a magpie perched on one of his trees, and neither
sticks nor stones could dislodge it. La Varenne and a number of
sportsmen gathered around the tree and tried to drive away the magpie.
Importuned with all this noise, the bird at last began to cry repeatedly
with all its might, "Pandar! Pandar!"

Now La Varenne had gained all he possessed by that trade. Hearing the
magpie repeat again and again the same word, he took it into his head
that by a miracle, like the observation Balaam's ass made to his master,
the bird was reproaching him for his sins. He was so troubled that he
could not help showing it; then, more and more agitated, he told the
cause of his disturbance to the company, who laughed at him in the first
place, but, upon finding that he was growing really ill, they endeavoured
to convince him that the magpie belonged to a neighbouring village, where
it had learned the word. It was all in vain: La Varenne was so ill that
he was obliged to be carried home; fever seized him and in four days he
died.




CHAPTER XII

Here perhaps is the place to speak of Charles IV., Duc de Lorraine, so
well known by his genius, and the extremities to which he was urged. He
was married in 1621 to the Duchesse Nicole, his cousin-german, but after
a time ceased to live with her. Being at Brussels he fell in love with
Madame de Cantecroix, a widow. He bribed a courier to bring him news of
the death of the Duchesse Nicole; he circulated the report throughout the
town, wore mourning, and fourteen days afterwards, in April, 1637,
married Madame de Cantecroix. In a short time it was discovered that the
Duchesse Nicole was full of life and health, and had not even been ill.
Madame de Cantecroix made believe that she had been duped, but still
lived with the Duke. They continued to repute the Duchesse Nicole as
dead, and lived together in the face of the world as though effectually
married, although there had never been any question either before or
since of dissolving the first marriage. The Duc Charles had by this fine
marriage a daughter and then a son, both perfectly illegitimate, and
universally regarded as such. Of these the daughter married Comte de
Lislebonne, by whom she had four children. The son, educated under his
father's eye as legitimate, was called Prince de Vaudemont, and by that
name has ever since been known. He entered the service of Spain,
distinguished himself in the army, obtained the support of the Prince of
Orange, and ultimately rose to the very highest influence and prosperity.
People were astonished this year, that while the Princess of Savoy was at
Fontainebleau, just before her marriage, she was taken several times by
Madame de Maintenon to a little unknown convent at Moret, where there was
nothing to amuse her, and no nuns who were known. Madame de Maintenon
often went there, and Monseigneur with his children sometimes; the late
Queen used to go also. This awakened much curiosity and gave rise to
many reports. It seems that in this convent there was a woman of colour,
a Moorish woman, who had been placed there very young by Bontems, valet
of the King. She received the utmost care and attention, but never was
shown to anybody. When the late Queen or Madame de Maintenon went, they
did not always see her, but always watched over her welfare. She was
treated with more consideration than people the most distinguished; and
herself made much of the care that was taken of her, and the mystery by
which she was surrounded. Although she lived regularly, it was easy to
see she was not too contented with her position. Hearing Monseigneur
hunt in the forest one day, she forgot herself so far as to exclaim,
"My brother is hunting!" It was pretended that she was a daughter of the
King and Queen, but that she had been hidden away on account of her
colour; and the report was spread that the Queen had had a miscarriage.
Many people believed this story; but whether it was true or not has
remained an enigma.

The year 1698 commenced by a reconciliation between the Jesuits and the
Archbishop of Rheims. That prelate upon the occasion of an ordinance had
expressed himself upon matters of doctrine and morality in a manner that
displeased the Jesuits. They acted towards him in their usual manner, by
writing an attack upon him, which appeared without any author's name.
But the Archbishop complained to the King, and altogether stood his
ground so firmly, that in the end the Jesuits were glad to give way,
disavow the book, and arrange the reconciliation which took place.

The Czar, Peter the Great, Emperor of Russia, had at this time already
commenced his voyages; he was in Holland, learning ship-building.
Although incognito, he wished to be recognised, but after his own
fashion; and was annoyed that, being so near to England, no embassy was
sent to him from that country, which he wished to ally himself with for
commercial reasons.

At last an embassy arrived; he delayed for some time to give it an
audience, but in the end fixed the day and hour at which he would see it.
The reception, however, was to take place on board a large Dutch vessel
that he was going to examine. There were two ambassadors; they thought
the meeting-place rather an odd one, but were obliged to go there. When
they arrived on board the Czar sent word that he was in the "top," and
that it was there he would see them. The ambassadors, whose feet were
unaccustomed to rope-ladders, tried to excuse themselves from mounting;
but it was all in vain. The Czar would receive them in the "top" or not
at all. At last they were compelled to ascend, and the meeting took
place on that narrow place high up in the air. The Czar received them
there with as much majesty as though he had been upon his throne,
listened to their harangue, replied very graciously, and then laughed at
the fear painted upon their faces, and good-humouredly gave them to
understand that he had punished them thus for arriving so late.

After this the Czar passed into England, curious to see and learn as much
as possible; and, having well fulfilled his views, repaired into Holland.
He wished to visit France, but the King civilly declined to receive him.
He went, therefore, much mortified, to Vienna instead. Three weeks after
his arrival he was informed of a conspiracy that had been formed against
him in Moscow. He hastened there at once, and found that it was headed
by his own sister; he put her in prison, and hanged her most guilty
accomplices to the bars of his windows, as many each day as the bars
would hold. I have related at once all that regards the Czar for this
year, in order not to leap without ceasing from one matter to another; I
shall do this, and for the same reason, with that which follows.

The King of England was, as I have before said, at the height of
satisfaction at having been recognised by the King (Louis XIV.), and at
finding himself secure upon the throne. But a usurper is never tranquil
and content. William was annoyed by the residence of the legitimate King
and his family at Saint Germains. It was too close to the King (of
France), and too near England to leave him without disquietude. He had
tried hard at Ryswick to obtain the dismissal of James II. from the
realm, or at least from the Court of France, but without effect.
Afterwards he sent the Duke of St. Albans to our King openly, in order to
compliment him upon the marriage of the Duc de Bourgogne, but in reality
to obtain the dismissal.

The Duke of St. Albans meeting with no success, the Duke of Portland was
sent to succeed him. The Duke of Portland came over with a numerous and
superb suite; he kept up a magnificent table, and had horses, liveries,
furniture, and dresses of the most tasteful and costly kind. He was on
his way when a fire destroyed Whitehall, the largest and ugliest palace
in Europe, and which has not since been rebuilt; so that the kings are
lodged, and very badly, at St. James's Palace.

Portland had his first audience of the King on the 4th of February, and
remained four months in France. His politeness, his courtly and gallant
manners, and the good cheer he gave, charmed everybody, and made him
universally popular. It became the fashion to give fetes in his honour;
and the astonishing fact is, that the King, who at heart was more
offended than ever with William of Orange, treated this ambassador with
the most marked distinction. One evening he even gave Portland his
bedroom candlestick, a favour only accorded to the most considerable
persons, and always regarded as a special mark of the King's bounty.

Notwithstanding all these attentions, Portland was as unsuccessful as his
predecessor. The King had firmly resolved to continue his protection to
James II., and nothing could shake this determination. Portland was
warned from the first, that if he attempted to speak to the King upon the
point, his labour would be thrown away; he wisely therefore kept silence,
and went home again without in any way having fulfilled the mission upon
which he had been sent.

We had another distinguished foreigner arrive in France about this time,
--I mean, the Prince of Parma, respecting whom I remember a pleasing
adventure. At Fontainebleau more great dancing-parties are given than
elsewhere, and Cardinal d'Estrees wished to give one there in honour of
this Prince. I and many others were invited to the banquet; but the
Prince himself, for whom the invitation was specially provided, was
forgotten. The Cardinal had given invitations right and left, but by
some omission the Prince had not had one sent to him. On the morning of
the dinner this discovery was made. The Prince was at once sent to, but
he was engaged, and for several days. The dinner therefore took place
without him; the Cardinal was much laughed at for his absence of mind.
He was often similarly forgetful.

The Bishop of Poitiers died at the commencement of this year, and his
bishopric was given at Easter to the Abbe de Caudelet. The Abbe was a
very good man, but made himself an enemy, who circulated the blackest
calumnies against him. Amongst other impostures it was said that the
Abbe had gambled all Good Friday; the truth being, that in the evening,
after all the services were over, he went to see the Marechale de Crequi,
who prevailed upon him to amuse her for an hour by playing at piquet.
But the calumny had such effect, that the bishopric of Poitiers was taken
from him, and he retired into Brittany, where he passed the rest of his
life in solitude and piety. His brother in the meantime fully proved to
Pere de la Chaise the falsehood of this accusation; and he, who was
upright and good, did all he could to bestow some other living upon the
Abbe, in recompense for that he had been stripped of. But the King would
not consent, although often importuned, and even reproached for his
cruelty.

It was known, too, who was the author of the calumny. It was the Abbe de
la Chatre, who for a long time had been chaplain to the King, and who was
enraged against everyone who was made bishop before him. He was a man
not wanting in intelligence, but bitter, disagreeable, punctilious; very
ignorant, because he would never study, and so destitute of morality,
that I saw him say mass in the chapel on Ash Wednesday, after having
passed a night, masked at a ball, where he said and did the most filthy
things, as seen and heard by M. de La Vrilliere, before whom he unmasked,
and who related this to me: half an hour after, I met the Abbe de la
Chatre, dressed and going to the altar. Other adventures had already
deprived him of all chance of being made bishop by the King.

The old Villars died at this time. I have already mentioned him as
having been made chevalier d'honneur to the Duchesse de Chartres at her
marriage. I mention him now, because I omitted to say before the origin
of his name of Orondat, by which he was generally known, and which did
not displease him. This is the circumstance that gave rise to it.
Madame de Choisy, a lady of the fashionable world, went one day to see
the Comtesse de Fiesque, and found there a large company. The Countess
had a young girl living with her, whose name was Mademoiselle
d'Outrelaise, but who was called the Divine. Madame de Choisy, wishing
to go into the bedroom, said she would go there, and see the Divine.
Mounting rapidly, she found in the chamber a young and very pretty girl,
Mademoiselle Bellefonds, and a man, who escaped immediately upon seeing
her. The face of this man being perfectly well made, so struck her,
that, upon coming down again, she said it could only be that of Orondat.
Now that romances are happily no longer read, it is necessary to say that
Orondat is a character in Cyrus, celebrated by his figure and his good
looks, and who charmed all the heroines of that romance, which was then
much in vogue. The greater part of the company knew that Villars was
upstairs to see Mademoiselle de Bellefonds, with whom he was much in
love, and whom he soon afterwards married. Everybody therefore smiled at
this adventure of Orondat, and the name clung ever afterwards to Villars.

The Prince de Conti lost, before this time, his son, Prince la Roche-sur-
Yon, who was only four years old. The King wore mourning for him,
although it was the custom not to do so for children under seven years of
age. But the King had already departed from this custom for one of the
children of M. du Maine, and he dared not afterwards act differently
towards the children of a prince of the blood. Just at the end of
September, M. du Maine lost another child, his only son. The King wept
very much, and, although the child was considerably under seven years of
age, wore mourning for it. The marriage of Mademoiselle to M. de
Lorraine was then just upon the point of taking place; and Monsieur
(father of Mademoiselle) begged that this mourning might be laid aside
when the marriage was celebrated. The King agreed, but Madame la
Duchesse and the Princesse de Conti believed it apparently beneath them
to render this respect to Monsieur, and refused to comply. The King
commanded them to do so, but they pushed the matter so far as to say that
they had no other clothes. Upon this, the King ordered them to send and
get some directly. They were obliged to obey, and admit themselves
vanquished; but they did so not without great vexation. M. de Cambrai's
affairs still continued to make a great stir among the prelates and at
the Court. Madame Guyon was transferred from the Vincennes to the
Bastille, and it was believed she would remain there all her life. The
Ducs de Chevreuse and Beauvilliers lost all favour with M. de Maintenon,
and narrowly escaped losing the favour of the King. An attempt was in
fact made, which Madame de Maintenon strongly supported, to get them
disgraced; and, but for the Archbishop of Paris, this would have taken
place. But this prelate, thoroughly upright and conscientious,
counselled the King against such a step, to the great vexation of his
relations, who were the chief plotters in the conspiracy to overthrow the
two Dukes. As for M. de Cambrai's book 'Les Maxinies des Saints', it was
as little liked as ever, and underwent rather a strong criticism at this
time from M. de La Trappe, which did not do much to improve its
reputation. At the commencement of the dispute M. de Meaux had sent a
copy of 'Les Maximes des Saints' to M. de La Trappe, asking as a friend
for his opinion of the work. M. de La Trappe read it, and was much
scandalized. The more he studied it, the more this sentiment penetrated
him. At last, after having well examined the book, he sent his opinion
to M. de Meaux, believing it would be considered as private, and not be
shown to anybody. He did not measure his words, therefore, but wrote
openly, that if M. de Cambrai was right he might burn the Evangelists,
and complain of Jesus Christ, who could have come into the world only to
deceive us. The frightful force of this phrase was so terrifying, that
M. de Meaux thought it worthy of being shown to Madame de Maintenon; and
she, seeking only to crush M. de Cambrai with all the authorities
possible, would insist upon this opinion of M. de La Trappe being
printed.

It may be imagined what triumphing there was on the one side, and what
piercing cries on the other. The friends of M. de Cambrai complained
most bitterly that M. de La Trappe had mixed himself up in the matter,
and had passed such a violent and cruel sentence upon a book then under
the consideration of the Pope. M. de La Trappe on his side was much
afflicted that his letter had been published. He wrote to M. de Meaux
protesting against this breach of confidence; and said that, although he
had only expressed what he really thought, he should have been careful to
use more measured language, had he supposed his letter would have seen
the light. He said all he could to heal the wounds his words had caused,
but M. de Cambrai and his friends never forgave him for having written
them.

This circumstance caused much discussion, and M. de La Trappe, to whom I
was passionately attached, was frequently spoken of in a manner that
caused me much annoyance. Riding out one day in a coach with some of my
friends, the conversation took this turn. I listened in silence for some
time, and then, feeling no longer able to support the discourse, desired
to be set down, so that my friends might talk at their ease, without pain
to me. They tried to retain me, but I insisted and carried my point.
Another time, Charost, one of my friends, spoke so disdainfully of M. de
La Trappe, and I replied to him with such warmth, that on the instant he
was seized with a fit, tottered, stammered, his throat swelled, his eyes
seemed starting from his head, and his tongue from his mouth. Madame de
Saint-Simon and the other ladies who were present flew to his assistance;
one unfastened his cravat and his shirt-collar, another threw a jug of
water over him and made him drink something; but as for me, I was struck
motionless at the sudden change brought about by an excess of anger and
infatuation. Charost was soon restored, and when he left I was taken to
task by the ladies. In reply I simply smiled. I gained this by the
occurrence, that Charost never committed himself again upon the subject
of M. de La Trappe.

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