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

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At La Ferme I had but few guests: M. de Saint-Louis, an old brigadier of
cavalry, and a Normandy gentleman, who had been in my regiment, and who
was much attached to me. On Saturday, the 11th of the month, and the day
before Quasimodo, I had been walking with them all the morning, and I had
entered all-alone into my cabinet a little before dinner, when a courier
sent by Madame de Saint-Simon, gave me a letter from her, in which I was
informed that Monseigneur was ill!

I learnt afterwards that this Prince, while on his way to Meudon for the
Easter fetes, met at Chaville a priest, who was carrying Our Lord to a
sick person. Monseigneur, and Madame de Bourgogne, who was with him,
knelt down to adore the Host, and then Monseigneur inquired what was the
malady of the patient. "The small-pox," he was told. That disease was
very prevalent just then. Monseigneur had had it, but very lightly, and
when young. He feared it very much, and was struck with the answer he
now received. In the evening he said to Boudin, his chief doctor, "I
should not be surprised if I were to have the small-pox." The day,
however, passed over as usual.

On the morrow, Thursday, the 9th, Monseigneur rose, and meant to go out
wolf-hunting; but as he was dressing, such a fit of weakness seized him,
that he fell into his chair. Boudin made him get into bed again; but all
the day his pulse was in an alarming state. The King, only half informed
by Fagon of what had taken place, believed there was nothing the matter,
and went out walking at Marly after dinner, receiving news from time to
time. Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne and Madame de Bourgogne dined at
Meudon, and they would not quit Monseigneur for one moment. The Princess
added to the strict duties of a daughter-in-law all that her gracefulness
could suggest, and gave everything to Monseigneur with her own hand. Her
heart could not have been troubled by what her reason foresaw; but,
nevertheless, her care and attention were extreme, without any airs of
affectation or acting. The Duc de Bourgogne, simple and holy as he was,
and full of the idea of his duty, exaggerated his attention; and although
there was a strong suspicion of the small-pox, neither quitted
Monseigneur, except for the King's supper.

The next day, Friday, the 10th, in reply to his express demands, the King
was informed of the extremely dangerous state of Monseigneur. He had
said on the previous evening that he would go on the following morning to
Meudon, and remain there during all the illness of Monseigneur whatever
its nature might be. He was now as good as his word. Immediately after
mass he set out for Meudon. Before doing so, he forbade his children,
and all who had not had the small-pox, to go there, which was suggested
by a motive of kindness. With Madame de Maintenon and a small suite, he
had just taken up his abode in Meudon, when Madame de Saint-Simon sent me
the letter of which I have just made mention.

I will continue to speak of myself with the same truthfulness I speak of
others, and with as much exactness as possible. According to the terms
on which I was with Monseigneur and his intimates, may be imagined the
impression made upon me by this news. I felt that one way or other, well
or ill, the malady of Monseigneur would soon terminate. I was quite at
my ease at La Ferme. I resolved therefore to wait there until I received
fresh particulars. I despatched a courier to Madame de Saint-Simon,
requesting her to send me another the next day, and I passed the rest of
this day, in an ebb and flow of feelings; the man and the Christian
struggling against the man and the courtier, and in the midst of a crowd
of vague fancies catching glimpses of the future, painted in the most
agreeable colours.

The courier I expected so impatiently arrived the next day, Sunday, after
dinner. The small-pox had declared itself, I learnt, and was going on as
well as could be wished. I believed Monseigneur saved, and wished to
remain at my own house; nevertheless I took advice, as I have done all my
life, and with great regret set out the next morning. At La queue, about
six leagues from Versailles, I met a financier of the name of La
Fontaine, whom I knew well. He was coming from Paris and Versailles, and
came up to me as I changed horses. Monseigneur, he said, was going on
admirably; and he added details which convinced me he was out of all
danger. I arrived at Versailles, full of this opinion, which was
confirmed by Madame de Saint-Simon and everybody I met, so that nobody
any longer feared, except on account of the treacherous nature of this
disease in a very fat man of fifty.

The King held his Council, and worked in the evening with his ministers
as usual. He saw Monseigneur morning and evening, oftentimes in the
afternoon, and always remained long by the bedside. On the Monday I
arrived he had dined early, and had driven to Marly, where the Duchesse
de Bourgogne joined him. He saw in passing on the outskirts of the
garden of Versailles his grandchildren, who had come out to meet him, but
he would not let them come near, and said, "good day" from a distance.
The Duchesse de Bourgogne had had the small-pox, but no trace was left.

The King only liked his own houses, and could not bear to be anywhere
else. This was why his visits to Meudon were few and short, and only
made from complaisance. Madame de Maintenon was still more out of her
element there. Although her chamber was everywhere a sanctuary, where
only ladies entitled to the most extreme familiarity entered, she always
wanted another retreat near at hand entirely inaccessible except to the
Duchesse de Bourgogne alone, and that only for a few instants at a time.
Thus she had Saint-Cyr for Versailles and for Marly; and at Marly also a
particular retiring place; at Fontainebleau she had her town house.
Seeing therefore that Monseigneur was getting on well, and that a long
sojourn it Meudon would be necessary, the upholsterers of the King were
ordered to furnish a house in the park which once belonged to the
Chancellor le Tellier, but which Monseigneur had bought.

When I arrived at Versailles, I wrote to M. de Beauvilliers at Meudon
praying him to apprise the King that I had returned on account of the
illness of Monseigneur, and that I would have gone to see him, but that,
never having had the small-pox, I was included in the prohibition. M. de
Beauvilliers did as I asked, and sent word back to me that my return had
been very well timed, and that the King still forbade me as well as
Madame de Saint-Simon to go to Meudon. This fresh prohibition did not
distress me in the least. I was informed of all that was passing there;
and that satisfied me.

There were yet contrasts at Meudon worth noticing. Mademoiselle Choin
never appeared while the King was with Monseigneur, but kept close in her
loft. When the coast was clear she came out, and took up her position at
the sick man's bedside. All sorts of compliments passed between her and
Madame de Maintenon, yet the two ladies never met. The King asked Madame
de Maintenon if she had seen Mademoiselle Choin, and upon learning that
she had not, was but ill-pleased. Therefore Madame de Maintenon sent
excuses and apologies to Mademoiselle Choin, and hoped she said to see
her soon,--strange compliments from one chamber to another under the same
roof. They never saw each other afterwards.

It should be observed, that Pere Tellier was also incognito at Meudon,
and dwelt in a retired room from which he issued to see the King, but
never approached the apartments of Monseigneur.

Versailles presented another scene. Monseigneur le Duc and Madame la
Duchesse de Bourgogne held their Court openly there; and this Court
resembled the first gleamings of the dawn. All the Court assembled
there; all Paris also; and as discretion and precaution were never French
virtues, all Meudon came as well. People were believed on their word
when they declared that they had not entered the apartments of
Monseigneur that day, and consequently could not bring the infection.
When the Prince and Princess rose, when they weft to bed, when they dined
and supped with the ladies,--all public conversations--all meals--all
assembled--were opportunities of paying court to them. The apartments
could not contain the crowd. The characteristic features of the room
were many. Couriers arrived every quarter of an hour, and reminded
people of the illness of Monseigneur--he was going on as well as could be
expected; confidence and hope were easily felt; but there was an extreme
desire to please at the new Court. The young Prince and the Princess
exhibited majesty and gravity, mixed with gaiety; obligingly received
all, continually spoke to every one; the crowd wore an air of
complaisance; reciprocal satisfaction showed in every face; the Duc and
Duchesse de Berry ware treated almost as nobody. Thus five days fled
away in increasing thought of future events--in preparation to be ready
for whatever might happen.

On Tuesday, the 14th of April, I went to see the chancellor, and asked
for information upon the state of Monseigneur. He assured me it was
good, and repeated to me the words Fagon had spoken to him, "that things
were going an according to their wishes, and beyond their hopes." The
Chancellor appeared to me very confident, and I had faith in him, so much
the more, because he was on extremely good footing with Monseigneur. The
Prince, indeed, had so much recovered, that the fish-women came in a body
the self-same day to congratulate him, as they did after his attack of
indigestion. They threw the themselves at the foot of his bed, which
they kissed several times, and in their joy said they would go back to
Paris and have a Te Deum sung. But Monseigneur, who was not insensible
to these marks of popular affection, told them it was not yet time,
thanked them, and gave them a dinner and some money.

As I was going home, I saw the Duchesse d'Orleans walking on a terrace.
She called to me; but I pretended not to notice her, because La Montauban
was with her, and hastened home, my mind filled with this news, and
withdrew to my cabinet. Almost immediately afterwards Madame la Duchesse
d'Orleans joined me there. We were bursting to speak to each other
alone, upon a point on which our thoughts were alike. She had left
Meudon not an hour before, and she had the same tale to tell as the
Chancellor. Everybody was at ease there she said; and then she extolled
the care and capacities of the doctors, exaggerating their success; and,
to speak frankly and to our shame, she and I lamented together to see
Monseigneur, in spite of his age and his fat, escape from so dangerous an
illness. She reflected seriously but wittily, that after an illness of
this sort, apoplexy was not to be looked for; that an attack of
indigestion was equally unlikely to arise, considering the care
Monseigneur had taken not to over-gorge himself since his recent danger;
and we concluded more than dolefully, that henceforth we must make up our
minds that the Prince would live and reign for a long time. In a word,
we let ourselves loose in this rare conversation, although not without an
occasional scruple of conscience which disturbed it. Madame de Saint-
Simon all devoutly tried what she could to put a drag upon our tongues,
but the drag broke, so to speak, and we continued our free discourse,
humanly speaking very reasonable on our parts, but which we felt,
nevertheless, was not according to religion. Thus two hours passed,
seemingly very short. Madame d'Orleans went away, and I repaired with
Madame de Saint-Simon to receive a numerous company.

While thus all was tranquillity at Versailles, and even at Meudon,
everything had changed its aspect at the chateau. The King had seen
Monseigneur several times during the day; but in his after-dinner visit
he was so much struck with the extraordinary swelling of the face and of
the head, that he shortened his stay, and on leaving the chateau, shed
tears. He was reassured as much as possible, and after the council he
took a walk in the garden.

Nevertheless Monseigneur had already mistaken Madame la Princesse de
Conti for some one else; and Boudin, the doctor, was alarmed.
Monseigneur himself had been so from the first, and he admitted, that for
a long time before being attacked, he had been very unwell, and so much
on Good Friday, that he had been unable to read his prayer-book at
chapel.

Towards four o'clock he grew worse, so much so that Boudin proposed to
Fagon to call in other doctors, more familiar with the disease than they
were. But Fagon flew into a rage at this, and would call in nobody. He
declared that it would be better to act for themselves, and to keep
Monseigneur's state secret, although it was hourly growing worse, and
towards seven o'clock was perceived by several valets and courtiers. But
nobody dared to open his mouth before Fagon, and the King was actually
allowed to go to supper and to finish it without interruption, believing
on the faith of Fagon that Monseigneur was going on well.

While the King supped thus tranquilly, all those who were in the sick-
chamber began to lose their wits. Fagon and the others poured down
physic on physic, without leaving time for any to work. The Cure, who
was accustomed to go and learn the news every evening, found, against all
custom, the doors thrown wide open, and the valets in confusion. He
entered the chamber, and perceiving what was the matter, ran to the
bedside, took the hand of Monseigneur, spoke to him of God, and seeing
him full of consciousness, but scarcely able to speak, drew from him a
sort of confession, of which nobody had hitherto thought, and suggested
some acts of contrition. The poor Prince repeated distinctly several
words suggested to him, and confusedly answered others, struck his
breast, squeezed the Cure's hand, appeared penetrated with the best
sentiments, and received with a contrite and willing air the absolution
of the Cure.

As the King rose from the supper-table, he well-nigh fell backward when
Fagon, coming forward, cried in great trouble that all was lost. It may
be imagined what terror seized all the company at this abrupt passage
from perfect security to hopeless despair. The King, scarcely master of
himself, at once began to go towards the apartment of Monseigneur, and
repelled very stiffly the indiscreet eagerness of some courtiers who
wished to prevent him, saying that he would see his son again, and be
quite certain that nothing could be done. As he was about to enter the
chamber, Madame la Princesse de Conti presented herself before him, and
prevented him from going in. She pushed him back with her hands, and
said that henceforth he had only to think of himself. Then the King,
nearly fainting from a shock so complete and so sudden, fell upon a sofa
that stood near. He asked unceasingly for news of all who passed, but
scarce anybody dared to reply to him. He had sent for here Tellier, who
went into Monseigneur's room; but it was no longer time. It is true the
Jesuit, perhaps to console the King, said that he gave him a well-founded
absolution. Madame de Maintenon hastened after the King, and sitting
down beside him on the same sofa, tried to cry. She endeavoured to lead
away the King into the carriage already waiting for him in the
courtyard, but he would not go, and sat thus outside the door until
Monseigneur had expired.

The agony, without consciousness, of Monseigneur lasted more than an hour
after the King had come into the cabinet. Madame la Duchesse and Madame
la Princesse de Conti divided their cares between the dying man and the
King, to whom they constantly came back; whilst the faculty confounded,
the valets bewildered, the courtiers hurrying and murmuring, hustled
against each other, and moved unceasingly to and fro, backwards and
forwards, in the same narrow space. At last the fatal moment arrived.
Fagon came out, and allowed so much to be understood.

The King, much afflicted, and very grieved that Monseigneur's confession
had been so tardily made, abused Fagon a little; and went away led by
Madame de Maintenon and the two Princesses. He was somewhat struck by
finding the vehicle of Monseigneur outside; and made a sign that he would
have another coach, for that one made him suffer, and left the chateau.
He was not, however, so much occupied with his grief that he could not
call Pontchartrain to arrange the hour of the council on the next day.
I will not comment on this coolness, and shall merely say it surprised
extremely all present; and that if Pontchartrain had not said the council
could be put off, no interruption to business would have taken place.
The King got into his coach with difficulty, supported on both sides.
Madame de Maintenon seated herself beside him. A crowd of officers of
Monseigneur lined both sides of the court on their knees, as he passed
out, crying to him with strange howlings to have compassion on them, for
they had lost all, and must die of hunger.




CHAPTER LVII

While Meudon was filled with horror, all was tranquil at Versailles,
without the least suspicion. We had supped. The company some time after
had retired, and I was talking with Madame de Saint-Simon, who had nearly
finished undressing herself to go to bed, when a servant of Madame la
Duchesse de Berry, who had formerly belonged to us, entered, all
terrified. He said that there must be some bad news from Meudon, since
Monseigneur le Duc de Bourgogne had just whispered in the ear of M. le
Duc de Berry, whose eyes had at once become red, that he left the table,
and that all the company shortly after him rose with precipitation. So
sudden a change rendered my surprise extreme. I ran in hot haste to
Madame la Duchesse de Berry's. Nobody was there. Everybody had gone to
Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne. I followed on with all speed.

I found all Versailles assembled on arriving, all the ladies hastily
dressed--the majority having been on the point of going to bed--all the
doors open, and all in trouble. I learnt that Monseigneur had received
the extreme unction, that he was without consciousness and beyond hope,
and that the King had sent word to Madame de Bourgogne that he was going
to Marly, and that she was to meet him as he passed through the avenue
between the two stables.

The spectacle before me attracted all the attention I could bestow. The
two Princes and the two Princesses were in the little cabinet behind the
bed.

The bed toilette was as usual in the chamber of the Duchesse de
Bourgogne, which was filled with all the Court in confusion. She came
and went from the cabinet to the chamber, waiting for the moment when she
was to meet the King; and her demeanour, always distinguished by the same
graces, was one of trouble and compassion, which the trouble and
compassion of others induced them to take for grief. Now and then, in
passing, she said a few rare words. All present were in truth expressive
personages. Whoever had eyes, without any knowledge of the Court, could
see the interests of all interested painted on their faces, and the
indifference of the indifferent; these tranquil, the former penetrated
with grief, or gravely attentive to themselves to, hide their
emancipation and their joy.

For my part, my first care was to inform myself thoroughly of the state
of affairs, fearing lest there might be too much alarm for too trifling a
cause; then, recovering myself, I reflected upon the misery common to all
men, and that I myself should find myself some day at the gates of death.
Joy, nevertheless, found its way through the momentary reflections of
religion and of humanity, by which I tried to master myself. My own
private deliverance seemed so great and so unhoped for, that it appeared
to me that the State must gain everything by such a loss. And with these
thoughts I felt, in spite of myself, a lingering fear lest the sick man
should recover, and was extremely ashamed of it.

Wrapped up thus in myself, I did not fail, nevertheless, to cast
clandestine looks upon each face, to see what was passing there. I saw
Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans arrive, but her countenance, majestic and
constrained, said nothing. She went into the little cabinet, whence she
presently issued with the Duc d'Orleans, whose activity and turbulent air
marked his emotion at the spectacle more than any other sentiment. They
went away, and I notice this expressly, on account of what happened
afterwards in my presence.

Soon afterwards I caught a distant glimpse of the Duc de Bourgogne, who
seemed much moved and troubled; but the glance with which I probed him
rapidly, revealed nothing tender, and told merely of a mind profoundly
occupied with the bearings of what had taken place.

Valets and chamber-women were already indiscreetly crying out; and their
grief showed well that they were about to lose something!

Towards half-past twelve we had news of the King, and immediately after
Madame de Bourgogne came out of the little cabinet with the Duke, who
seemed more touched than when I first saw him. The Princess took her
scarf and her coifs from the toilette, standing with a deliberate air,
her eyes scarcely wet--a fact betrayed by inquisitive glances cast
rapidly to the right and left--and, followed only by her ladies, went to
her coach by the great staircase.

I took the opportunity to go to the Duchesse d'Orleans, where I found
many people. Their presence made me very impatient; the Duchess, who was
equally impatient, took a light and went in. I whispered in the ear of
the Duchesse de Villeroy, who thought as I thought of this event. She
nudged me, and said in a very low voice that I must contain myself.
I was smothered with silence, amidst the complaints and the narrative
surprises of these ladies; but at last M. le Duc d'Orleans appeared at
the door of his cabinet, and beckoned me to come to him.

I followed him into the cabinet, where we were alone. What was my
surprise, remembering the terms on which he was with Monseigneur, to see
the tears streaming from his eyes.

"Sir!" exclaimed I, rising: He understood me at once; and answered in a
broken voice, really crying: "You are right to be surprised--I am
surprised myself; but such a spectacle touches. He was a man with whom I
passed much of my life, and who treated me well when he was uninfluenced.
I feel very well that my grief won't last long; in a few days I shall
discover motives of joy; at present, blood, relationship, humanity,--all
work; and my entrails are moved." I praised his sentiments, but repeated
my surprise. He rose, thrust his head into a corner, and with his nose
there, wept bitterly and sobbed, which if I had not seen I could not have
believed.

After a little silence, however, I exhorted him to calm himself. I
represented to him that, everybody knowing on what terms he had been with
Monseigneur, he would be laughed at, as playing a part, if his eyes
showed that he had been weeping. He did what he could to remove the
marks of his tears, and we then went back into the other room.

The interview of the Duchesse de Bourgogne with the King had not been
long. She met him in the avenue between the two stables, got down, and
went to the door of the carriage. Madame de Maintenon cried out, "Where
are you going? We bear the plague about with us." I do not know what
the King said or did. The Princess returned to her carriage, and came
back to Versailles, bringing in reality the first news of the actual
death of Monseigneur.

Acting upon the advice of M. de Beauvilliers, all the company had gone
into the salon. The two Princes, Monseigneur de Bourgogne and M. de
Berry, were there, seated on one sofa, their Princesses at their sides;
all the rest of the company were scattered about in confusion, seated or
standing, some of the ladies being on the floor, near the sofa. There
could be no doubt of what had happened. It was plainly written on every
face in the chamber and throughout the apartment. Monseigneur was no
more: it was known: it was spoken of: constraint with respect to him no
longer existed. Amidst the surprise, the confusion, and the movements
that prevailed, the sentiments of all were painted to the life in looks
and gestures.

In the outside rooms were heard the constrained groans and sighs of the
valets--grieving for the master they had lost as well as for the master
that had succeeded. Farther on began the crowd of courtiers of all
kinds. The greater number--that is to say the fools--pumped up sighs as
well as they could, and with wandering but dry eyes, sung the praises of
Monseigneur--insisting especially on his goodness. They pitied the King
for the loss of so good a son. The keener began already to be uneasy
about the health of the King; and admired themselves for preserving so
much judgment amidst so much trouble, which could be perceived by the
frequency of their repetitions. Others, really afflicted--the
discomfited cabal--wept bitterly, and kept themselves under with an
effort as easy to notice as sobs. The most strong-minded or the wisest,
with eyes fixed on the ground, in corners, meditated on the consequences
of such an event--and especially on their own interests. Few words
passed in conversation--here and there an exclamation wrung from grief
was answered by some neighbouring grief--a word every quarter of an hour
--sombre and haggard eyes--movements quite involuntary of the hands--
immobility of all other parts of the body. Those who already looked upon
the event as favourable in vain exaggerated their gravity so as to make
it resemble chagrin and severity; the veil over their faces was
transparent and hid not a single feature. They remained as motionless as
those who grieved most, fearing opinion, curiosity, their own
satisfaction, their every movement; but their eyes made up for their
immobility. Indeed they could not refrain from repeatedly changing their
attitude like people ill at ease, sitting or standing, from avoiding each
other too carefully, even from allowing their eyes to meet--nor repress a
manifest air of liberty--nor conceal their increased liveliness--nor put
out a sort of brilliancy which distinguished them in spite of themselves.

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