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

D >> Duc de Saint Simon >> The Memoirs of Louis XIV., His Court and The Regency, Complete




The Czar never forgot this service of his wife, by whose courage and
presence of mind he had been saved. The esteem he conceived for her,
joined to his friendship, induced him to crown her Czarina, and to
consult her upon all his affairs and all his schemes. Escaped from
danger, he was a long time without giving up Azof, or demolishing his
forts on the Black Sea. As for his vessels, he kept them nearly all, and
would not allow the King of Sweden to return into Germany, as he had
agreed, thus almost lighting up a fresh war with the Turk.

On the 6th of November, 1711, at about eight o'clock in the evening, the
shock of an earthquake was felt in Paris and at Versailles; but it was so
slight that few people perceived it. In several places towards Touraine
and Poitou, in Saxony, and in some of the German towns near, it was very
perceptible at the same day and hour. At this date a new tontine was
established in Paris.

I have so often spoken of Marshal Catinat, of his virtue, wisdom,
modesty, and disinterestedness; of the rare superiority of his
sentiments, and of his great qualities as captain, that nothing remains
for me to say except that he died at this time very advanced in years,
at his little house of Saint-Gratien, near Saint-Denis, where he had
retired, and which he seldom quitted, although receiving there but few
friends. By his simplicity and frugality, his contempt for worldly
distinction, and his uniformity of conduct, he recalled the memory of
those great men who, after the best-merited triumphs, peacefully returned
to the plough, still loving their country and but little offended by the
ingratitude of the Rome they had so well served. Catinat placed his
philosophy at the service of his piety. He had intelligence, good sense,
ripe reflection; and he never forgot his origin; his dress, his
equipages, his furniture, all were of the greatest simplicity. His air
and his deportment were so also. He was tall, dark, and thin; had an
aspect pensive, slow, and somewhat mean; with very fine and expressive
eyes. He deplored the signal faults that he saw succeed each other
unceasingly; the gradual extinction of all emulation; the luxury, the
emptiness, the ignorance, the confusion of ranks; the inquisition in the
place of the police: he saw all the signs of destruction, and he used to
say it was only a climax of dangerous disorder that could restore order
to the realm.

Vendome was one of the few to whom the death of the Dauphin and the
Dauphine brought hope and joy. He had deemed himself expatriated for the
rest of his life. He saw, now, good chances before him of returning to
our Court, and of playing a part there again. He had obtained some
honour in Spain; he aimed at others even higher, and hoped to return to
France with all the honours of a Prince of the Blood. His idleness, his
free living, his debauchery, had prolonged his stay upon the frontier,
where he had more facilities for gratifying his tastes than at Madrid.
In that city, it is true, he did not much constrain himself, but he was
forced to do so to some extent by courtly usages. He was, then, quite at
home on the frontier; there was nothing to do; for the Austrians,
weakened by the departure of the English, were quite unable to attack;
and Vendome, floating upon the delights of his new dignities, thought
only of enjoying himself in the midst of profound idleness, under pretext
that operations could not at once be commenced.

In order to be more at liberty he separated from the general officers,
and established himself with his valets and two or three of his most
familiar friends, cherished companions everywhere, at Vignarez, a little
isolated hamlet, almost deserted, on the sea-shore and in the kingdom of
Valencia. His object was to eat fish there to his heart's content. He
carried out that object, and filled himself to repletion for nearly a
month. He became unwell--his diet, as may be believed, was enough to
cause this--but his illness increased so rapidly, and in so strange a
manner, after having for a long time seemed nothing that the few around
him suspected poison, and sent on all sides for assistance. But the
malady would not wait; it augmented rapidly with strange symptoms.
Vendome could not sign a will that was presented to him; nor a letter to
the King, its which he asked that his brother might be permitted to
return to Court. Everybody near flew from him and abandoned him, so that
he remained in the hands of three or four of the meanest valets, whilst
the rest robbed him of everything and decamped. He passed thus the last
two or three days of his life, without a priest,--no mention even had
been made of one,--without other help than that of a single surgeon.
The three or four valets who remained near him, seeing him at his last
extremity, seized hold of the few things he still possessed, and for want
of better plunder, dragged off his bedclothes and the mattress from under
him. He piteously cried to them at least not to leave him to die naked
upon the bare bed. I know not whether they listened to him.

Thus died on Friday, the 10th of June, 1712, the haughtiest of men; and
the happiest, except in the later years of his life. After having been
obliged to speak of him so often, I get rid of him now, once and for
ever. He was fifty-eight years old; but in spite of the blind and
prodigious favour he had enjoyed, that favour had never been able to make
ought but a cabal hero out of a captain who was a very bad general, and a
man whose vices were the shame of humanity. His death restored life and
joy to all Spain.

Aguilar, a friend of the Duc de Noailles, was accused of having poisoned
him; but took little pains to defend himself, inasmuch as little pains
were taken to substantiate the accusation. The Princesse des Ursins, who
had so well profited by his life in order to increase her own greatness,
did not profit less by his death. She felt her deliverance from a new
Don Juan of Spain who had ceased to be supple in her hands, and who might
have revived, in the course of time, all the power and authority he had
formerly enjoyed in France. She was not shocked them by the joy which
burst out without constraint; nor by the free talk of the Court, the
city, the army, of all Spain. But in order to sustain what she had done,
and cheaply pay her court to M. du Maine, Madame de Maintenon, and even
to the King, she ordered that the corpse of this hideous monster of
greatness and of fortune should be carried to the Escurial. This was
crowning the glory of M. de Vendome in good earnest; for no private
persons are buried in the Escurial, although several are to be found in
Saint-Denis. But meanwhile, until I speak of the visit I made to the
Escurial--I shall do so if I live long enough to carry these memoirs up
to the death of M. d'Orleans,--let me say something of that illustrious
sepulchre.

The Pantheon is the place where only the bodies of kings and queens who
have had posterity are admitted. In a separate place, near, though not
on the same floor, and resembling a library, the bodies of children, and
of queens who have had no posterity, are ranged. A third place, a sort
of antechamber to the last named, is rightly called "the rotting room;"
whilst the other improperly bears the same name. In whilst third room,
there is nothing to be seen but four bare walls and a table in the
middle. The walls being very thick, openings are made in them in which
the bodies are placed. Each body has an opening to itself, which is
afterwards walled up, so that nothing is seen. When it is thought that
the corpse has been closed up sufficiently long to be free from odour the
wall is opened, the body taken out, and put in a coffin which allows a
portion of it to be seen towards the feet. This coffin is covered with a
rich stuff and carried into an adjoining room.

The body of the Duc de Vendome had been walled up nine years when I
entered the Escurial. I was shown the place it occupied, smooth like
every part of the four walls and without mark. I gently asked the monks
who did me the honours of the place, when the body would be removed to
the other chamber. They would not satisfy my curiosity, showed some
indignation, and plainly intimated that this removal was not dreamt of,
and that as M. de Vendome had been so carefully walled up he might remain
so!

Harlay, formerly chief-president, of whom I have so often had occasion to
speak, died a short time after M. de Vendome. I have already made him
known. I will simply add an account of the humiliation to which this
haughty cynic was reduced. He hired a house in the Rue de l'Universite
with a partition wall between his garden and that of the Jacobins of the
Faubourg Saint-Germain. The house did not belong to the Jacobins, like
the houses of the Rue Saint-Dominique, and the Rue du Bac, which, in
order that they might command higher rents, were put in connection with
the convent garden. These mendicant Jacobins thus derive fifty thousand
livres a-year. Harlay, accustomed to exercise authority, asked them for
a door into their garden. He was refused. He insisted, had them spoken
to, and succeeded no better. Nevertheless the Jacobins comprehended that
although this magistrate, recently so powerful, was now nothing by
himself, he had a son and a cousin, Councillors of State, whom they might
some day have to do with, and who for pride's sake might make themselves
very disagreeable. The argument of interest is the best of all with
monks. The Jacobins changed their mind. The Prior, accompanied by some
of the notabilities of the convent, went to Harlay with excuses, and said
he was at liberty, if he liked, to make the door. Harlay, true to his
character, looked at them askance, and replied, that he had changed his
mind and would do without it. The monks, much troubled by his refusal,
insisted; he interrupted them and said, "Look you, my fathers, I am
grandson of Achille du Harlay, Chief-President of the Parliament, who so
well served the State and the Kingdom, and who for his support of the
public cause was dragged to the Bastille, where he expected to be hanged
by those rascally Leaguers; it would ill become me, therefore, to enter
the house, or pray to God there, of folks of the same stamp as that
Jacques Clement." And he immediately turned his back upon them, leaving
them confounded. This was his last act of vigour. He took it into his
head afterwards to go out visiting a good deal, and as he preserved all
his old unpleasant manners, he afflicted all he visited; he went even to
persons who had often cooled their heels in his antechambers. By
degrees, slight but frequent attacks of apoplexy troubled his speech, so
that people had great difficulty in understanding him, and he in
speaking. In this state he did not cease his visits and could not
perceive that many doors were closed to him. He died in this misery, and
this neglect, to the great relief of the few who by relationship were
obliged to see him, above all of his son and his domestic.

On the 17th July, a truce between France and England was published in
Flanders, at the head of the troops of the two crowns. The Emperor,
however, was not yet inclined for peace and his forces under Prince
Eugene continued to oppose us in Flanders, where, however, the tide at
last turned in our favour. The King was so flattered by the overflow of
joy that took place at Fontainebleau on account of our successes, that he
thanked the country for it, for the first time in his life. Prince
Eugene, in want of bread and of everything, raised the siege of
Landrecies, which he had been conducting, and terrible desertion took
place among his troops.

About this time, there was an irruption of wolves, which caused great
disorders in the Orleannais; the King's wolf-hunters were sent there, and
the people were authorised to take arms and make a number of grand
battues.




CHAPTER LXII.

Peace was now all but concluded between France and England. There was,
however, one great obstacle still in its way. Queen Anne and her Council
were stopped by the consideration that the king of Spain would claim to
succeed to the Crown of France, if the little Dauphin should die.
Neither England nor any of the other powers at war would consent to see
the two principal crowns of Europe upon the same head. It was necessary,
then, above all things to get rid of this difficulty, and so arrange the
order of succession to our throne, that the case to be provided against
could never happen. Treaties, renunciations, and oaths, all of which the
King had already broken, appeared feeble guarantees in the eyes of
Europe. Something stronger was sought for. It could not be found;
because there is nothing more sacred among men than engagements which
they consider binding on each other. What was wanting then in mere forms
it was now thought could be supplied by giving to those forms the
greatest possible solemnity.

It was a long time before we could get over the difficulty. The King
would accord nothing except promises in order to guarantee to Europe that
the two crowns should never be united upon the same head. His authority
was wounded at the idea of being called upon to admit, as it were, a
rival near it. Absolute without reply, as he had become, he had
extinguished and absorbed even the minutest trace, idea, and recollection
of all other authority, all other power in France except that which
emanated from himself alone. The English, little accustomed to such
maxims, proposed that the States-General should assemble in order to give
weight to the renunciations to be made. They said, and with reason, that
it was not enough that the King of Spain should renounce France unless
France renounced Spain; and that this formality was necessary in order to
break the double bonds which attached Spain to France, as France was
attached to Spain. Accustomed to their parliaments, which are in effect
their States-General, they believed ours preserved the same authority,
and they thought such authority the greatest to be obtained and the best
capable of solidly supporting that of the King.

The effect of this upon the mind of a Prince almost deified in his own
eyes, and habituated to the most unlimited despotism, cannot be
expressed. To show him that the authority of his subjects was thought
necessary in order to confirm his own, wounded him in his most delicate
part. The English were made to understand the weakness and the
uselessness of what they asked; for the powerlessness of our States-
General was explained to them, and they saw at once how vain their help
would be, even if accorded.

For a long time nothing was done; France saying that a treaty of
renunciation and an express confirmatory declaration of the King,
registered in the Parliament, were sufficient; the English replying by
reference to the fate of past treaties. Peace meanwhile was arranged
with the English, and much beyond our hopes remained undisturbed.

In due time matters were so far advanced in spite of obstacles thrown in
the way by the allies, that the Duc d'Aumont was sent as ambassador into
England; and the Duke of Hamilton was named as ambassador for France.
This last, however, losing his life in a duel with Lord Mohun, the Duke
of Shrewsbury was appointed in his stead.

At the commencement of the new year [1713] the Duke and Duchess of
Shrewsbury arrived in Paris. The Duchess was a great fat masculine
creature, more than past the meridian, who had been beautiful and who
affected to be so still; bare bosomed; her hair behind her ears; covered
with rouge and patches, and full of finicking ways. All her manners were
that of a mad thing, but her play, her taste, her magnificence, even her
general familiarity, made her the fashion. She soon declared the women's
head-dresses ridiculous, as indeed they were. They were edifices of
brass wire, ribbons, hair, and all sorts of tawdry rubbish more than two
feet high, making women's faces seem in the middle of their bodies. The
old ladies wore the same, but made of black gauze. If they moved ever so
lightly the edifice trembled and the inconvenience was extreme. The King
could not endure them, but master as he was of everything was unable to
banish them. They lasted for ten years and more, despite all he could
say and do. What this monarch had been unable to perform, the taste and
example of a silly foreigner accomplished with the most surprising
rapidity. From extreme height, the ladies descended to extreme lowness,
and these head-dresses, more simple; more convenient, and more becoming,
last even now. Reasonable people wait with impatience for some other mad
stranger who will strip our dames of these immense baskets, thoroughly
insupportable to themselves and to others.

Shortly after the Duke of Shrewsbury arrived in Paris, the Hotel de Powis
in London, occupied by our ambassador the Duc d'Aumont, was burnt to the
ground. A neighbouring house was pulled down to prevent others catching
fire. The plate of M. d'Aumont was saved. He pretended to have lost
everything else. He pretended also to have received several warnings
that his house was to be burnt and himself assassinated, and that the
Queen, to whom he had mentioned these warnings, offered to give him a
guard. People judged otherwise in London and Paris, and felt persuaded
he himself had been the incendiary in order to draw money from the King
and also to conceal some monstrous smuggling operations, by which he
gained enormously, and which the English had complained of ever since his
arrival. This is at least what was publicly said in the two courts and
cities, and nearly everybody believed it.

But to return to the peace. The renunciations were ready, towards the
middle of March, and were agreed upon. The King was invited to sign them
by his own most pressing interest; and the Court of England, to which we
owed all, was not less interested in consummating this grand work, so as
to enjoy, with the glory of having imposed it upon all the powers, that
domestic repose which was unceasingly disturbed by the party opposed to
the government, which party, excited by the enemies of peace abroad,
could not cease to cause disquiet to the Queen's minister, while, by
delay in signing, vain hopes of disturbing the peace or hindering its
ratification existed in people's minds. The King of Spain had made his
renunciations with all the solidity and solemnity which could be desired
from the laws, customs, and usages of Spain. It only remained for France
to imitate him.

For the ceremony that was to take place, all that could be obtained in
order to render it more solemn was the presence of the peers. But the
King was so jealous of his authority, and so little inclined to pay
attention to that of others, that he wished to content himself with
merely saying in a general way that he hoped to find all the peers at the
Parliament when the renunciations were made. I told M. d'Orleans that if
the King thought such an announcement as this was enough he might rely
upon finding not a single peer at the Parliament. I added, that if the
King did not himself invite each peer, the master of the ceremonies ought
to do so for him, according to the custom always followed. This warning
had its effect. We all received written invitations, immediately.
Wednesday, the 18th of May, was fixed for the ceremony.

At six o'clock on the morning of that day I went to the apartments of M.
le Duc de Berry, in parliamentary dress, and shortly afterwards M.
d'Orleans came there also, with a grand suite. It had been arranged that
the ceremony was to commence by a compliment from the Chief-President de
Mesmes to M. le Duc de Berry, who was to reply to it. He was much
troubled at this. Madame de Saint-Simon, to whom he unbosomed himself;
found means, through a subaltern, to obtain the discourse of the Chief-
President, and gave it to M. le Duc de Berry, to regulate his reply by.
This, however, seemed too much for him; he admitted so to Madame de
Saint-Simon, and that he knew not what to do. She proposed that I should
take the work off his hands; and he was delighted with the expedient.
I wrote, therefore, a page and a half full of common-sized paper in an
ordinary handwriting. M. le Duc de Berry liked it, but thought it too
long to be learnt. I abridged it; he wished it to be still shorter, so
that at last there was not more than three-quarters of a page. He had
learned it by heart, and repeated it in his cabinet the night before the
ceremony to Madame de Saint-Simon, who encouraged him as much as she
could.

At about half-past six o'clock we set out--M. le Duc d'Orleans, M. le Duc
de Berry, myself, and M. le Duc de Saint-Aignan, in one coach, several
other coaches following. M. le Duc de Berry was very silent all the
journey, appearing to be much occupied with the speech he had learned by
heart. M. d'Orleans, on the contrary, was full of gaiety, and related
some of his youthful adventures, and his wild doings by night in the
streets of Paris. We arrived gently at the Porte de la Conference, that
is to say--for it is now pulled down--at the end of the terrace, and of
the Quai of the Tuileries.

We found there the trumpeters and drummers of M. le Duc de Berry's guard,
who made a great noise all the rest of our journey, which ended at the
Palais de justice. Thence we went to the Sainte-Chapelle to hear mass.
The Chapelle was filled with company, among which were many people of
quality. The crowd of people from this building to the grand chamber was
so great that a pin could not have fallen to the ground. On all sides,
too, folks had climbed up to see what passed.

All the Princes of the blood, the bastards, the peers and the parliament,
were assembled in the palace. When M. le Duc de Berry entered,
everything was ready. Silence having with difficulty been obtained, the
Chief-President paid his compliment to the Prince. When he had finished,
it was for M. le Duc de Berry to reply. He half took off his hat,
immediately put it back again, looked at the Chief-President, and said,
"Monsieur;" after a moment's pause he repeated "Monsieur." Then he
looked at the assembly, and again said, "Monsieur." Afterwards he
turned towards M. d'Orleans, who, like himself, was as red as fire, next
to the Chief-President, and finally stopped short, nothing else than
"Monsieur" having been able to issue from his mouth.

I saw distinctly the confusion of M. le Duc de Berry, and sweated at it;
but what could be done? The Duke turned again towards M. d'Orleans, who
lowered his head. Both were dismayed. At last the Chief-President,
seeing there was no other resource, finished this cruel scene by taking
off his cap to M. le Duc de Berry, and inclining himself very low, as if
the response was finished. Immediately afterwards he told the King's
people to begin. The embarrassment of all the courtiers and the surprise
of the magistracy may be imagined.

The renunciations were then read; and by these the King of Spain and his
posterity gave up all claim to the throne of France, and M. le Duc
d'Orleans, and M. le Duc de Berry to succeed to that of Spain. These and
other forms occupied a long time. The chamber was all the while crowded
to excess. There was not room for a single other person to enter. It
was very late when all was over.

When everything was at an end M. de Saint-Aignan and I accompanied M. le
Duc de Berry and M. le Duc d'Orleans in a coach to the Palais Royal. On
the way the conversation was very quiet. M. le Duc de Berry appeared
dispirited, embarrassed, and vexed. Even after we had partaken of a
splendid and delicate dinner, to which an immense number of other guests
sat down, he did not improve. We were conducted to the Porte Saint-
Honore with the same pomp as that in the midst, of which we had entered
Paris. During the rest of the journey to Versailles M. le Duc de Berry
was as silent as ever.

To add to his vexation, as soon as he arrived at Versailles the Princesse
de Montauban, without knowing a word of what had passed, set herself to
exclaim, with her usual flattery, that she was charmed with the grace and
the appropriate eloquence with which he had spoken at the Parliament, and
paraphrased this theme with all the praises of which it was susceptible.
M. le Duc de Berry blushed with vexation without saying a word; she
recommenced extolling his modesty, he blushing the more, and saying
nothing. When at last he had got rid of her, he went to his own
apartments, said not, a word to the persons he found there, scarcely one
to Madame his wife, but taking Madame de Saint-Simon with him, went into
his library, and shut himself up alone there with her.

Throwing himself into an armchair he cried out that he was dishonoured,
and wept scalding tears. Then he related to Madame de Saint-Simon, in
the midst of sobs, how he had stuck fast at the Parliament, without being
able to utter a word, said that he should everywhere be regarded as an
ass and a blockhead, and repeated the compliments he had received from
Madame de Montauban, who, he said, had laughed at and insulted him,
knowing well what had happened; then, infuriated against her to the last
degree, he called her by all sots of names. Madame de Saint-Simon spared
no exertion in order to calm M. de Berry, assuring him that it was
impossible Madame de Montauban could know what had taken place at the
Parliament, the news not having then reached Versailles, and that she had
had no other object than flattery in addressing him. Nothing availed.
Complaints and silence succeeded each other in the midst of tears. Then,
suddenly falling upon the Duc de Beauvilliers and the King, and accusing
the defects of his education: "They thought only;" he exclaimed,
"of making me stupid, and of stifling all my powers. I was a younger
son. I coped with my brother. They feared the consequences; they
annihilated me. I was taught only to play and to hunt, and they have
succeeded in making me a fool and an ass, incapable of anything, the
laughing-stock and disdain of everybody." Madame de Saint-Simon was
overpowered with compassion, and did everything to calm M. de Berry.
Their strange tete-a-tete lasted nearly two hours, and resumed the next
day but with less violence. By degrees M. le Duc de Berry became
consoled, but never afterwards did any one dare to speak to him of his
misadventure at the peace ceremony.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.