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SECTION II.--LOUIS XIV.
[Illustration: Louis XIV.]
When the King pleased he could be one of the most agreeable and amiable
men in the world; but it was first necessary that he should be intimately
acquainted with persons. He used to joke in a very comical and amusing
manner.
The King, though by no means perfect, possessed some great and many fine
qualities; and by no means deserved to be defamed and despised by his
subjects after his death.
While he lived he was flattered, even to idolatry.
He was so much tormented on my account that I could not have wondered if
he had hated me most cordially. However, he did not; but, on the
contrary, he discovered that all which was said against me sprang from
malice and jealousy.
If he had not been so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of two of the
worst women in the world Montespan, and that old Maintenon, who was even
worse than the other, he would have been one of the best kings that ever
lived; for all the evil that he ever did proceeded from those two women,
and not from himself.
Although I approved of many things he did, I could not agree with him
when he maintained that it was vulgar to love one's relations. Montespan
had instilled this into him, in order that she might get rid of all his
legitimate blood connections, and might suffer none about him but her
bastards; she had even carried matters so far as to seek to confine the
royal favour to her offspring or her creatures.
Our King loved the chase passionately; particularly hawking and stag
hunting.
One day all the world came to Marly to offer their compliments of
condolence; Louis XIV., to get rid of the ceremony, ordered that no
harangues should be made, but that all the Court should enter without
distinction and together at one door, and go out by the other. Among
them came the Bishop of Gap, in a sort of dancing step, weeping large,
hot tears, and smiling at the same moment, which gave to his face the
most grotesque appearance imaginable. Madame, the Dauphine, and I, were
the first who could not restrain ourselves; then the Dauphin and the Duc
de Berri, and at last the King, and everybody who was in the chamber
burst out into loud laughter.
The King, it must be allowed, gave occasion to great scandal on account
of his mistresses; but then he very sincerely repented of these offences.
He had good natural wit, but was extremely ignorant; and was so much
ashamed of it that it became the fashion for his courtiers to turn
learned men into ridicule. Louis XIV. could not endure to hear politics
talked; he was what they call in this country, 'franc du collier'.
At Marly he did not wish the slightest ceremony to prevail. Neither
ambassadors nor other envoys were ever permitted to come here; he never
gave audience; there was no etiquette, and the people went about
'pele-mele'. Out of doors the King made all the men wear their hats; and
in the drawing-room, everybody, even to the captains, lieutenants, and
sublieutenants of the foot-guards, were permitted to be seated. This
custom so disgusted me with the drawing-room that I never went to it.
The King used to take off his hat to women of all descriptions, even, the
common peasants.
When he liked people he would tell them everything he had heard; and for
this reason it was always dangerous to talk to him of that old Maintenon.
Although he loved flattery, he was very often ready to ridicule it.
Montespan and the old woman had spoiled him and hardened his heart
against his relations, for he was naturally of a very affectionate
disposition.
Louis XIV., as well as all the rest of his family, with the exception of
my son, hated reading. Neither the King nor Monsieur had been taught
anything; they scarcely knew how to read and write. The King was the
most polite man in his kingdom, but his son and his grandchildren were
the most rude.
In his youth he had played in the comedy of 'Les Visionnaires', which he
knew by heart, and in which he acted better than the comedians. He did
not know a note of music; but his ear was so correct that he could play
in a masterly style on the guitar, and execute whatever he chose.
It is not astonishing that the King and Monsieur were brought up in
ignorance. The Cardinal (Mazarin) wished to reign absolutely; if the
princes had been better instructed, he would neither have been trusted
nor employed, and this it was his object to prevent, hoping that he
should live much longer than he did. The Queen-mother found all that the
Cardinal did perfectly right; and, besides, it suited her purpose that he
should be indispensable. It is almost a miracle that the King should
have become what he afterwards was.
I never saw the King beat but two men, and they both well deserved it.
The first was a valet, who would not let him enter the garden during one
of his own fetes. The other was a pickpocket, whom the King saw emptying
the pocket of M. de Villars. Louis XIV., who was on horseback, rode
towards the thief and struck him with his cane; the rascal cried out,
"Murder! I shall be killed!" which made us all laugh, and the King
laughed, also. He had the thief taken, and made him give up the purse,
but he did not have him hanged.
The Duchesse de Schomberg was a good deal laughed at because she asked
the King a hundred questions, which is not the fashion here. The King
was not well pleased to be talked to; but he never laughed in any one's
face.
When Louvois proposed to the King for the first time that he should
appoint Madame Dufresnoy, his mistress, a lady of the Queen's bedchamber,
His Majesty replied, "Would you, then, have them laugh at both of us?"
Louvois, however, persisted so earnestly in his request that the King at
length granted it.
The Court of France was extremely agreeable until the King had the
misfortune to marry that old Maintenon; she withdrew him from company,
filled him with ridiculous scruples respecting plays, and told him that
he ought not to see excommunicated persons. In consequence of this she
had a small theatre erected in her own apartments, where plays were acted
twice a week before the King. Instead of the dismissed comedians,
[These dismissed comedians had, as appears by the edition of 1788,
renounced their profession, and had been admitted to the communion.
After that, Madame de Maintenon no longer saw any sin in them.]
she had the Dauphine, my son, the Duc de Berri, and her own nieces, to
play; in her opinion this was much better than the real comedians. The
King, instead of occupying his usual place, was seated behind me in a
corner, near Madame de Maintenon. This arrangement spoilt all, for the
consequence was that few people saw him, and the Court was almost
deserted.
Maintenon told me that the King said to her, "Now that I am old my
children get tired of me and are delighted to find any opportunity of
fixing me here and going elsewhere for their own amusement; Madame alone
stays, and I see that she is glad to be with me still." But she did not
tell me that she had done all in her power to persuade him of the
contrary, and that the King spoke thus by way of reproaching her for the
lies she had invented about me. I learned that afterwards from others.
If the King had been my father I could not have loved him more than I
did; I was always pleased to be with him.
He was fond of the German soldiers, and said that the German horsemen
displayed more grace in the saddle than those of any other nation.
When the King had a design to punish certain libertines, Fagon--[Guy
Crescent Fagon, appointed the King's chief physician in 1693, died in
1718.]--had an amusing conversation with him. He said,--
"Folks made love long before you came into the world, and they will
always continue to do so. You cannot prevent them; and when I hear
preachers talking in the pulpit and railing against such as yield to the
influence of passion, I think it is very much as if I should say to my
phthisical patients, 'You must not cough; it is very wrong to spit.'
Young folks are full of humours, which must be dispersed by one way or
another."
The King could not refrain from laughing.
He was only superstitious in religious matters; for example, with respect
to the miracles of the Virgin, etc.
He had been taught to believe that to make friends with his brother was a
great political stroke and a fine State device; that it made a part of
what is called to reign well.
Since the time of this King it has not been the custom for ladies to talk
of the affairs of the State.
If the King heard that any one had spoken ill of him, he displayed a
proud resentment towards the offender; otherwise it was impossible to be
more polite and affable than he was. His conversation was pleasing in a
high degree. He had the skill of giving an agreeable turn to everything.
His manner of talking was natural, without the least affectation, amiable
and obliging. Although he had not so much courage as Monsieur, he was
still no coward. His brother said that he had always behaved well in
occasions of danger; but his chief fault lay in being soon tired of war,
and wishing to return home.
From the time of his becoming so outrageously devout, all amusements were
suspended for three weeks (at Easter); and before, they were only
discontinued a fortnight.
The King had a peculiarity of disposition which led him easily to behave
harshly to persons who were disagreeable to such as he loved. It was
thus that La Valliere was so ill-treated at the instigation of Montespan.
He was much amused with the Comte de Grammont,--[Philibert, Comte de
Grammont, St. Evremond's hero, and so well known by means of the Memoirs
of Count Antoine Hamilton, his brother-in-law.]--who was very pleasant.
He loaded him with proofs of his kindness, and invited him to join in all
the excursions to Marly, a decided mark of great favour.
The King frequently complained that in his youth he had not been allowed
to converse with people generally, but it was the fault of his natural
temper; for Monsieur, who had been brought up with him, used to talk to
everybody.
Louis XIV. used to say, laughingly, to Monsieur that his eternal
chattering had put him out of conceit with talking. "Ah, mon Dieu!" he
would say, "must I, to please everybody, say as many silly things as my
brother?"
In general, they would not have been taken for brothers. The King was a
large man, and my husband a small one: the latter had very effeminate
inclinations; he loved dress, was very careful of his complexion, and
took great interest in feminine employments and in ceremonies. The King,
on the contrary, cared little about dress, loved the chase and shooting,
was fond of talking of war, and had all manly tastes and habits.
Monsieur behaved well in battle, but never talked of it; he loved women
as companions, and was pleased to be with them. The King loved to see
them somewhat nearer, and not entirely en honneur, as Monsieur did.
[Madame is not a good authority on this point. The memoirs of the
time will show either that she cannot have known or must have
wilfully concealed the intrigues of various kinds in which her
husband was engaged.]
They nevertheless loved one another much, and it was very interesting to
see them together. They joked each other sensibly and pleasantly, and
without ever quarrelling.
I was never more amused than in a journey which I took with the King to
Flanders. The Queen and the Dauphine were then alive. As soon as we
reached a city, each of us retired to our own quarters for a short time,
and afterwards we went to the theatre, which was commonly so bad that we
were ready to die with laughing. Among others, I remember that at
Dunkirk we saw a company playing Mithridates. In speaking to Monimia,
Mithridates said something which I forget, but which was very absurd.
He turned round immediately to the Dauphine and said, "I very humbly beg
pardon, Madame, I assure you it was a slip of the tongue." The laugh
which followed this apology may be imagined, but it became still greater
when the Prince of Conti,
[Louis-Armaud de Bourbon, Prince de Conti, married in 1780 to
Marie-Anne, commonly called Mademoiselle de Blois, one of the
legitimated daughters of Louis XIV. by Madame de la Valliere. She
was called at Court La Grande Princesse, on account of her beauty
and her stature.]
the husband of La Grande Princesse, who was sitting above the orchestra,
in a fit of laughing, fell into it. He tried to save himself by the
cord, and, in doing so, pulled down the curtain over the lamps, set it on
fire, and burnt a great hole in it. The flames were soon extinguished,
and the actors, as if they were perfectly indifferent, or unconscious of
the accident, continued to play on, although we could only see them
through the hole. When there was no play, we took airings and had
collations; in short, every day brought something new. After the King's
supper we went to see magnificent artificial fireworks given by the
cities of Flanders. Everybody was gay; the Court was in perfect
unanimity, and no one thought of anything but to laugh and seek
amusement.
If the King had known the Duchess of Hanover, he would not have been
displeased at her calling him "Monsieur." As she was a Sovereign
Princess, he thought it was through pride that she would not call him
"Sire," and this mortified him excessively, for he was very sensitive on
such subjects.
One day, before Roquelaure was made a Duke, he was out when it rained
violently, and he ordered his coachman to drive to the Louvre, where the
entrance was permitted to none but Ambassadors, Princes and Dukes. When
his carriage arrived at the gate they asked who it was.
"A Duke," replied he.
"What Duke?" repeated the sentinel.
"The Duc d'Epernon," said he.
"Which of them?"
"The one who died last." And upon this they let him enter. Fearing
afterwards that he might get into a scrape about it, he went directly to
the King. "Sire," said he, "it rains so hard that I came in my coach
even to the foot of your staircase."
The King was displeased. "What fool let you enter?" he asked.
"A greater fool than your Majesty can imagine," replied Roquelaure, "for
he admitted me in the name of the Duc d'Epernon who died last."
This ended the King's anger and made him laugh very heartily.
So great a fear of hell had been instilled into the King that he not only
thought everybody who did not profess the faith of the Jesuits would be
damned, but he even thought he was in some danger himself by speaking to
such persons. If any one was to be ruined with the King, it was only
necessary to say, "He is a Huguenot or a Jansenist," and his business was
immediately settled. My son was about to take into his service a
gentleman whose mother was a professed Jansenist. The Jesuits, by way of
embroiling my son with the King, represented that he was about to engage
a Jansenist on his establishment.
The King immediately sent for him and said "How is this, nephew?
I understand you think of employing a Jansenist in your service."
"Oh, no!" replied my son, laughing, "I can assure your Majesty that he is
not a Jansenist, and I even doubt whether he believes in the existence of
a God."
"Oh, well, then!" said the King, "if that be the case, and you are sure
that he is no Jansenist, you may take him."
It is impossible for a man to be more ignorant of religion than the King
was. I cannot understand how his mother, the Queen, could have brought
him up with so little knowledge on this subject. He believed all that
the priests said to him, as if it came from God Himself. That old
Maintenon and Pere la Chaise had persuaded him that all the sins he had
committed with Madame de Montespan would be pardoned if he persecuted and
extirpated the professors of the reformed religion, and that this was the
only path to heaven. The poor King believed it fervently, for he had
never seen a Bible in his life; and immediately after this the
persecution commenced. He knew no more of religion than what his
confessors chose to tell him, and they had made him believe that it was
not lawful to investigate in matters of religion, but that the reason
should be prostrated in order to gain heaven. He was, however, earnest
enough himself, and it was not his fault that hypocrisy reigned at Court.
The old Maintenon had forced people to assume it.
It was formerly the custom to swear horridly on all occasions; the King
detested this practice, and soon abolished it.
He was very capable of gratitude, but neither his children nor his
grandchildren were. He could not bear to be made to wait for anything.
He said that by means of chains of gold he could obtain anything he
wished from the ministers at Vienna.
He could not forgive the French ladies for affecting English fashions.
He used often to joke about it, and particularly in the conversation
which he addressed to me, expecting that I would take it up and tease the
Princesses. To amuse him, I sometimes said whatever came into my head,
without the least ceremony, and often made him laugh heartily.
Reversi was the only game at which the King played, and which he liked.
When he did not like openly to reprove any person, he would address
himself to me; for he knew that I never restrained myself in
conversation, and that amused him infinitely. At table, he was almost
obliged to talk to me, for the others scarcely said a word. In the
cabinet, after supper, there were none but the Duchess--[Anne of
Bavaria, wife of Henri-Jules, Duc de Bourbon, son of the great Conde; she
bore the title of Madame la Princesse after his death.]--and I who spoke
to him. I do not know whether the Dauphine used to converse with the
King in the cabinets, for while she was alive I was never permitted to
enter them, thanks to Madame de Maintenon's interference; the Dauphine
objected to it; the King would willingly have had it so; but he dare not
assert his will for fear of displeasing the Dauphine and the old woman.
I was not therefore suffered to enter until after the death of the
Dauphine, and then only because the King wished to have some one who
would talk to him in the evening, to dissipate his melancholy thoughts,
in which I did my best. He was dissatisfied with his daughters on both
sides, who, instead of trying to console him in his grief, thought only
of amusing themselves, and the good King might often have remained alone
the whole evening if I had not visited his cabinet. He was very sensible
of this, and said to Maintenon, "Madame is the only one who does not
abandon me."
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