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SECTION III.--MADEMOISELLE DE FONTANGE.
I had a Maid of Honour whose name was Beauvais; she was a very
well-disposed person: the King fell in love with her, but she remained
firm against all his attempts. He then turned his attention to her
companion, Fontange, who was also very pretty, but not very sensible.
When he first saw her he said, "There is a wolf that will not eat me;"
and yet he became very fond of her soon afterwards. Before she came to
me she had dreamt all that was to befall her, and a pious Capuchin
explained her dream to her. She told me of it herself long before she
became the King's mistress. She dreamt that she had ascended a high
mountain, and, having reached the summit, she was dazzled by an
exceedingly bright cloud; then on a sudden she found herself in such
profound darkness that her terror at this accident awoke her. When she
told her confessor he said to her: "Take care of yourself; that mountain
is the Court, where some distinction awaits you; it will, however, be
but of short duration; if you abandon your God He will forsake you and
you will fall into eternal darkness."
There is no doubt that Fontange died by poison; she accused Montespan of
being the cause of her death. A servant who had been bribed by that
favourite destroyed her and some of her people by means of poison mixed
with milk. Two of them died with her, and said publicly that they had
been poisoned.
Fontange was a stupid little creature, but she had a very good heart.
She was very red-haired, but, beautiful as an angel from head to foot.
SECTION IV.-MADAME DE LA VALLIERE.
When one of Madame de Montespan's children died, the King was deeply
affected; but he was not so at the death of the poor Comte de Vermandois
(the son of La Valliere). He could not bear him, because Montespan and
that old Maintenon had made him believe the youth was not his but the Duc
de Lauzun's child. It had been well if all the King's reputed children
had been as surely his as this was. Madame de La Valliere was no light
mistress, as her unwavering penitence sufficiently proved. She was an
amiable, gentle, kind and tender woman. Ambition formed no part of her
love for the King; she had a real passion for him, and never loved any
other person. It was at Montespan's instigation that the King behaved so
ill to her. The poor creature's heart was broken, but she imagined that
she could not make a sacrifice more agreeable to God than that which had
been the cause of her errors; and thought that her repentance ought to
proceed from the same source as her crime. She therefore remained, by
way of self-mortification, with Montespan, who, having a great portion of
wit, did not scruple to ridicule her publicly, behaved extremely ill to
her, and obliged the King to do the same.
He used to pass through La Valliere's chamber to go to Montespan's; and
one day, at the instigation of the latter, he threw a little spaniel,
which he had called Malice, at the Duchesse de La Valliere, saying:
"There, Madam, is your companion; that's all."
This was the more cruel, as he was then going direct to Montespan's
chamber. And yet La Valliere bore everything patiently; she was as
virtuous as Montespan was vicious. Her connection with the King might be
pardoned, when it was remembered that everybody had not only advised her
to it, but had even assisted to bring it about. The King was young,
handsome and gallant; she was, besides, very young; she was naturally
modest, and had a very good heart. She was very much grieved when she
was made a Duchess, and her children legitimated; before that she thought
no one knew she had had children. There was an inexpressible charm in
her countenance, her figure was elegant, her eyes were always in my
opinion much finer than Montespan's, and her whole deportment was
unassuming. She was slightly lame, but not so much as to impair her
appearance.
When I first arrived in France she had not retired to the convent, but
was still in the Court. We became and continued very intimate until she
took the veil. I was deeply affected when this charming person took that
resolution; and, at the moment when the funeral pall was thrown over her,
I shed so many tears that I could see no more. She visited me after the
ceremony, and told me that I should rather congratulate than weep for
her, for that from that moment her happiness was to begin: she added that
she should never forget the kindness and friendship I had displayed
towards her, and which was so much more than she deserved. A short time
afterwards I went to see her. I was curious to know why she had remained
so long in the character of an attendant to Montespan. She told me that
God had touched her heart, and made her sensible of her crimes; that she
felt she ought to perform a penitence, and suffer that which would be
most painful to her, which was to love the King, and to be despised by
him; that for the three years after the King had ceased to love her she
had suffered the torments of the damned, and that she offered her sorrows
to Heaven as the expiation of her sins; and as her sins had been public,
so should be her repentance. She said she knew very well that she had
been taken for a fool, who was not sensible of anything; but that at the
very period she alluded to she suffered most, and continued to do so
until God inspired her with the resolution to abandon everything, and to
serve Him alone, which she had since put into execution; but that now she
considered herself unworthy, on account of her past life, to live in the
society of persons as pure and pious as the Carmelite Sisters. All this
evidently came from the heart.
From the time she became professed, she was entirely devoted to Heaven.
I often told her that she had only transposed her love, and had given to
God that which had formerly been the King's. She has said frequently
that if the King should come into the convent she would refuse to see
him, and would hide herself so that he could not find her. She was,
however, spared this pain, for the King not only never went, but seemed
to have forgotten her, as if he had never known her.
To accuse La Valliere of loving any one besides the King was wicked to
the last degree, but falsehoods cost Montespan but little. The Comte de
Vermandois was a good sort of young man, and loved me as if I had been
his mother. When his irregularities were first discovered,--[A more
particular account of these will be found hereafter.]--I was very angry
with him; and I had caused him to be told very seriously that if he had
behaved ill I should cease to have any regard for him. This grieved him
to the heart; he sent to me daily, and begged permission to say only a
few words to me. I was firm during four weeks; at length I permitted him
to come, when he threw himself at my feet, begged my pardon, promising to
amend his conduct, and beseeching me to restore him my friendship
(without which he said he could not exist), and to assist him again with
my advice. He told me the whole history of his follies, and convinced me
that he had been most grossly deluded.
When the Dauphine lay in of the Duke of Burgundy, I said to the King,
"I hope your Majesty will not upon this occasion refuse a humble request
I have to make to you."
He smiled and said, "What have you to ask, then?"
I replied, "The pardon, Monsieur, of the poor Comte de Vermandois."
He smiled once more, and said, "You are a very good friend; but as for M.
Vermandois, he has not been sufficiently punished for his crimes."
"The poor lad," I rejoined, "is so very penitent for his offence."
The King replied, "I do not yet feel myself inclined to see him; I am too
angry with him still."
Several months elapsed before the King would see him; but the young man
was very grateful to me for having spoken in his behalf; and my own
children could not be more attached to me than he was. He was well made,
but his appearance, though not disagreeable, was not remarkably good; he
squinted a little.
SECTION V.--MADAME DE MONTESPAN
The King at first could not bear Madame de Montespan,--[Daughter of
Gabriel de Roche Chouart, first Duc de Mortemart.]--and blamed Monsieur
and even the Queen for associating with her; yet, eventually, he fell
deeply in love with her himself.
She was more of an ambitious than a libertine woman, but as wicked as the
devil himself. Nothing could stand between her and the gratification of
her ambition, to which she would have made any sacrifice. Her figure was
ugly and clumsy, but her eyes bespoke great intelligence, though they
were somewhat too bright. Her mouth was very pretty and her smile
uncommonly agreeable. Her complexion was fairer than La Valliere's, her
look was more bold, and her general appearance denoted her intriguing
temper. She had very beautiful light hair, fine arms, and pretty hands,
which La Valliere had not. But the latter was always very neat, and
Montespan was filthy to the last degree. She was very amusing in
conversation, and it was impossible to be tired in talking with her.
The King did not regret Montespan more than he did La Fontange. The Duc
d'Antin, her only legitimate child, was also the only one who wept at her
death. When the King had the others legitimated, the mother's name was
not mentioned, so that it might appear Madame de Montespan was not their
mother.
[Madame de Montespan had eight children by Louis XIV. The Duc du
Maine; Comte Vegin; Mademoiselle de Nantes, married to the Duc de
Bourbon; Mademoiselle de Tours, married to the Regent Duc d'Orleans;
the Comte de Toulouse, and two other sons who died young.]
She was once present at a review, and as she passed before the German
soldiers they called out:
"Konigs Hure! Hure!" When the King asked her in the evening how she
liked the review, she said: "Very well, but only those German soldiers
are so simple as not to call things by their proper names, for I had
their shouts explained to me."
Madame de Montespan and her eldest daughter could drink a large quantity
of wine without being affected by it. I have seen them drink six bumpers
of the strong Turin Rosa Solis, besides the wine which they had taken
before. I expected to see them fall under the table, but, on the
contrary, it affected them no more than a draught of water.
It was Madame de Montespan who invented the 'robes battantes' for the
purpose of concealing her pregnancy, because it was impossible to
discover the shape in those robes. But when she wore them, it was
precisely as if she had publicly announced that which she affected to
conceal, for everybody at the Court used to say, "Madame de Montespan has
put on her robe battante, therefore she must be pregnant." I believe she
did it on purpose, hoping that it commanded more attention for her at
Court, as it really did.
It is quite true that she always had a Royal bodyguard, and it was fit
that she should, because the King was always in her apartments by day and
night. He transacted business there with his Ministers, but, as there
were several chambers, the lady was, nevertheless, quite at liberty to do
as she pleased, and the Marshal de Noailles, though a devout person, was
still a man. When she went out in a carriage, she had guards, lest her
husband should, as he had threatened, offer her some insult.
She caused the Queen great vexation, and it is quite true that she used
to ridicule her; but then she did the same to everybody besides. She,
however, never ventured upon any direct or remarkable impertinence to Her
Majesty, for the King would not have suffered it.
She had married one of her cousins, M. de Montpipeau, to Mademoiselle
Aubry, the daughter of a private citizen who was exceedingly rich. To
convince her that she had made a good match, Madame de Montespan had her
brought into her own small private room. The young lady was not
accustomed to very refined society, and the first time she went she
seated herself upon the table, and, crossing her legs, sat swinging there
as if she had been in her own chamber. The laugh which this excited
cannot be conceived, nor the comical manner in which Madame de Montespan
turned it to the King's amusement. The young lady thought that her new
relation was inclined to be favourable to her, and loaded her with
compliments. In general, Montespan had the skill of representing things
so humourously that it was impossible not to laugh at her.
According to the law of the land, all her children were supposed to be
Monsieur de Montespan's. When her husband was dangerously ill, Madame de
Montespan, who in some degree affected devotion, sent to ask him if he
would allow her to nurse him in his sickness. He replied that he would
very willingly, provided she would bring all his children home with her,
but if she left one behind he would not receive her. After this answer,
she took care not to go, for her husband was a great brute, and would
have said whatever he pleased as soon as she presented herself to him.
With the exception of the Comte de Toulouse, all the children she had by
the King are marked. The Duc du Maine is paralytic, Madame d'Orleans is
crooked, and Madame la Duchesse is lame.
M. de Montespan was not a very estimable person; he did nothing but play.
He was a very sordid man, and I believe if the King had chosen to give
him a good round sum he would have been very quiet. It was amusing
enough to see him and his son, d'Antin, playing with Madame d'Orleans and
Madame la Duchesse, and presenting the cards very politely, and kissing
his hand to the Princesses, who were called his own daughters. He
thought it a joke himself, and always turned aside a little to laugh in
his sleeve.
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