The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan, Complete

M >> Madame La Marquise De Montespan >> The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan, Complete



When it was proposed to construct in Paris that handsome building called
the Observatory, the King himself chose the site for this. Having a map
of his capital before him, he wished this fine edifice to be in a direct
line of perspective with the Luxembourg, to which it should eventually be
joined by the demolition of the Carthusian Monastery, which filled a
large gap.

The King was anxious that his idea should be carried out, but whenever he
mentioned it to M. Mansard and the other architects, they declared that
it was a great pity to lose Lesueur's admirable frescos in the cloisters,
which would have to be destroyed if the King's vast scheme were executed.

One day his Majesty resolved to see for himself, and without the least
announcement of his arrival, he went to the Carthusian Monastery in the
Rue d'Enfer. The King has great knowledge of art; he admired the whole
series of wall-paintings, in which the life of Saint Bruno is divinely
set forth.

[By a new process these frescos were subsequently transferred to canvas
in 1800 or 1802, at which date the vast property of the Carthusian monks
became part of the Luxembourg estates.--EDITOR'S NOTE.]

"Father," said he to the prior who showed him round, "these simple,
touching pictures are far beyond all that was ever told me. My
intention, I admit, was to move your institution elsewhere, so as to
connect your spacious property with my palace of the Luxembourg, but the
horrible outrage which would have to be committed deters me; to the
marvellous art of Lesueur you owe it that your convent remains intact."

The monk, overjoyed, expressed his gratitude to the King, and promised
him the love and guardianship of Saint Bruno in heaven.

Just then, service in the chapel was over, and the monks filed past two
and two, never raising their eyes from the gloomy pavement bestrewn with
tombstones. The prior, clapping his hands, signalled them to stop, and
then addressed them:

"My brethren, stay your progress a moment; lift up your heads, bowed down
by penance, and behold with awe the descendant of Saint Louis, the august
protector of this convent. Yes, our noble sovereign himself has
momentarily quitted his palace to visit this humble abode. On these
quiet walls which hide our cells, he has sought to read the simple,
touching story, of the life of our saintly founder. The august son of
Louis the Just has taken our dwelling-place and community under his
immediate protection. Go to your cells and pray to God for this
magnanimous prince, for his children and successors in perpetuity."

As he said these flattering words, a monk, with flushed cheeks and mouth
agape, flung himself down at the King's feet, beating his brow repeatedly
upon the pavement, and exclaiming:

"Sire, forgive me, forgive me, guilty though I be. I crave your royal
pardon and pity."

The prior, somewhat confused, saw that some important confession was
about to be made, so he dismissed the others, and sent them back to their
devotions. The prostrate monk, however, never thought of moving from his
position. Perceiving that he was alone with the King, whose calm, gentle
demeanour emboldened him, he begged anew for pardon with great energy,
and fervour. The King clearly saw that the penitent was some great
evil-doer, and he promised forgiveness in somewhat ambiguous fashion.
Then the monk rose and said:

"Your Majesty reigns to-day, and reigns gloriously. That is an amazing
miracle, for countless incredible dangers of the direst sort have beset
your cradle and menaced your youth. A prince of your house, backed up by
ambitious inferiors, resolved to wrest the crown from you, in order to
get it for himself and his descendants. The Queen, your mother, full of
heroic resolution, herself had energy enough to resist the cabal; but
more than once her feet touched the very brink of the precipice, and more
than once she nearly fell over it with her children.

"Noble qualities did this great Queen possess, but at times she had too
overweening a contempt for her enemies. Her disdain for my master, the
young Cardinal, was once too bitter, and begot in this presumptuous
prelate's heart undying hatred. Educated under the same roof as M. le
Cardinal, with the same teachers and the same doctrines, I saw, as it
were, with his eyes when I went out into the world, and marched beneath
his banner when civil war broke out.

"Dreading the punishment for his temerity, this prelate decided that the
sceptre should pass into other hands, and that the elder branch should
become extinct. With this end in view, he made me write a pamphlet
showing that you and your brother, the Prince, were not the King's sons;
and subsequently he induced me to issue another, in which I affirmed on
oath that the Queen, your mother, was secretly married to Cardinal
Mazarin. Unfortunately, these books met with astounding success, nor,
though my tears fall freely, can they ever efface such vile pages.

"I am also guilty of another crime, Sire, and this weighs more heavily
upon my heart. When the Queen-mother dexterously arranged for your
removal to Vincennes, she left in your bed at the Louvre a large doll.
The rebels were aware of this when it was too late. I was ordered to
ride post-haste with an escort in pursuit of your carriage; and I had to
swear by the Holy Gospels that, if I could not bring you back to Paris, I
would stab you to the heart.

"The enormity of my offence weighed heavily upon my spirit and my
conscience. I conceived a horror for the Cardinal and withdrew to this
convent. For many years I have undergone the most grievous penances, but
I shall never make thorough expiation for my sins, and I hold myself to
be as great a criminal as at first, so long as I have not obtained pardon
from my King."

"Are you in holy orders?" asked the King gently.

"No, Sire; I feel unworthy to take them," replied the Carthusian, in
dejected tones.

"Let him be ordained as soon as possible," said his Majesty to the prior.
"The monk's keen repentance touches me; his brain is still excitable; it
needs fresh air and change. I will appoint him to a curacy at Saint
Domingo, and desire him to leave for that place at the earliest
opportunity. Do not forget this."

The monk again prostrated himself before the King, overwhelming him with
blessings, and these royal commands were in due course executed. So it
came about that Lesueur's frescos led to startling revelations, and
enabled the Carthusians to keep their splendid property intact, ungainly
though this was and out of place.




CHAPTER LIX.

Journey to Poitou.--The Mayor and the Sheriffs of Orleans.--The
Marquise's Modesty.--The Serenade.--The Abbey of Fontevrault.--Family
Council.--Duchomania.--A Letter to the King.--The Bishop of
Poitiers.--The Young Vicar.--Rather Give Him a Regiment.--The Fete at the
Convent.--The Presentation.--The Revolt.--A Grand Example.


The Abbess of Fontevrault, who, when a mere nun, could never bear her
profession, now loved it with all her heart, doubtless because of the
authority and freedom which she possessed, being at liberty to go or come
at will, and as absolute mistress of her actions, accountable to no one
for these.

She sent me her confidential woman, one of the "travelling sisters" of
the community, to tell me privately that the Principality of Talmont was
going to be sold, and to offer me her help at this important juncture.

Her letter, duly tied up and sealed, begged me to be bold and use my
authority, if necessary, in order to induce the King at last to give his
approval and consent. "What!" she wrote, "my dear sister; you have given
birth to eight children, the youngest of which is a marvel, and you have
not yet got your reward. All your children enjoy the rank of prince, and
you, their mother, are exempt from such distinction! What is the King
thinking about? Does it add to his dignity, honour, and glory that you
should still be merely a petty marquise? I ask again, what is the King
thinking of?"

In conclusion my sister invited me to pay a visit to her charming abbey.
"We have much to tell you," said she, and "such brief absence is needful
to you, so as to test the King's affection. Your sort of temperament
suits him, your talk amuses him; in fact, your society is absolutely
essential to him; the distance from Versailles to Saumur would seem to
him as far off as the uttermost end of his kingdom. He will send courier
upon courier to you; each of his letters will be a sort of entreaty, and
you have only just got to express your firm intention and desire to be
created a duchess or a princess, and, my dear sister, it will forthwith
be done."

For two days I trained the travelling nun from Fontevrault in her part,
and then I suddenly presented her to the King. She had the honour of
explaining to his Majesty that she had left the Abbess sick and ailing,
and informed him that my sister was most anxious to see me again, and
that she hoped his Majesty would not object to my paying her a short
visit. For a moment the King hesitated; then he asked me if I thought
such a change of urgent necessity. I replied that the news of Madame de
Mortemart's ill-health had greatly affected me, and I promised not to be
away more than a week.

The King accordingly instructed the Marquis de Louvois--[Minister of War,
and inspector-General of Posts and Relays.]--to make all due arrangements
for my journey, and two days afterwards, my sister De Thianges, her
daughter the Duchesse de Nevers, and myself, set out at night for
Poitiers.

The royal relays took us as far as Orleans, after which we had
post-horses, but specially chosen and well harnessed. Couriers in
advance of us had given all necessary orders to the officials and
governors, so that we were provided with an efficient military escort
along the road, and were as safe as if driving through Paris.

At Orleans, the mayor and sheriffs in full dress presented themselves at
our carriage window, and were about to deliver an address "to please the
King;" but I thought such a proceeding ill-timed, and my niece De Nevers
told these magnates that we were travelling incognito.

Crowds collected below our balcony. Madame de Thianges thought they were
going to serenade me, but I distinctly heard sounds of hissing. My niece
De Nevers was greatly upset; she would eat no supper, but began to cry.
"What are you worrying about?" quoth I to this excitable young person.
"Don't you see that we are stopping the night on the estates of the
Princess Palatine,--[The boorish Bavarian princess, the Duc d'Orleans's
second wife. EDITOR'S NOTE.]--and that it is to her exquisite breeding
that we owe compliments of this kind?"

Next morning at daybreak we drove on, and the day after we reached
Fontevrault. The Abbess, accompanied by her entire community, came to
welcome us at the main gate, and her surpliced chaplains offered me holy
water.

After rest and refreshment, we made a detailed survey of her little
empire, and everywhere observed traces of her good management and tact.
Rules had been made more lenient, while not relaxed; the revenues had
increased; everywhere embellishments, contentment, and well-being were
noticeable.

After praising the Abbess as she deserved, we talked a little about the
Talmont principality. My sister was inconsolable. The Tremouilles had
come into property which restored their shattered fortunes; the
principality was no longer for sale; all thought of securing it must be
given up.

Strange to say, I at once felt consoled by such news. Rightly to explain
this feeling, I ought, perhaps, to make an avowal. A grand and brilliant
title had indeed ever been the object of my ambition; but I thought that
I deserved such a distinction personally, for my own sake, and I was
always wishing that my august friend would create a title specially in my
favour. I had often hinted at such a thing in various ways, and full as
he is of wit and penetration, he always listened to my covert
suggestions, and was perfectly aware of my desire. And yet,
magnificently generous as any mortal well could be, he never granted my
wish. Any one else but myself would have been tired, disheartened even;
but at Court one must never be discouraged nor give up the game. The
atmosphere is rife with vicissitude and change. Monotony would seem to
have made there its home; yet no day is quite like another. What one
hopes for is too long in coming; and what one never foresees on, a sudden
comes to pass.

We took counsel together as to the best thing to be done. Madame de
Thianges said to me: "My dear Athenais, you have the elegance of the
Mortemarts, the fine perception and ready wit that distinguishes them,
but strangely enough you have not their energy, nor the firm will
necessary for the conduct of weighty matters. The King does not treat
you like a great friend, like a distinguished friend, like the mother of
his son, the Duc du Maine; he treats you like a province that he has
conquered, on which he levies tax after tax; that is all. Pray
recollect, my sister, that for ten years you have played a leading part
on the grand stage. Your beauty, to my surprise, has been preserved to
you, notwithstanding your numerous confinements and the fatigues of your
position. Profit by the present juncture, and do not let the chance
slip. You must write to the King, and on some pretext or other, ask for
another week's leave. You must tell him plainly that you have been
marquise long enough, and that the moment has come at last for you to
have the 'imperiale', and sign your name in proper style."

[The distinctive mark of duchesses was the 'imperiale'; that is, a rich
and costly hammer-cloth of embroidered velvet, edged with gold, which
covered the roofs of ducal equipages.--EDITOR'S NOTE.]

Her advice was considered sound, but the Abbess, taking into account the
King's susceptibility, decided that it would not do for me to write
myself about a matter so important as this. The Marquise de Thianges, in
some way or other, had got the knack of plain speaking, so that a letter
of hers would be more readily excused. Thus it was settled that she
should write; and write she did. I give her letter verbatim, as it will
please my readers; and they will agree with me that I could never have
touched this delicate subject so happily myself.

SIRE:--Madame de Montespan had the honour of writing one or two notes to
you during our journey, and now she rests all day long in this vast and
pleasant abbey, where your Majesty's name is held in as great veneration
as elsewhere, being beloved as deeply as at Versailles. Madame de
Mortemart has caused one of the best portraits of your Majesty, done by
Mignard, to be brought hither from Paris, and this magnificent personage
in royal robes is placed beneath an amaranth-coloured dais, richly
embroidered with gold, at the extreme end of a vast hall, which bears the
name of our illustrious and well-beloved monarch. Your privileges are
great, in truth, Sire. Here you are, installed in this pious and
secluded retreat, where never mortal may set foot. Before you, beside
you daily, you may contemplate the multitude of modest virgins who look
at you and admire you, becoming all of them attached to you without
wishing it, perhaps without knowing it, even.

Surely, Sire, your penetration is a most admirable thing. After your
first interview with her, you considered our dear Abbess to be a woman of
capacity and talent. You rightly appreciated her, for nothing can be
compared to the perfect order that prevails in her house. She is active
and industrious without sacrificing her position and her dignity in the
slightest. Like yourself, she can judge of things in their entirety, and
examine them in every little detail; like yourself, she knows how to
command obedience and affection, desiring nothing but that which is just
and reasonable. In a word, Sire, Madame de Mortemart has the secret of
convincing her subordinates that she is acting solely in their interests,
a supreme mission, in sooth, among men; and my sister really has no other
desire nor ambition,--to this we can testify.

Upon our return, which for our liking can never be too soon, we will
acquaint your Majesty with the slight authorised mortification which we
had to put up with at Orleans. We are in possession of certain
information regarding this, and your Majesty will have ample means of
throwing a light upon the subject. As for the magistrates, they behaved
most wonderfully; they had an address all ready for us, but Madame de
Montespan would not listen to it, saying that "such honours are meet only
for you and for your children." Such modesty on my sister's part is in
keeping with her great intelligence; I had almost said her genius. But
in this matter I was not wholly of her opinion. It seemed to me, Sire,
that, in refusing the homage offered to her by these worthy magnates,
she, so to speak, disowned the rank ensured to her by your favour. While
the Marquise enjoys your noble affection, she is no ordinary personage.
She has her seat in your own Chapel Royal, so in travelling she has a
right to special honour. By your choice of her, you have made her
notable; in giving her your heart, you have made her a part of yourself.
By giving birth to your children, she has acquired her rank at Court, in
society, and in history. Your Majesty intends her to be considered and
respected; the escorts of cavalry along the highroads are sufficient
proof of that.

All France, Sire, is aware of your munificence and of your princely
generosity: Shall I tell you of the amazement of the provincials at
noticing that the ducal housings are absent from my sister's splendid
coach? Yes, I have taken upon myself to inform you of this surprise, and
knowing how greatly Athenais desires this omission to be repaired, I went
so far as to promise that your Majesty would cause this to be done
forthwith. It must be done, Sire; the Marquise loves you as much as it
is possible for you to be loved; of this, all that she has sacrificed is
a proof. But while dearly loving you, she fears to appear importunate,
and were it not for my respectful freedom of speech, perhaps you would
still be ignorant of that which she most fervently desires.

What we all three of us ask is but a slight thing for your Majesty, who,
with a single word, can create a thousand nobles and princes. The kings,
your ancestors, used their glory in making their lovers illustrious. The
Valois built temples and palaces in their honour. You, greater than all
the Valois, should not let their example suffice. And I am sure that you
will do for the mother of the Duc du Maine what the young prince himself
would do for her if you should happen to forget.

Your Majesty's most humble servant, "MARQUISE DE THIANGES."

To the Abbess and myself; this ending seemed rather too sarcastic, but
Madame de Thianges was most anxious to let it stand. There was no way of
softening or glossing it over; so the letter went off, just as she had
written it.

It so happened that the Bishop of Poitiers was in his diocese at the
time. He came to pay me a visit, and ask me if I could get an abbey for
his nephew, who, though extremely young, already acted as vicar-general
for him. "I would willingly get him a whole regiment," I replied,
"provided M. de Louvois be of those that are my friends. As for the
benefices, they depend, as you know, upon the Pere de la Chaise, and I
don't think he would be willing to grant me a favour."

"Permit me to assure you, madame, that in this respect you are in error,"
replied the Bishop. "Pere de la Chaise respects you and honours you, and
only speaks of you in such terms. What distresses him is to see that you
have an aversion for him. Let me write to him, and say that my nephew
has had the honour of being presented to you, and that you hoped he might
have a wealthy abbey to enable him to bear the privations of his
calling."

The young vicar-general was good-looking, and of graceful presence. He
had that distinction of manner which causes the priesthood to be held in
honour, and that amenity of address which makes the law to be obeyed. My
sisters began to take a fancy to him, and recommended him to me. I wrote
to Pere de la Chaise myself, and instead of a mere abbey, we asked for a
bishopric for him.

It was my intention to organise a brilliant fete for the Fontevrault
ladies, and invite all the nobility of the neighbourhood. We talked of
this to the young vicar, who highly approved of my plan, and albeit
monsieur his uncle thought such a scheme somewhat contrary to rule and to
what he termed the proprieties, we made use of his nephew, the young
priest, as a lever; and M. de Poitiers at last consented to everything.

The Fontevrault gardens are one of the most splendid sights in all the
country round. We chose the large alley as our chief entertainment-hall,
and the trees were all illuminated as in my park at Clagny, or at
Versailles. There was no dancing, on account of the nuns, but during our
repast there was music, and a concert and fireworks afterwards. The fete
ended with a performance of "Genevieve de Brabant," a grand spectacular
pantomime, played to perfection by certain gentry of the neighbourhood;
it made a great impression upon all the nuns and novices.

Before going down into the gardens, the Abbess wished to present me
formally to all the nuns, as well as to those persons it had pleased her
to invite. Imagine her astonishment! Three nuns were absent, and
despite our entreaties and the commands of their superiors, they
persisted in their rebellion and their refusal. They set up to keep
rules before all things, and observe the duties of their religion, lying
thus to their Abbess and their conscience. It was all mere spite. Of
this there can be no doubt, for one of these refractory creatures, as it
transpired, was a cousin of the Marquis de Lauzun, my so-called victim;
while the other two were near relatives of Mademoiselle de Mauldon, an
intimate friend of M. de Meaux.

In spite of these three silly absentees, we enjoyed ourselves greatly,
and had much innocent amusement; while they, who could watch us from
their windows, were probably mad with rage to think they were not of our
number.

My sister complained of them to the Bishop of Poitiers, who severely
blamed them for such conduct; and seeing that he could not induce them to
offer me an apology, sent them away to three different convents.




CHAPTER LX.

The Page-Dauphin.--A Billet from the King.--Madame de Maintenon's
Letter.--The King as Avenger.--His Sentence on the Murderers.


The great liberty which we enjoyed at Fontevrault, compared with the
interminable bondage of Saint Germain or Versailles, made the abbey ever
seem more agreeable to me; and Madame de Thianges asked me in sober
earnest "if I no longer loved the King."

"Of course I do," was my answer; "but may one not love oneself just a
little bit, too? To me, health is life; and I assure you, at
Fontevrault, my dear sister, I sleep most soundly, and have quite got rid
of all my nervous attacks and headaches."

We were just talking thus when Madame de Mortemart entered my room, and
introduced young Chamilly, the Page-Dauphin,--[The chief page-in-waiting
bore the title of Page-Dauphin]--who brought with him a letter from the
King. He also had one for me from Madame de Maintenon, rallying me upon
my absence and giving me news of my children. The King's letter was
quite short, but a king's note such as that is worth a whole pile of
commonplace letters. I transcribe it here:

I am jealous; an unusual thing for me. And I am much vexed, I confess,
with Madame de Mortemart, who might have chosen a very different moment
to be ill. I am ignorant as to the nature of her malady, but if it be
serious, and of those which soon grow more dangerous, she has played me a
very sorry trick in sending for you to act as her nurse or her physician.
Pray tell her, madame, that you are no good whatever as a nurse, being
extremely hasty and impatient in everything; while as regards medical
skill, you are still further from the mark, since you have never yet been
able to understand your own ailments, nor even explain these with the
least clearness. I must ask the Abbess momentarily to suspend her
sufferings and come to Versailles, where all my physicians shall treat
her with infinite skill; and, to oblige me, will cure her, as they know
how much I esteem and like her. Farewell, my ladies three, who in your
friendship are but as one. I should like to be there to make a fourth.
Madame de Maintenon, who loves you sincerely, will give you news of your
little family and of Saint Germain. Her letter and mine will be brought
to you and delivered by the young Comte de Chamilly. Send him back to me
at once, and don't let him, see your novices or your nuns, else he will
not want to return to me. LOUIS.