The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan, Volume II.

M >> Madame La Marquise De Montespan >> The Memoirs of Madame de Montespan, Volume II.

MEMOIRS OF MADAME LA MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN

Written by Herself


Being the Historic Memoirs of the Court of Louis XIV.




BOOK 2.

CHAPTER XVII.

Monsieur's Jealousy.--Diplomacy.--Discretion.--The Chevalier de
Lorraine's Revenge.--The King's Suspicions.--His Indignation.--Public
Version of the Matter.--The Funeral Sermon.


After six months of wedlock, Henrietta of England had become so beautiful
that the King drew every one's attention to this change, as if he were
not unmindful of the fact that he had given this charming person to his
brother instead of reserving her for himself by marrying her.

Between cousins german attentions are permissible. The Court, however,
was not slow to notice the attentions paid by the King to this young
English princess, and Monsieur, wholly indifferent though he was as
regarded his wife, deemed it a point of honour to appear offended
thereat. Ever a slave to the laws of good breeding, the King showed much
self-sacrifice in curbing this violent infatuation of his. (I was
Madame's maid of honour at the time.) As he contemplated a Dutch
expedition, in which the help of England would have counted for much, he
resolved to send a negotiator to King Charles. The young Princess was
her brother's pet; it was upon her that the King's choice fell.

She crossed the Channel under the pretext of paying a flying visit to her
native country and her brother, but, in reality, it was to treat of
matters of the utmost importance.

Upon her return, Monsieur, the most curious and inquisitive of mortals,
importuned her in a thousand ways, seeking to discover her secret; but
she was a person both faithful and discreet. Of her interview and
journey he got only such news as was already published on the housetops.
At such reticence he took umbrage; he grumbled, sulked, and would not
speak to his wife.

The Chevalier de Lorraine, who in that illustrious and luckless household
was omnipotent, insulted the Princess in the most outrageous manner.
Finding such daily slights and affronts unbearable, Madame complained to
the Kings of France and England, who both exiled the Chevalier.

Monsieur de Lorraine d'Armagnac, before leaving, gave instructions to
Morel, one of Monsieur's kitchen officials, to poison the Princess, and
this monster promptly executed the order by rubbing poison on her silver
goblet.

I no longer belonged to Madame's household,--my marriage had caused a
change in my duties; but ever feeling deep attachment for this adorable
princess, I hastened to Saint Cloud directly news reached me of her
illness. To my horror, I saw the sudden change which had come over her
countenance; her horrible agony drew tears from the most callous, and
approaching her I kissed her hand, in spite of her confessor, who sought
to constrain her to be silent. She then repeatedly told me that she was
dying from the effects of poison.

This she also told the King, whom she perceived shed tears of
consternation and distress.

That evening, at Versailles, the King said to me, "If this crime is my
brother's handiwork, his head shall fall on the scaffold."

When the body was opened, proof of poison was obtained, and poison of the
most corrosive sort, for the stomach was eaten into in three places, and
there was general inflammation.

The King summoned his brother, in order to force him to explain so
heinous a crime. On perceiving his mien, Monsieur became pale and
confused. Rushing upon him sword in hand, the King was for demolishing
him on the spot. The captain of the guard hastened thither, and Monsieur
swore by the Holy Ghost that he was guiltless of the death of his dear
wife.

Leaving him a prey to remorse, if guilty he were, the King commanded him
to withdraw, and then shut himself up in his closet to prepare a
consolatory message to the English Court. According to the written
statement, which was also published in the newspapers, Madame had been
carried off by an attack of bilious colic. Five or six bribed physicians
certified to that effect, and a lying set of depositions, made for mere
form's sake, bore out their statements in due course.

The Abbe de Bossuet, charged to preach the funeral sermon, was apparently
desirous of being as obliging as the doctors. His homily led off with
such fulsome praise of Monsieur, that, from that day forward, he lost all
his credit, and sensible people thereafter only looked upon him as a vile
sycophant, a mere dealer in flattery and fairy-tales.




CHAPTER XVIII.

Madame Scarron.--Her Petition.--The King's Aversion to Her.--She is
Presented to Madame de Montespan.--The Queen of Portugal Thinks of
Engaging Her.--Madame de Montespan Keeps Her Back.--The Pension
Continued.--The King's Graciousness.--Rage of Mademoiselle d'Aumale.


As all the pensions granted by the Queen-mother had ceased at her demise,
the pensioners began to solicit the ministers anew, and all the
petitions, as is customary, were sent direct to the King.

One day his Majesty said to me, "Have you ever met in society a young
widow, said to be very pretty, but, at the same time, extremely affected?
It is to Madame Scarron that I allude, who, both before and after
widowhood, has resided at the Marais."

I replied that Madame Scarron was an extremely pleasant person, and not
at all affected. I had met her at the Richelieus' or the Albrets', where
her charm of manner and agreeable wit had made her in universal request.
I added a few words of recommendation concerning her petition, which,
unfortunately, had just been torn up, and the King curtly rejoined, "You
surprise me, madame; the portrait I had given to me of her was a totally
different one."

That same evening, when the young Marquis d'Alincour spoke to me about
this petition which had never obtained any answer, I requested him to go
and see Madame Scarron as soon as possible, and tell her that, in her own
interest, I should be pleased to receive her.

She lost no time in paying me a visit. Her black attire served only to
heighten the astounding whiteness of her complexion. Effusively thanking
me for interesting myself in her most painful case, she added:

"There is, apparently, some obstacle against me. I have presented two
petitions and two memoranda; being unsupported, both have been left
unanswered, and I have now just made the following resolve, madame, of
which you will not disapprove. M. Scarron, apparently well off, had only
a life interest in his property. Upon his death, his debts proved in
excess of his capital, and I, deeming it my duty to respect his
intentions and his memory, paid off everybody, and left myself nothing.
To-day, Madame la Princesse de Nemours wishes me to accompany her to
Lisbon as her secretary, or rather as her friend.

"Being about to acquire supreme power as a sovereign, she intends, by
some grand marriage, to keep me there, and then appoint me her
lady-in-waiting."

"And you submit without a murmur to such appalling exile?" I said to
Madame Scarron. "Is such a pretty, charming person as yourself fitted
for a Court of that kind, and for such an odd sort of climate?"

"Madame, I have sought to shut my eyes to many things, being solely
conscious of the horribly forlorn condition in which I find myself in my
native country."

"Have you reckoned the distance? Did the Princess confess that she was
going to carry you off to the other end of the world? For her city of
Lisbon, surrounded by precipices, is more than three hundred leagues from
Paris."

"At the age of three I voyaged to America, returning hither when I was
eleven."

"I am vexed with Mademoiselle d'Aumale for wanting to rob us of so
charming a treasure. But has she any right to act in this way? Do you
think her capable of contributing to your pleasure or your happiness?
This young Queen of Portugal, under the guise of good-humour, hides a
violent and irascible temperament. I believe her to be thoroughly
selfish; suppose that she neglects and despises you, after having
profited by your company to while away the tedium of her journey? Take
my word for it, madame, you had better stay here with us; for there is
no real society but in France, no wit but in our great world, no real
happiness but in Paris. Draw up another petition as quickly as
possible, and send it to me. I will present it myself, and to tell you
this is tantamount to a promise that your plea shall succeed."

[Mademoiselle d'Aumale, daughter of the Duc de Nemours, of the House of
Savoy. She was a blonde, pleasant-mannered enough, but short of stature.
Her head was too big for her body; and this head of hers was full of
conspiracies and coups d'etat. She dethroned her husband in order to
marry his brother.--EDITOR'S NOTE.]

Mademoiselle d'Aubigne, all flushed with emotion, assured me of her
gratitude with the ingenuous eloquence peculiar to herself. We embraced
as two friends of the Albret set should do, and three days later, the
King received a new petition, not signed with the name of Scarron, but
with that of D'Aubigne.

The pension of two thousand francs, granted three years before her death
by the Queen-mother, was renewed. Madame Scarron had the honour of
making her courtesy to the King, who thought her handsome, but grave in
demeanour, and in a loud, clear voice, he said to her, "Madame, I kept
you waiting; I was jealous of your friends."

The Queen of Portugal knew that I had deprived her of her secretary,
fellow-gossip, reader, Spanish teacher, stewardess, confidante, and
lady-in-waiting. She wrote to me complaining about this, and on taking
leave of the King to go and reign in Portugal, she said, with rather a
forced air of raillery:

"I shall hate you as long as I live, and if ever you do me the honour of
paying me a visit some day at Lisbon, I'll have you burned for your
pains."

Then she wanted to embrace me, as if we were equals, but this I
deprecated as much from aversion as from respect.




CHAPTER XIX.

La Fontaine.--Boileau.--Moliere.--Corneille.--Louis XIV.'s Opinion of
Each of Them.


The King's studies with his preceptor, Perefixe, had been of only a
superficial sort, as, in accordance with the express order of the
Queen-mother, this prelate had been mainly concerned about the health of
his pupil, the Queen being, above all, desirous that he should have a
good constitution. "The rest comes easily enough, if a prince have but
nobility of soul and a sense of duty," as the Queen often used to say.
Her words came true.

I came across several Spanish and Italian books in the library of the
little apartments. The "Pastor Fido," "Aminta," and the "Gerusalemme,"
seemed to me, at first, to be the favourite works. Then came Voiture's
letters, the writings of Malherbe and De Balzac, the Fables of La
Fontaine, the Satires of Boileau, and the delightful comedies of Moliere.
Corneille's tragedies had been read, but not often.

Until I came to Court, I had always looked upon Corneille as the greatest
tragic dramatist in the world, and as the foremost of our poets and men
of letters. The King saved me from this error.

Book in hand, he pointed out to me numberless faults of style, incoherent
and fantastic imagery, sentiment alike exaggerated and a thousand leagues
removed from nature. He considered, and still considers, Pierre
Corneille to be a blind enthusiast of the ancients, whom we deem great
since we do not know them. In his eyes, this declamatory poet was a
republican more by virtue of his head than his heart or his
intention,--one of those men more capricious than morose, who cannot
reconcile themselves to what exists, and prefer to fall back upon bygone
generations, not knowing how to live like friendly folk among their
contemporaries.

He liked La Fontaine better, by reason of his extreme naturalness, but
his unbecoming conduct at the time of the Fouquet trial proved painful to
his Majesty, who considered the following verses passing strange:

". . . . Trust not in kings Their favour is but slippery; worse than
that, It costs one dear, and errors such as these Full oft bring shame
and scandal in their wake."

"Long live Moliere!" added his Majesty; "there you have talent without
artifice, poetry without rhapsody, satire without bitterness, pleasantry
that is always apt, great knowledge of the human heart, and perpetual
raillery that yet is not devoid of delicacy and compassion. Moliere is a
most charming man in every respect; I gave him a few hints for his
'Tartuffe,' and such is his gratitude that he wants to make out that,
without me, he would never have written that masterpiece."

"You helped him, Sire, to produce it, and above all things, to carry out
his main idea; and Moliere is right in thinking that, without a mind free
from error, such as is yours, his masterpiece would never have been
created."

"It struck me," continued the King, "that some such thing was
indispensable as a counterbalance in the vast machinery of my government,
and I shall ever be the friend and supporter, not of Tartuffes, but of
the 'Tartuffe,' as long as I live."

"And Boileau, Sire?" I continued; "what place among your favourites does
he fill?"

"I like Boileau," replied the prince, "as a necessary scourge, which one
can pit against the bad taste of second-rate authors. His satires, of
too personal, a nature, and consequently iniquitous, do not please me. He
knows it, and, despite himself, he will amend this. He is at work upon
an 'Ars Poetica,' after the manner of Horace. The little that he has
read to me of this poem leads me to expect that it will be an important
work. The French language will continue to perfect itself by the help of
literature like this, and Boileau, cruel though he be, is going to confer
a great benefit upon all those who have to do with letters."




CHAPTER XX.

Birth of the Comte de Vegin.--Madame Scarron as Governess.--The King's
Continued Dislike of Her.--Birth of the Duc du Maine.--Marriage of the
Nun.


The King became ever more attached to me personally, as also to the
peculiarities of my temperament. He had witnessed with satisfaction the
birth of Madame de la Valliere's two children, and I thought that he
would have the same affection for mine. But I was wrong. It was with
feelings of trepidation and alarm that he contemplated my approaching
confinement. Had I given birth to a daughter, I am perfectly certain
that, in his eyes, I should have been done for.

I gave birth to the first Comte de Vegin, and, grasping my hand
affectionately, the King said to me, "Be of good courage, madame; present
princes to the Crown, and let those be scandalised who will!" A few
moments later he came back, and gave me a million for my expenses.

It was, however, mutually arranged that the newborn Infant should be
recognised later on, and that, for the time being, I was to have him
brought up in secrecy and mystery.

When dissuading Madame Scarron from undertaking a journey to Lisbon, I
had my own private ends in view. I considered her peculiarly fitted to
superintend the education of the King's children, and to maintain with
success the air of mysterious reserve which for a while was indispensable
to me. I deputed my brother, M. de Vivonne, to acquaint her with my
proposals,--proposals which came from the King as well,--nor did I doubt
for one moment as regarded her consent and complacency, being, as she
was, alone in Paris.

"Madame," said M. de Vivonne to her, "the Marquise is overjoyed at being
able to offer you an important position of trust, which will change your
life once for all."

"The gentle, quiet life which, thanks to the kindness of the King, I now
lead, is all that my ambition can desire," replied the widow, concealing
her trouble from my brother; "but since the King wishes and commands it,
I will renounce the liberty so dear to me, and will not hesitate to
obey."

Accordingly she came. The King had a few moments' parley with her, in
order to explain to her all his intentions relative to the new life upon
which she was about to enter, and M. Bontems--[First Groom of the
Chamber, and Keeper of the Privy Purse.]--furnished her with the
necessary funds for establishing her household in suitable style.

A month afterwards, I went incognito to her lonely residence, situate
amid vast kitchen-gardens between Vaugirard and the Luxembourg. The
house was clean, commodious, thoroughly well appointed, and, not being
overlooked by neighbours, the secret could but be safely kept. Madame
Scarron's domestics included two nurses, a waiting-maid, a physician, a
courier, two footmen, a coachman, a postilion, and two cooks.

Being provided with an excellent coach, she came to Saint Germain every
week, to bring me my son, or else news of his welfare.

Her habitually sad expression somewhat pained the King. As I soon
noticed their mutual embarrassment, I used to let Madame Scarron stay in
an inner room all the time that his Majesty remained with me.

In the following year, I gave birth to the Duc du Maine. Mademoiselle
d'Aubigne, who was waiting in the drawing-room, wrapped the child up
carefully, and took it away from Paris with all speed.

On her way she met with an adventure, comic in itself, and which
mortified her much. When told of it, I laughed not a little; and, in
spite of all my excuses and expressions of regret, she always felt
somewhat sore about this; in fact, she never quite got over it.

Between Marly and Ruel, two mounted police officers, in pursuit of a nun
who had escaped from a convent, bethought themselves of looking inside
Madame Scarron's carriage. Such inquisitiveness surprised her, and she
put on her mask, and drew down the blinds. Observing that she was
closely followed by these soldiers, she gave a signal to her coachman,
who instantly whipped up his horses, and drove at a furious rate.

At Nanterre the gendarmes, being reinforced, cried out to the coachman to
stop, and obliged Madame Scarron to get out. She was taken to a tavern
close by, where they asked her to remove her mask. She made various
excuses for not doing so, but at the mention of the lieutenant-general of
police, she had to give in.

"Madame," inquired the brigadier, "have you not been in a nunnery?"

"Pray, monsieur, why do you ask?"

"Be good enough to answer me, madame; repeat my question, and I insist
upon a reply. I have received instructions that I shall not hesitate to
carry out."

"I have lived with nuns, but that, monsieur, was a long while ago."

"It is not a question of time. What was your motive for leaving these
ladies, and who enabled you to do so?"

"I left the convent after my first communion. I left it openly, and of
my own free will. Pray be good enough to allow me to continue my
journey."

"On leaving the convent, where did you go?"

"First to one of my relatives, then to another, and at last to Paris,
where I got married."

"Married? What, madame, are you married? Oh, young lady, what behaviour
is this? Your simple, modest mien plainly shows what you were before
this marriage. But why did you want to get married?"

As he said this, the little Duc du Maine, suffering, perhaps, from a
twinge of colic, began to cry. The brigadier, more amazed than ever,
ordered the infant to be shown as well.

Seeing that she could make no defence, Madame Scarron began to shed
tears, and the officer, touched to pity, said:

"Madame, I am sorry for your fault, for, as I see, you are a good mother.
My orders are to take you to prison, and thence to the convent specified
by the archbishop, but I warn you that if we catch the father of your
child, he will hang. As for you, who have been seduced, and who belong
to a good family, tell me one of your relatives with whom you are on
friendly terms, and I will undertake to inform them of your predicament."

Madame Scarron, busy in soothing the Duc du Maine, durst not explain for
fear of aggravating matters, but begged the brigadier to take her back to
Saint Germain.

At this juncture my brother arrived on his way back to Paris. He
recognised the carriage, which stood before the inn, with a crowd of
peasants round it, and hastened to rescue the governess, for he soon
succeeded in persuading these worthy police officers that the sobbing
dame was not a runaway nun, and that the new-born infant came of a good
stock.




CHAPTER XXI.

The Saint Denis View.--Superstitions, Apparitions.--Projected Enlargement
of Versailles.--Fresh Victims for Saint Denis.


One evening I was walking at the far end of the long terrace of Saint
Germain. The King soon came thither, and pointing to Saint Denis, said,
"That, madame, is a gloomy, funereal view, which makes me displeased and
disgusted with this residence, fine though it be."

"Sire," I replied, "in no other spot could a more magnificent view be
found. Yonder river winding afar through the vast plain, that noble
forest divided by hunting roads into squares, that Calvary poised high in
air, those bridges placed here and there to add to the attractiveness of
the landscape, those flowery meadows set in the foreground as a rest to
the eye, the broad stream of the Seine, which seemingly is fain to flow
at a slower rate below your palace windows,--I do not think that any more
charming combination of objects could be met with elsewhere, unless one
went a long way from the capital."

"The chateau of Saint Germain no longer pleases me," replied the King. "I
shall enlarge Versailles and withdraw thither. What I am going to say
may astonish you, perhaps, as it comes from me, who am neither a
whimsical female nor a prey to superstition. A few days before the
Queen, my mother, had her final seizure, I was walking here alone in this
very spot. A reddish light appeared above the monastery of Saint Denis,
and a cloud which rose out of the ruddy glare assumed the shape of a
hearse bearing the arms of Austria. A few days afterwards my poor mother
was removed to Saint Denis. Four or five days before the horrible death
of our adorable Henrietta, the arrows of Saint Denis appeared to me in a
dream covered in dusky flames, and amid them I saw the spectre of Death,
holding in his hand the necklaces and bracelets of a young lady. The
appalling death of my cousin followed close upon this presage.
Henceforth, the view of Saint Denis spoils all these pleasant landscapes
for me. At Versailles fewer objects confront the eye; a park of that
sort has its own wealth of natural beauty, which suffices. I shall make
Versailles a delightful resort, for which France will be grateful to me,
and which my successors can neither neglect nor destroy without bringing
to themselves dishonour."

I sympathised with the reasons which made Saint Germain disagreeable to
his Majesty. Next summer the causes for such aversion became more
numerous, as the King had the misfortune to lose the daughters which the
Queen bore him, and they were carried to Saint Denis.




CHAPTER XXII.

M. de Lauzun.--His Pretensions.--Erroneous Ideas of the Public.--The War
in Candia.--M. de Lauzun Thinks He Will Secure a Throne for Himself.--The
King Does Not Wish This.


The Marquis de Guilain de Lauzun was, and still is, one of the handsomest
men at Court. Before my marriage, vanity prompted him to belong to the
list of my suitors, but as his reputation in Paris was that of a man who
had great success with the ladies, my family requested him either to come
to the point or to retire, and he withdrew, though unwilling to break
matters off altogether.

When he saw me in the bonds of matrimony, and enjoying its liberty, he
recommenced his somewhat equivocal pursuit of me, and managed to get
himself talked about at my expense. Society was unjust; M. de Lauzun
only dared to pay me homage of an insipid sort. He had success enough in
other quarters, and I knew what I owed to some one as well as what I owed
to myself.

Ambition is the Marquis's ruling passion. The simple role of a fine
gentleman is, in his eyes, but a secondary one; his Magnificency requires
a far more exalted platform than that.

When he knew that war in Candia had broken out, and which side the kings
of Christendom would necessarily take, his ideas became more exalted
still. He bethought himself of the strange fortunes of certain valiant
warriors in the time of the Crusades. He saw that the Lorraines, the
Bouillons, and the Lusignans had won sceptres and crowns, and he
flattered himself that the name of Lauzun might in this vast adventurous
career gain glory too.

He begged me to get him a command in this army of Candia, wherein the
King had just permitted his own kinsmen to go and win laurels for
themselves. He was already a full colonel of dragoons, and one of the
captains of the guard. The King, who till then liked him well enough,
considered such a proposition indecent, and, gauging or not gauging his
intentions, he postponed until a later period these aspirations of Lauzun
to the post of prince or sovereign.




CHAPTER XXIII.

The Abbe d'Estrees.--Singular Offers of Service.--Madame de Montespan
Declines His Offer of Intercession at the Vatican.--He Revenges Himself
upon the King of Portugal.--Difference between a Fair Man and a Dark.