Louis XIV and La Grande Mademoiselle, 1652-1693

This is not an alluring picture. There was but little to attract. It was murmured that he possessed secret methods of making himself beloved. "As for his temper and manners," continues Mademoiselle, "I defy any one to understand them, to explain or to imitate them." The world was not entirely of this opinion. It could recognise at least that M. de Lauzun was "the most insolent little man born in the century,"215 also the most malicious. Many cruel traits were ascribed to him, and his fashion of turning on his heel and plunging into the crowd before his victims had regained their composure was well known.

The world was also well assured that the favourite was an intriguer. Lauzun was always occupied with some machination, even against those to whom he was indifferent; this kept his hand in. For the rest, Mademoiselle was right; he was not understood. He was very intelligent. His clever phrases were repeated. For example, his response to the wife of a minister who said rather foolishly, in emphasising the trouble her husband gave himself: "There is nothing more embarrassing than the position of the one who holds la queue de la poêle, is there?" "Pardon, Madame, there are those who are within."

But Lauzun also loved to play the imbecile and to utter with the tone of a simpleton phrases without sense; he indulged in this singular taste even before the King. The contrast was great between his pretensions to the "haughty air" and the desire to be imposing and the habit of adorning himself in grotesque costumes in order to see whether any one dared to laugh at M. de Lauzun. He was once found at home arrayed in a dressing gown and great wig, his mantle over the gown, a nightcap upon his wig, and a plumed hat above all. Thus attired, he walked up and down scanning his domestics, and woe to him who did not keep his countenance.

He was at once avaricious and lavish, ungrateful and the reverse, delighting in evil but at the same time loyal as relative or friend while not ceasing to be dangerous. He undertook at one time to advance in the world his nephew, lately come from Périgord. He furnished him with a purse and took the trouble to present him at Court, at which their apparition was an event. They were pointed out to every one, and no one, not even the King, composed as he was by profession, could help laughing; Lauzun had indulged in the fantasy of dressing his nephew in the costume of his grandfather. The poor lad felt so ridiculous that he almost died from shame, and fled from Paris without daring to show himself again.

In this freak, his uncle had not acted maliciously: he had simply disregarded consequences. There was certainly a strain of madness in Lauzun. If not too large, a tinge of this kind often gives to people a certain fascination. It had captivated Mademoiselle, who in trying to define her attraction for Lauzun was forced to conclude, "Finally, he pleased me; and I love him passionately."

The King had also not been insensible to this indefinable charm, but it must be said that he had been slightly dazzled by the perfection of the qualities of a courtier which were shown by this half-madman. The Court of France possessed no more servile being bowing down before the master than "the most insolent little man seen during the century." This Gascon played comedies of devotion for the benefit of Louis XIV. and flattered him in the most shameful manner, which succeeded only too well.

The King was persuaded that M. de Lauzun loved him alone, lived but for him, and had no thought apart, and the King was touched by this illusion. He found such absolute devotion delightful, and was ready to pardon much to the man who gave so good an example to other courtiers.

But even in giving full weight to the originality and the unscrupulousness of this man, which undoubtedly added to his force, and also bearing in mind that Louis XIV. did not entirely escape a certain terror which his favourite inspired, it is still difficult to account for a success so disproportioned to the merit. Lauzun had almost reached the heights when the mad strain became ascendant and ruined him. Once decided upon her desires, Mademoiselle became completely absorbed in finding the best means of satisfying these. The first steps appeared to be the most difficult. Considering her rank, the advances must be made by her, and it fell to the Grande Mademoiselle to demand the hand of M. de Lauzun. Everything had been prepared and the Princess did not anticipate a refusal. But it was not sufficient to be married; she wished to live her romance, to be loved, and to be told so, and this delight was not easy to attain. "I do not know," says she, "if he perceived what was in my heart. I was dying of desire to give him an opportunity to tell me what his feelings were to me. I knew not how to accomplish this."

Probably in all the Court there did not exist another woman so naïve as Mademoiselle in regard to the manipulation of a lover! After having seriously thought over the matter, she decided upon a classic expedient. She resolved to tell Lauzun that it was a question of an alliance, and that she wished to ask his advice. If he loved her, he would certainly betray himself. She entered upon the attempt, on the same second of March on which she had awakened so gaily, and met her lover in the palace of the Queen, at the time when that lady retired to her oratoire to "pray God."

While Marie-Thérèse was prolonging her devotions a certain freedom was permitted in the anteroom.

"I went to him and led him near a window. With his pride and his haughty air, he appeared to me the Emperor of all the world. I commenced: 'You have testified so much friendship for me during so long a time, that I have the utmost confidence in you, and I do not wish to act without your advice.'" Lauzun protested, as was fitting, his gratitude and his devotion, and Mademoiselle continued: "It is plainly to be seen that the King wishes to marry me to the Prince de Lorraine; have you heard this mentioned?" No, he had "heard nothing of it." Mademoiselle poured out some confused explanations as to her reasons for wishing to remain in France, in the hope of finding at length true happiness. "For myself," concluded she, "I cannot love what I do not esteem." Lauzun approved all and demanded: "Do you think of marrying?" She responded naïvely, "I become enraged when I hear people calculating upon my succession." "Ah," said he, "nothing would give me greater delight than to marry." At this moment, the Queen came out of the oratoire and it was necessary to part. Lauzun had betrayed nothing. Nevertheless, Mademoiselle felt very happy: "I thought, there is one important step taken, and he can no longer mistake my sentiments; on the first occasion, I will learn his. I was well content with myself and with what I had done."

Lauzun had in fact really comprehended that the Grande Mademoiselle was throwing herself at his head, and he was well pleased to enter into the game at all risks, in order to gain what he could. Without actually reaching the marriage ceremony, the love of a grand princess can be of advantage in many ways. He took pains, therefore, to renew the conversation, and employed all his art, all his wit, in default of feeling, in keeping the flame alight in the breast of the old maid and in flattering the weaknesses which united with the movements of her heart in increasing the desire for marriage. Mademoiselle could not support the vision of the heirs always on the watch; Lauzun accentuated and sympathised with her annoyance at overhearing such phrases as "This one will have that territory, another will inherit this land." "I find your vexation very reasonable," said he, "for one should live as long as possible and not love those who desire our death."

Mademoiselle could not resign herself to growing old. This was not coquetry, of which she could not be accused; it was the conviction that on account of her high birth she was a privileged creature. She said very seriously, "People of my quality are always young," and she dressed as at twenty, and continued to dance.

Lauzun attacked this delicate subject and did not hesitate to speak unpleasant truths before offering the soothing balm held in reserve. It was his habit to treat women brutally in order to make them submissive, and in this case there were double reasons for doing so. "His maxim," relates Saint-Simon, "was that the Bourbons must be rudely treated and the rod must be held high over their heads, without which no empire could be preserved over them." This system had succeeded tolerably well with Louis XIV. Lauzun could well believe, in these early times, that it would also be successful with his cousin, so humbly did she accept his harshness.

He said to her: "I find that you are right to take a husband, nothing in the world being so ridiculous, no matter what may be the rank, as to see a woman of forty wrapped up in the pleasures of the world, like a girl of fifteen, who thinks of nothing else. At this age, a woman should be a nun or at least a dévote, or she should remain at home modestly dressed."

He admitted that Mademoiselle, on account of her high rank, might constitute an exception, and that she might be permitted at long intervals to hear one or two acts of the opera; but her duty as old maid was "to attend vespers, and to listen to sermons, to receive the benediction, to go to assemblies for the poor, and to the hospitals." Or else to marry; this was the alternative which pointed his moral. "For once married," continued he, "a woman can go anywhere at any age; she dresses like others, to please her husband, and goes to amusements because he wishes his wife not to appear peculiar."

Every word impressed itself on the mind of the loving Princess. When Saint-Simon, who was intimate with Lauzun, read the Mémoires of Mademoiselle, he found the account of this adventure so true and lively that he renounced the attempt to relate it himself. "Whoever knew Lauzun will at once recognise him in all that Mademoiselle relates, and his voice can almost be heard." Through a very natural contradiction, the Grande Mademoiselle, even at the height of her passion, preserved "some regret that she would no longer be queen in foreign lands." Lauzun tried to banish this regret. He represented to her that the trouble of playing at royalty

surpassed the pleasure. If you had been really Queen or Empress you would soon have been bored… You can now dwell here all your life… If you desire to marry you can raise a man to be the equal in grandeur and power to sovereigns. Above all, he will realise that you have taken pleasure in bringing him to prominence; he will be deeply grateful. It would not be needful to describe the man who may possess so much honour; for in pleasing you and in being your choice, he must of necessity be an estimable being. He will lack nothing; but where is he?

This language, so clear in its import to the reader, did not entirely satisfy Mademoiselle. The poor Princess was ever expecting an avowal or caresses which never came. Lauzun acted the disinterested friend, the person who was entirely out of the running, and he detailed all the reasons which made an unequal marriage distasteful to him. Far from seeking her, he held himself at a respectful distance when he met her. "It was I," says she, "who sought him." His reserve and his reticence added fuel to the flames, and this diverted him, but for the moment he did not dare to promise himself anything more than greater credit at Court.

In the meantime, the Duchesse de Longueville216 wished to establish the Count de Saint-Paul, the one of her sons who resembled "infinitely" La Rochefoucauld. In spite of the great difference in age – her son was only twenty – she thought of Mademoiselle, who remained by far the best match in the kingdom, and commenced overtures. These were eluded, but with a gentleness which astonished the social world. Mademoiselle had her reasons: "For myself, who had my own desires buried in my heart, it did not at all vex me that the report should be spread that there was question of marrying me to M. de Longueville.217 It occurred to me that this might in some measure accustom people to my future action."

For once, the diplomacy of Mademoiselle did not prove a failure, and her calculations were found to be justified. Some days later, when the affair was being discussed before Lauzun, one of his friends, who had perceived that the Princess was listening with pleasure, asked him why he did not try his fortune.218 Others joined in the suggestion and all assured him that nothing was impossible for a man so advanced in the good graces of the King. Lauzun expressed himself shocked at the idea of an alliance with Mademoiselle; but on returning to his lodging, he ruminated the entire night upon this conversation, and from that time the thought did not appear to him so chimerical. It was necessary, however, to delay the assurance; the King led the Court into Flanders and gave the command of the escort to his favourite.

This was a political journey. Spain had been vanquished almost without resistance in the war of Dévolution219 (1667-1668). Louis XIV. deemed it useful to display French royalty in all its pomp to the populations lately united with his kingdom, by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle (May 2, 1668), and all prepared to make a fine figure in a spectacle whose strangeness finds nothing analogous in modern life.

In 1658, Loret the journalist had valued at about twelve hundred souls (the servitors were not included) the convoy formed by the Court at its departure for Lyons. This figure was certainly surpassed in 1670, when the royal family alone, more than complete, since it included Mme. de Montespan and Mlle. de La Vallière, took in their train a suite of several thousand persons, not counting the army of escorts.

This suite was composed of ladies and maids of honour, gentlemen, pages, domestics of all orders and of both sexes, footmen and valets of valets. The King even brought his nurse with him. On the other hand, the nobility were better disciplined than in the times of Mazarin and Anne of Austria, and no one had dared to remain behind. The departure was from Saint-Germain, April 28. Pellison wrote the next day to his friend Mlle. de Scudéry: "It is impossible to tell you how numerous the Court is; it is much larger than at Saint-Germain or Paris. Every one has followed."220

The quantity of luggage gave to this crowd the appearance of a wandering nomadic tribe. All the personages of high rank took with them complete sets of furniture. Louis XIV. had on this journey "a chamber of crimson damask," for ordinary use, and another "very magnificent" where greater accommodation would be had. The bed of the last was "of green velvet embroidered with gold, immensely large, which could of itself fill several small rooms." There were also entire suites of needful furniture when the King lodged at his ease, and the same for the Queen, beautiful Gobelin tapestries and a quantity of silver plaques,221 chandeliers of silver, and other pieces.

The commissary department carried a monster cooking apparatus and necessary utensils to supply, morning and evening, several large tables with food served on plated dishes. When all was unpacked, their Majesties were "almost as at the Tuileries."

Monsieur could not do without pretty things nor infinite variation of toilet; he was much encumbered on a journey. Mademoiselle, demanding little, had nevertheless her rank to maintain, and her "campaign chamber" was imposing. On one journey, she was obliged to lodge ten days in a peasant's hut where the ceilings were so low that it was necessary to increase the height of the room by digging out the ground which formed the floor, in order to erect the canopy of her bed. Those of the courtiers obliged, from their rank as chiefs of Commandments, to keep open table led with them a staff of domestics and enough material for an itinerant inn. Others wished to make themselves conspicuous by the fineness of their equipage. That of Lauzun had been much admired at his departure from Paris. "He passed through the St. Honoré," wrote Mademoiselle, who had come across him by chance; "he was very splendid and magnificent." The most modest carried at least a camp-bed, under pain of sleeping upon mother earth during the entire trip.

The train of chariots, carts, and horses, or mules with pack-saddles, which rolled along the route to Flanders in 1670, can be pictured; also the difficulty of uniting luggage and owner when the resting-places were scattered over an entire village or group of villages; the accidents of all sorts which happened to the caravan, on roads almost always in a frightful condition, and in traversing rivers often without bridges; the indifference of some, the impatience of others, and the universal disorder; the anguish of losing one's cooks if one were a Marie-Thérèse, the desolation of not finding the rouge and powder if one were Monsieur or some pretty woman! Surely those who preserved their equanimity through such trials and under excessive fatigue deserve praise.

Louis XIV. was a good traveller, arranged everything for himself, and expected others to do as much. He detested groans, timid women, and those to whom a bed was important. The Queen Marie-Thérèse began to grumble before actually stepping into her coach, and the fact that she was in a placid frame of mind during a trip was spread far and wide as a piece of good news. The frugal suppers and the nights passed in a waggon, while awaiting the carriage which had missed the way, appeared to her frightful calamities. The bad condition of the roads made her weep, and she uttered loud cries in traversing fords. She was once found in tears, stopping the horses in the open plain and refusing to go on or to turn back. An intelligent interest in new surroundings did not give her compensation for her woes, for she possessed no curiosity. The conferences with which the King entertained the ladies along the route, upon military tactics and fortifications, mortally bored and wearied the poor Queen, and she did not know how to conceal her feelings.

To tell the truth, among all the women who pressed behind the King upon the ramparts of the cities or on the fortifications of old battle-fields, appearing to absorb his words and explanations, Mademoiselle was the only one who really listened with pleasure. Since the exploits during the Fronde, the Princess had always considered herself as belonging to the profession of arms.

Monsieur had one great resource in travelling. When he joined the King, he brought with him some choice bits of gossip which entertained the entire coach. In the evening, when the beds were being anxiously awaited, he started games, or ordered the King's violins and gave a dance. If no other place offered, the company would use a barn for the impromptu ball. Monsieur, however, was much annoyed at any mishaps which might interfere with his toilet, and could never take accidents of this kind lightly.

The journey of 1670 was made more difficult by torrents of rain, and the one who was generally drenched was the Commander-in-chief of the troops, who was obliged to stand with uncovered head to receive the King's orders. Monsieur looked with a sort of indignation upon the piteous countenance of Lauzun, his hair uncurled and dripping, and once said: "Nothing would induce me to show myself in such a condition. He does not look at all well with his wet hair; I have never seen a man so hideous."222

Mademoiselle was more indignant than Monsieur; chiefly over the fact that any one could consider M. de Lauzun ugly "in any state," and that the King should gaily expose him to the risk of catching cold. "M. de Lauzun is always without a hat and has his head drenched. I said to the King, 'Sire, command him to cover his head; he will be ill.' I said this so repeatedly that I was afraid my solicitude would be noticed."

Mademoiselle cared but little on her own account for the discomforts of the journey. No woman made fewer grimaces at a bad supper, or for being forced to make a bedchamber of her carriage, and sometimes to sleep upon a chair. She did not, however, enjoy the reputation of being a good traveller, on account of the insurmountable terror which water inspired. During a ford, she cried out as loudly as the Queen; the signs of the King's impatience could not restrain her; "as soon as I see it," said she, of the water, "I no longer know what I am doing."

The rest of the party belonging to the caravan resigned themselves to the discomforts of camping through "the grace of God." It was realised that any expression of discontent caused the danger of incurring the royal displeasure, and discomfort was expected as a necessary accompaniment of a royal progress.

In 1667, Court had passed one night at the Château of Mailly near Amiens. The Abbé de Montigny, Almoner of the Queen, wrote the next day to some friends, "Mailly, ladies, is a caravansary. There was such a crowd that Mme. de Montausier slept upon a heap of straw in a cupboard, the daughters of the Queen in a barn on some wheat, and your humble servant on a pile of charcoal."223 In 1670 the account of the night of the 3d of May filled many letters. May 3d had been a painful day. The immense convoy had departed from Saint-Quentin for Landrecies at an early hour, during a beating rain, which had visibly increased the water-courses and swamps. Hour by hour the vehicles sank deeper in the mud and the roads were encumbered with horses and mules, dead or overcome, with carts sunk in the mire, and with overturned baggage. It was not long before the chariots met the same fate. The Maréchal de Bellefonte was forced to abandon his in a slough, and make the remainder of his way to the resting-place on foot, in the company of Benserade and two others. M. de Crussol224 met the water above the doors of the carriage in traversing the Sambre, and M. de Bouligneux,225 who followed him, was forced to unharness in the middle of the stream and to save himself on one of the horses. When it came to the Queen and Mademoiselle, it was in vain to promise to conduct them to another ford reported as "very safe." Their cries and agitation were such that the attempt was abandoned. They sought shelter in the single habitation on the bank. It was a poor hut composed of two connecting rooms with only the ground for floor; on entering, Mademoiselle sank up to the knees in a muddy hole. Landrecies was upon the other bank of the Sambre. The night fell and all were dying with hunger, for there had been no meal since Saint-Quentin. The King, very discontented, declared that no further attempt should be made to proceed and the night should be passed in the carriages. Mademoiselle remounted into hers, put on her nightcap and undressed. She could not, however, close her eyes; "for there was such a frightful noise." Some one said, "The King and Queen are going to sup." Mademoiselle ordered herself borne through the mud into the hut, and found the Queen very sulky. Marie-Thérèse had no bed and was lamenting, saying "that she would be ill if she did not sleep," and demanding what was the pleasure in such journeyings.

Louis XIV. added the last touch to her vexation in proposing that the entire royal family and some intimates should sleep in the largest of the two rooms, letting the other serve as a military headquarters for Lauzun. "Look," said the King, "they are bringing mattresses; Romecourt226 has an entirely new bed upon which you can sleep." "What!" cried the Queen, "sleep all together in one room? that will be horrible!" "But," rejoined the King, "you'll be completely dressed. There can be no harm. I find none." Mademoiselle, chosen as arbitrator, found no impropriety, and the Queen yielded.

The city of Landrecies had provided their sovereigns with a "bouillon very thin," the distasteful appearance of which alarmed Marie-Thérèse. She refused it with disgust. When it was well understood that she would not touch it, the King and Mademoiselle, aided by Monsieur and Madame, devoured it in an instant; as soon as it was all gone, the Queen said, "I wanted some soup and you have eaten it all." Every one began to laugh, in spite of etiquette; when there appeared a large dish of chicken cutlets, also sent from Landrecies, which was eaten with avidity, soothing the injured feelings of the Queen. "The dish contained," relates Mademoiselle, "meat so hard that it took all one's strength to pull a chicken apart."

When the company retired for the night, those not yet prepared arrayed themselves in nightcaps and dressing-gowns,227 and French royalty for this memorable night must be represented in the apparel of Argan.