Louis XIV and La Grande Mademoiselle, 1652-1693

Lauzun opened his eyes wide upon her as upon a naughty child, and severely menaced her: "If you act in this manner, I will never be found again in the same room with you!" But she could not compose herself. One evening, at a great Court ball, she stopped in the middle of a dance and began to weep. The King rose and placed his hat before her face, leading her out of the room and explaining, "My cousin has vapours." The public did not pity her. It would have liked to celebrate her defeat. "All have praised the King for this action," wrote Olivier d'Ormesson.

Louis XIV. was again popular, a transient popularity which lasted only a few days. "It may be said that not only the Court, but the entire kingdom has rejoiced in the rupture of the proposed marriage."261 The sentiment of approval was unanimous. As to the Princess, who was guilty of asserting the right to "personal happiness," opinion judged her severely. The seventeenth century did not admit, as has been seen, that individual sentiments or the interests of the heart could predominate over the exactions of rank or society, and the age of the lovers and disparity of their appearance, she so tall, he almost a dwarf, aroused ridicule instead of sympathy. The Grande Mademoiselle was suddenly rewarded "with contempt," "for," says La Fare, "if this contemplated alliance appeared extraordinary as soon as the news was made public, it became ridiculous as soon as it was broken."

It is agreeable to meet among these people, who were right in the main, but who were malicious and uncharitable, one good Samaritan.

While Mme. de Sévigné wrote gaily, "All is finished,"262 the tears of Mademoiselle inspired kind and courageous words from a person comparatively obscure, and who excused herself from corresponding because she did not have enough "wit." A letter, dated January 21, 1671, addressed to Bussy-Rabutin by Mme. de Scudéry, sister-in-law of the illustrious Madeleine, contains this paragraph:

I will say nothing of the affair of Mademoiselle. You are no doubt acquainted with all that has passed. I will only add that, if you realise what a great passion can be, in the heart of a pure woman like the Princess, you will not wonder, but will have sympathy. For myself, who know nothing of love through experience, I comprehend that Mademoiselle is much to be pitied; for she has become sleepless. During the day she is agitated and weeps, and in fact is leading the most miserable existence possible.263

Bussy-Rabutin replied (A Chaseu, January 29, 1671):

I comprehend what passion means in a woman of the age and temperament of Mademoiselle, who has preserved her heart hitherto untouched, and I confess that this tale arouses my pity. Love seems to me a malady like the small-pox; the later it attacks the victim, the more severe the illness.

The writer had indeed well understood the characteristics of late love on only its displeasing side. But his attitude was, unfortunately, the one adopted by almost every one.

Regarded half-pityingly, but with an undercurrent of ridicule, the Grande Mademoiselle ceased to be interesting to the fickle French public. The fall from favour was very definite. The heroine of the Fronde was effaced in the eyes of contemporaries, and remained only a ridiculous old maid, whose woes amused the gallery.

CHAPTER VI

Was Mademoiselle secretly Married? – Imprisonment of Lauzun – Splendour and Decadence of France —La Chambre Ardente– Mademoiselle purchases Lauzun's Freedom – Their Embroilment – Death of the Grande Mademoiselle – Death of Lauzun – Conclusion

MANY of the events remaining to be recorded are very obscure. If they had any importance, they would have figured in the collections of historic enigmas and problems waiting to be solved; but they hardly merit the honour, as few of them have had any such influence over the destinies of France as had, for instance, the fact of the subjection of Anne of Austria to Mazarin. Nor do any possess the romantic attraction which attached to the legend of the "Man with the Iron Mask" before its explanation. Petty details, however, bring the French society of this period near to us, and the fact that events cannot always be interpreted makes them seem more like real life. It is only in romances that all is explained.

The most obscure of these smaller problems is the question of the marriage of Mademoiselle with the "little man," as she herself called him.

Contemporary opinion has been almost unanimous in its belief in this marriage. Neither date nor place nor names of the possible witnesses have ever been satisfactorily established, as was done in the case of the union of Louis XIV. and Mme. de Maintenon. There is no written proof of the fact; Mademoiselle had the habit of burning her letters, and made no exception in favour of those from Lauzun. She states this fact with regret, in her Mémoires. We are thus reduced to moral proofs. It is true that these are strong in favour of the event having taken place; but they are not altogether unanswerable.

The belief that a secret bond had remained, after the official rupture, rested in the mind of most people interested. One of the correspondents264 of Bussy-Rabutin wrote to him, February 17, 1671: "Mademoiselle sometimes still weeps when she reflects, but often she laughs and is at her ease. Her lover continues to see her and no one opposes it. I do not know what will happen." Three weeks later, Mme. de Scudéry made allusion to the same rumour (Paris, March 6, 1671): "Mademoiselle is always conversing with M. de Lauzun. Their conversations begin and end with tears. I assure you, however, that there will be no result." Bussy was among those who believed that it "would come to something." He replied on the 13th to Mme. de Scudéry: "I am convinced that the affair of Mademoiselle and Lauzun will have a happy issue, not in the manner they at first hoped, but in a more secret method to which the King will consent."

Would Mademoiselle accept this other way? Doubt is permissible. Marriages of conscience, if fashionable in the seventeenth century, created false situations, sometimes very humiliating ones, to a person not an absolute sovereign accountable to no one, and in a position to let the truth come out or not as it pleased him. For the rest of mortals, secret marriages must actually remain concealed, or there would result endless difficulties. On this account, the married pair could only meet through a happy chance, which is not agreeable, while it was also almost impossible to escape suspicious commentaries and the uncomfortable dependence upon the fidelity of servants. Segrais would never believe that Mademoiselle had married Lauzun, and one of the reasons given was "that she sent away Madelon, her chambermaid, and she would not have done this if Madelon had been able to gossip." Segrais might have added that his mistress had always severely criticised the equivocations arising from marriages of conscience.

But all was changed after the serious conversation between the King and Mademoiselle behind the closed doors. Mademoiselle encouraged Lauzun to assume airs of authority, and she was meekly submissive. "He regarded me with such a look that I no longer dared to weep, the power that he had over me retaining my tears. It is much wiser not to lose self-control!"

It was by his advice that she cleared her palace of all who had blamed their first plan. M. de Montausier and Mme. de Sévigné tried in vain to save Segrais, who "was their special friend." "She cannot be touched," wrote Mme. de Sévigné, "upon a subject which approaches to within nine hundred leagues of a certain cape."265 It was Lauzun who designated the successor of Guillore, her Intendant, and who submitted the choice to the King. This might give rise to remark. Lauzun warned Mademoiselle of this danger. "It may be said in the world that I wish to rule you completely." She responded: "Please God that you should; that is what I profoundly desire." Mademoiselle had confirmed through new acts the lavish gifts assured by the contract, and the King rivalled his cousin in generosity. If the courtiers can be believed, Louis had promised Lauzun that he should lose nothing by not marrying Mademoiselle. In any case, he heaped favours upon him. The first gift was the government of Berri, with fifty thousand francs to pay his debts and the hope that Fortune would continue her benedictions. Louvois grew anxious and amassed shiploads of hatred against the favourite.

The winter passed in this manner. In the spring, the Court returned to Flanders. During a sojourn at Dunkerque so much was said of the intimacy of the "dwarf" with the Grande Mademoiselle, that the report reached the ears of the Princess: "The rumour is circulating that we were married before leaving Paris, and the Gazette de Hollande confirms this. Some one brought the paper to me; I showed it to Lauzun, who laughed." Two pages further on, another conversation proves that the news was at least premature; but the public had the right to be deceived, so tender and familiar was the intercourse between the couple.

There was a question in this same spring of a trip to Fontainebleau:

I said to M. de Lauzun, "Take care to wear a cap when you are in the forest; the evening dew is bad for the teeth, and further you are subject to weak eyes and to catching cold. The air of Fontainebleau makes the hair fall out." He replied: "I certainly must try to preserve my teeth. I also fear cold; but as for the red eyes with which you are constantly reproaching me, they are caused by wakefulness, with which I have been troubled for some time. As for my hair, I have too little left to take further pains about it."

She preached neatness to him. "If you are slovenly, it will be said that I have bad taste. For my sake, you must be careful." Lauzun only laughed. Indeed, she scolded him through jealousy, fearing that he was escaping from her influence and going she did not know where, and perceiving this, he cajoled her. "As soon as he saw that I wished to scold him, he had unequalled methods for putting me in a good humour." All this folly resembled a honeymoon, and the Mémoires of Mademoiselle for this same year include a passage which is almost a confession. "It is still said that we are married. We neither of us say anything, it being only our particular friends who would dare to address us, and it is easy to laugh at them, only saying, 'The King knows all.'"

The conduct of Mademoiselle during the ten years following being a perpetual and striking confirmation of this half-confession, the fact of the secret marriage would seem to be assured, and the date would be placed between May and November, 1671, if it were not for a last quotation, to be given at its proper date, which again throws doubt upon the event.

Whatever the truth may be, it would appear that Mademoiselle had known how to reunite the broken fragments of her happiness; but Lauzun, for a second time, lost everything. He had easily learned that he owed the rupture of the first plan to Mme. de Montespan, and had conceived so furious a hate against this false friend that he lost his head.

After a scene worthy of fishwives, in which he had called her names impossible to print, he would proceed to declaim against her in the salons, with the utmost violence, and sometimes at only a few steps from her ears. The courtiers marvelled at the excessive insolence on the one side and the curious patience on the other, for Mme. de Montespan endured these outrages without whispering a single protest. It was rumoured that she had once been his mistress, and that his power was derived from this fact.

It is to this enforced penitence of the all-powerful favourite that Mme. Scarron alluded when at a supper, the account of which is given by Mme. de Sévigné266: "she dilated upon the horrible agitations in a country very well known, the continual rage of the little Lauzun, and the black chagrin or the sad boredom of the ladies of Saint-Germain; and suggested that the most envied was perhaps not always exempt." Mme. Scarron had seen the "horrible agitations" very near, for it was she who had intervened against Lauzun; it was upon her representations that Mme. de Montespan had ended by saying to the King that "she did not believe that her life was safe as long as this man was free."267

Lauzun was arrested at Saint-Germain, in his chamber, the evening of November 25, 1671. The evening previous, Mademoiselle had departed for Paris declaring: "I do not know what is the matter; I am in such dreadful apprehension that I cannot remain here." She wept on the way. She very well knew the cause. One of her friends had been asked, "if M. de Lauzun had been arrested," and this query had worried her.

Delayed by chance or by precaution, the news of the arrest did not reach the Luxembourg until twenty-four hours later. Lauzun was already on the road to Pignerol. Before him hastened M. de Nallot, a man of confidence despatched by Louvois, who certainly felt a ferocious joy in the action, to bear the instructions of his master to the Sieur de Saint-Mars, governor of the prison of Pignerol, and of those enclosed within its walls. Foucquet had been during seven years under the care of Saint-Mars, who had followed orders with such fidelity that Louvois did not doubt that he would be obeyed as blindly in any commands it might please him to give regarding Lauzun. The instructions gave orders to imprison him with one valet, and never to permit him to leave the fortress nor to have any communication with the outer world.

Saint-Mars thus responded:

Pignerol, December 9, 1671.

Monseigneur, M. de Nallot arrived here on the fifth instant, conveying the note of instructions you have been pleased to send me… He will report to you my haste in preparing the apartment for M. de Lauzun; he will tell you, Monseigneur, that I will lodge him in the two low vaulted chambers which are over those of M. Foucquet: these are the ones with the barred windows you yourself268 examined. From the way in which I have arranged the place, I can respond with my life for the safety of the person of M. de Lauzun, and also the certainty of intercepting any news sent or received.

I engage upon my honour, Monseigneur, that as long as this gentleman is under my care you will hear no further word about him, it will be as if he already lay in pace.

The place prepared is so constructed that I can have holes made, through which I can spy into the apartment. I shall also know all that he does and says through the reports of a valet whom I will furnish as you have ordered; I have found one with much trouble, because the clever ones do not wish to pass their life in prison. You order that mass shall be celebrated for M. de Lauzun only on fête days and Sundays and I will scrupulously follow the letter of your instructions… The Confessor of M. Foucquet will attend the new prisoner on Easter and at no other time, whatever may happen. My only desire is to carry out exactly the orders with which you have honoured me: I shall always endeavour to do this with zeal, passion, and fidelity, so I trust that you may be content with my small services.269

All the officials of the citadel had written to Louvois after the arrival of his agent, so great an impression had been made. It was said that M. de Lauzun was a great criminal and a very dangerous one to necessitate such precautions. Each wished to show his special zeal. Louis XIV. was also well informed about the prison destined for his old favourite.

Louvois showed the King the plan he had received. The apartment consisted of two low vaulted rooms facing a deserted court, through which no one ever passed. The windows were darkened by iron bars and were covered with a sort of basket-work used in prisons, to prevent the occupant seeing or being seen. Noises from without, even those from the guards and the kitchen, did not penetrate into this remote place, the most "noiseless" of all the citadel, on account of the enormous thickness of the walls and of the vaulting. "Never," said one of the letters, "will M. Foucquet know that he has a companion." The correspondents of Louvois unanimously insisted upon the necessity of preventing any risk of escape. A screen of iron was placed in the embrasure of the windows and a vissante inserted in the chimney to prevent M. de Lauzun and M. de Foucquet from communicating with each other.

When this new command left Saint-Germain, Lauzun was already locked up at Pignerol. He appeared very sad and depressed during the journey. His grief was changed into fury at sight of the dungeon which awaited him. Saint-Mars wrote to Louvois (December 22, 1671): "Monseigneur, my prisoner is in so profound a grief, that I can hardly describe it. He said to me that I had made him a lodging sæcula sæculorum." Lauzun declared that he would lose his reason, and his agitation seemed to point to this danger.

[December 30] I do not believe, Monseigneur, that I can send you any news of my prisoner's being more tranquil; he is in so profound a grief that he does nothing but sigh and beat the ground with his feet. He asked me once if I knew the cause of his detention; I replied that I never received any news of this sort lest I should be tempted to tell it.

Lauzun had well divined the cause of his arrest, but he had not been told. All explanation had been refused at Saint-Germain, and the condemning him to such a dungeon with the most rigorous secrecy, with no declared reason, seemed a crying and tyrannical act of injustice. Saint-Mars began to fear a tragic ending.

[January 12, 1672] Monseigneur … he is overwhelmed with so extraordinary a grief that I fear he may lose his reason, or kill himself, which last he has threatened several times… As I do not stop to listen to his ravings, he accuses me of having grown hard and pitiless through my long occupation as jailer; and repeats that he has never been judged and that his worst suffering is caused by the fact that he is ignorant of his crime.

He had never been judged! This was the refrain during ten long years! Foucquet, his neighbour, had judges, indépendants or not; he had known the cause of his accusation, and his defence had been heard. Lauzun was in his vault through the good pleasure of the King without having had a chance to justify himself, and this grievance caused his revolt.

When Mademoiselle was told of the arrest of Lauzun, she was so overcome that she was astonished "that she did not die." She remained in a most pitiable state until the next day. She was counselled not to delay an appeal to the King, and it was needful to form some plan. If there had been only herself to consider, Mademoiselle would have been ready to bid adieu to the world; but there was Lauzun, who was, according to the custom then legal, to be accused when he could not defend himself, and there was only herself to plead his cause with the King.

It was impossible to abandon her lover, and Mademoiselle found strength to rise and to go to Saint-Germain. She only reached the King in the evening at supper. "He regarded me with a sad and embarrassed air. I looked at him with tears in my eyes, but said nothing; I know what he said in returning after to the ladies270: 'My cousin has been very courteous, she has been silent.' He would have been imprudent to address me, as I was prepared to reply to all."

The Court of France was at that date very gay and animated. Monsieur had just remarried (November 16), with Elisabeth Charlotte de Bavière, Princess Palatine, famed for the originality of her mind and the freshness of her language. The King, who, without wit, had good taste, was charmed with his new sister-in-law, and was lavish with fêtes in her honour. At first, Mademoiselle considered it a duty to be present. She pathetically relates the history of an abominable evening during which she was obliged to appear to be enjoying the spectacle of a ballet, while her thoughts were far distant, following a coach surrounded by musketeers:

To think that he was absent; that it was bitterly cold and was snowing heavily, and that my dear one was on the open road on his way to prison; to picture his sufferings and his pitiable appearance made my heart ache. I believe that it would deceive those who should have been there with him to see me here, not realising the torture it gives me. My single consolation is that these constant sacrifices I am making for the King, may in the end arouse his pity for M. de Lauzun and renew his tenderness, for I am not able to persuade myself that he no longer loves him. I should be only too content if my sacrifices can accomplish any results. This is my motive for remaining near the Court since Lauzun's imprisonment, and forces me from a sense of duty to do many things which I should have avoided if I had only consulted my inclinations. With a heart pierced with tender grief, I should have so willingly remained at home in solitude rather than to drag myself through the gay scenes of the Court festivities."

After each effort, she allowed herself slight relaxation and retired to weep in some corner, then returning to the King with red and swollen eyes. "I am persuaded" wrote she, apropos of a trip with the Court, "that my presence has recalled the memory of M. de Lauzun; this is the reason why I wish to be always before the eyes of the King… I cannot believe that he will not feel that my looks are ever supplicating him." Mademoiselle was very ingenious in her efforts to refer constantly to the absent one. If a grated window was passed she began to sigh and to pity those in prison. If there was a rumour that Lauzun was ill, she solicited by letter the softening of the régime. Louis never responded, but he did not show any displeasure. The enemies of the disgraced one endeavoured to detach the Princess from her lover. They knew her weakness; she was very jealous, and there might easily be occasion in regard to Lauzun, known as the greatest libertine of this licentious Court. At the moment of arrest his papers had been seized. There were many letters; locks of hair and other love tokens, carefully ticketed, and a sort of secret museum enclosing portraits that Louis XIV. ordered to be destroyed, – not promptly enough, however, as many persons enjoyed a glimpse of them, and were able to identify the originals.

The "caskets" of Lauzun were the great social scandal of the winter, and there were people enough to exploit the contents to Mademoiselle. They gained nothing for their pains; she had the wisdom not to listen. They belonged to the past. The same kind friends endeavoured to open her eyes to the fact that she had been deceived in giving her heart to a man who only desired her millions. They said: "He did not love you; when he was promised wealth, appointments, he readily left you; the day on which the King broke the marriage, Lauzun gambled all the evening with the greatest tranquility; he cares nothing about you." Mademoiselle allows in her Mémoires that she began to be disturbed when she was forced to hear such statements from morning till night during a series of years. Her own remembrances only too well confirmed the truth. She had never received a word of tenderness from Lauzun, not even a truly gracious word. But misfortune is an invincible safeguard with generous souls. Mademoiselle relates that her heart "fought against itself" in favour of her lover, and the heart conquered, since each new year found her still devoted, still indefatigable in her efforts to obtain his release.

At the end of eight years there could be no more doubt. Contemporaries and those of the next generation have tried in vain to discover why Louis XIV. attached so serious an importance to preventing Lauzun from receiving news. Of what was he afraid? Was it essential for the safety of France to insist upon such minute precautions?

One day, fresh linen was to be forwarded to Lauzun from Saint-Germain. Louvois wrote to Saint-Mars (February 2, 1672): "Have this washed two or three times before giving it to him." Saint-Mars signified that he comprehended and replied (February 20):

I shall not fail to have the linen you are sending to Lauzun thoroughly wet after having every seam examined, any writing which may be upon the linen will thus vanish. Everything which is brought out of his room is put at once in a tub of water after being examined, and the laundress bringing it from the river dries it before the fire in the presence of my officers, who take turn at this duty, week by week. I also take the same precautions with the towels, napkins, etc.