Old Court Life in France, vol. 1

“My dear child,” said she, kissing Louise on both cheeks, a bland smile upon her face, “will you excuse my early visit?” She seated herself opposite to Mademoiselle de Lafayette, the better to observe her. “Excuse the warmth with which I spoke to you last night in the Queen’s sleeping-room; but really, whatever attention the King may pay you, ma chère, you must not allow yourself to grow careless in her Majesty’s service. As mistress of the robes, I cannot permit it. All the world, my dear cousin, sees he is in love with you” – Louise blushed to the roots of her hair, shook her head, and looked confused and unhappy – “of course he loves you in his fashion. I mean,” added Madame de Sennécy quickly, seeing her distress, and not giving her time to remonstrate, “a perfectly Platonic love, nothing improper, of course. He loves you timidly, modestly, even in his most secret thoughts. I am told by his attendants that the King shows every sign of a great passion, much more intense than he ever felt for Mademoiselle de Hautefort, who, after all, trifled with him, and never was sincere.”

“I do not know the King well enough, Duchess, to venture an opinion on his character,” replied Mademoiselle de Lafayette, with diffidence, “but I may say that if I had any prepossessions against his Majesty, I have lost them; I am sure he is capable of the tenderest friendship; he longs to open his heart to a real friend. His confidence has been hitherto abused.”

“My dear child, I have come here to advise you to be – well – that friend.”

“Oh! madame, I fear I am too inexperienced to be of use to him; but if the King does ask my advice, which seems very presumptuous in me to suppose, I shall conceal nothing that I think, neither facts nor opinions.”

“Ah, my cousin, try to rouse him; make him reign for himself; tell him to shake off that dreadful Cardinal.”

“That is, I fear, impossible; I am too ignorant of politics. Besides, what can I do now? he is going away to the war.”

“Well, but, petite sotte, he will return, and you will meet again.”

“Oh, no,” replied Louise, again colouring under the scrutinising eye of the mistress of the robes, “he will forget me long before that.”

“Nothing of the kind, Louise,” replied the Duchess, “the King never forgets anything.”

“Dear Duchess, you really are talking nonsense. What on earth could make the King care for me?” and she sighed deeply, and fell into a muse. “I do pity him, though,” she added, speaking with great feeling; “I pity him, I own. He is naturally good – brave – confiding,” and she paused between each word.

“I am glad you find him so,” answered the Duchess drily.

“Yet he ill fulfils his glorious mission,” continued Louise, as if speaking to herself. “He is conscious of it, and it pains him. I am sure he suffers acutely.”

“Heal his wounds, then,” said the Duchess, with a cynical smile, but speaking in so low a voice that Mademoiselle de Lafayette did not catch the words.

“Ah! if he had but one true friend, he might emulate his great father! Did you hear, Duchess, with what firmness he addressed the deputies yesterday, who had refused to register the royal edicts for raising the necessary funds for the army? ‘This money,’ he said, ‘is not for myself, but for the nation, and to maintain the national honour. Those who refuse it, injure France more than her enemies, the Spaniards. I will be obeyed,’ he said. There was energy! Oh, it was noble!” and her eyes glistened and cheeks glowed.

“I suppose the Cardinal had composed this neat little speech for him beforehand,” replied the Duchess with a sneer, contemplating her cousin with amused inquisitiveness. “You do not believe he ever spoke like that himself? You do not know him as well as I do, else you would not be so enthusiastic. However, it is all as it should be. I do not desire to disenchant you, I am sure. Au revoir,” and the Duchess left the room.

The next morning, before his departure for the campaign, Louis went to bid the Queen farewell. It was only a formal visit, and he stayed scarcely a minute. The Queen did not affect to care what might become of him. On leaving her audience-chamber he lingered in the anteroom in which her attendants were assembled. Mademoiselle de Lafayette was seated, with another maid, in a recess; she, – Mademoiselle de Guerchy, – seeing the King’s anxious looks, at once rose and retired. He immediately took her place, and signed to Louise to seat herself beside him. Separated from her companion, and sitting apart with Louis, Louise suddenly remembered that it was precisely thus the King had conversed tête-à-tête with Mademoiselle de Hautefort; she became greatly embarrassed.

“I come,” said the King, turning towards her, and speaking in a plaintive voice, “I come to bid you adieu.”

Louise bent her head, and put her handkerchief to her eyes. Louis started at seeing the big tears roll down her cheeks.

“I have enjoyed few moments of happiness in the course of my dreary life,” continued he, pressing her hand, “but this is one.”

He broke off, overcome apparently by his feelings. Louise wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Sire, believe me, I only feel the same emotion as thousands of your faithful subjects at a moment when you are about to lead the campaign against Spain. If you would condescend to inform yourself of general opinion you would find it as I say.”

“It may be, mademoiselle; but I only wish now to know your feelings. If you will indeed be to me the devoted friend I have so long sought in vain, my entire confidence shall be yours. I go to-morrow, but the most tender recollections will cling to me.” As he spoke he took her hand in his and kissed it with fervour. “Think of me, I implore you, with the same interest you now display. Believe me, my heart echoes all you feel. If I am spared, please God, your sympathy will be the consolation of my life.”

At this moment the Duchesse de Sennécy opened the door, in order to cross the anteroom. The King started up at the noise, and walked quickly towards another door opposite. The Duchess stopped; looked first at Mademoiselle de Lafayette seated alone, covered with blushes, then at the retreating figure of the King. She took in the whole situation at a glance. It was too tempting an opportunity to throw away. There was a favour she specially desired to ask. This was the very moment. In his present state of confusion the King, only to get rid of her, was sure to grant it. She rushed after him, and before Louis could reach the door, she had seized upon him and spoken.

When he had gone the Duchess ran up to Louise, who was now stitching at some embroidery to hide her blushes, and burst out laughing.

“You are merry, Duchess,” said the maid of honour, glad that anything should divert attention from herself.

“I am laughing, Louise, at the admirable presence of mind I have just shown. As you are only a débutante, I will explain what I mean for your special instruction. His Majesty does not exactly hate me, but something very like it. No love is lost between us. He dreads my making capital of all I see and hear to the Queen. He dreads my turning him into ridicule – which is so easy. Of all the persons about Court whom he would least have liked to have surprise him in the tender conversation he was holding with you, I am the one. He tried to reach the door. I saw my advantage, and pursued him. I knew he wanted to shake me off, so I seized the opportunity to ask a favour – of great importance to me. It is granted! Is not this clever? I am grateful, and will not repeat one word of this little adventure to her Majesty.”

Louise shook her head, and affected not to understand her. “You are altogether mistaken, Duchess. His Majesty simply honours me with such friendship as he might feel towards any loyal subject devoted to his interests. It is because the Court affects to despise him that I appear singular in estimating him at his true value; nothing else.”

“You are a prude,” exclaimed the Duchess, bluntly. “I hate affectation, especially of that kind.” Louise hung her head down, and played with some pearls with which the grey silk dress she wore was trimmed. “Besides, my little cousin, you must not sacrifice the interest of your friends, who have a right to look to you for favour and patronage.”

“Oh, Duchess, what a vile thought!” cried Louise; reddening. “Do you think I would make his Majesty’s friendship a matter of barter!”

“Oh, bah!” replied the Duchess, growing angry. “Louise, you are not so simple as you pretend. If you ask me the question, I reply, certainly your friends have a right to look to you – especially myself, who never let the Queen rest until she appointed you her maid of honour. She had almost made a vow never to fill up the place of her dear Mademoiselle de Hautefort.” Louise stared at the Duchess with a troubled look. Worldliness and meanness was a new and unpleasant experience – a fresh page in the history of the Court – that pained and revolted her.

“When the King returns,” continued Madame de Sennécy, not condescending to notice her disapprobation, “I shall expect you to give me all your confidence. You shall have excellent advice in return. If you follow it, in six months’ time you will revolutionise the Court, and banish Cardinal Richelieu. You will by that one act secure the King’s friendship and her Majesty’s favour. Eh, Louise? a brilliant position for a little provinciale like you! You must mind what you are about, or the Queen will grow jealous. I will take care, on the first opportunity, to assure her you are only acting in her interests.”

“Jealous of me! Impossible!” cried Louise. “Such a great Queen! so beautiful, so fascinating! Oh, Duchess, you are joking.”

“Nothing of the kind. I warn you not to imagine that there is any joking at Court, or you will find yourself mistaken. Now I shall leave you, Louise. Think over what I have said. Remember what you owe to those friends whose influence has placed you in your present high position.”

…

As soon as the Duchess left her, Mademoiselle de Lafayette hastened to her room, locked the door and sat down to reflect calmly upon all that had passed. She was disgusted with the coarse selfishness of the Duchess, whom she determined for the future to avoid. Then her heart melted within her as she recalled the King’s tender farewell. How eagerly his eyes had, sought hers! How melodious was his tremulous voice! How tenderly he had pressed her hand! He had spoken out: he wanted a friend; he had made choice of her; he had promised her all his confidence! Delicious thought!

No one had ever dreamed of attaching the slightest blame to his intimacy with Mademoiselle de Hautefort. It would be therefore absurd to reject his advances. She was safe, she felt, entirely safe in his high principles, his delicacy, and his honour. If she could only teach him to be as firm as he was winning, release him from the bondage of favourites, emancipate him from the tyranny of Richelieu, and deserve his gratitude – perhaps his affection! With what energy she would address him on his return, and remonstrate with him on his indolence, his indifference! With his courage, his powers of mind (in which she sincerely believed), his sensibility and gentleness, guided by her devoted far-seeing friendship, might he not equal his father as a sovereign – surpass him, perhaps, as much as he now does in morals, as a man? All these vague ideas floated through the brain of the simple-minded girl as she sat musing within the solitude of her chamber.

NOTES TO VOLUME I

Note 1, p. 4

Francis I., born at Cognac, was the only son of Charles d’Orléans, Duc d’Angoulême. After the death of two sons, born to Louis XII. by his wife, Anne de Bretagne, he created his relative, Francis, Duc de Valois, married him to his daughter, Claude, and selected him as his successor to the throne.

Note 2, p. 20

Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois, one of the oldest churches in France, dedicated to St. Germain, Bishop of Paris, by Chilperic. Saint-Germain l’Auxerrois, Saint-Etienne du Mont, the Hôtel de Clugny, and the Hôtel de Sens, all dating from a very early period, still remain.

Note 3, p. 21

Gentille Agnès plus de loy tu mérite,La cause était de France recouvrir;Que ce que peut dedans un cloître ouvrir,Close nonnaine? ou bien dévot hermite?

Note 4, p. 30

The Duc d’Alençon, husband of Marguerite de Valois, sister of Francis, who commanded the left wing of the French army, was the only man who showed himself a coward at Pavia. He turned and fled, with his whole division.

Note 5, p. 45

Triboulet had been court fool to Louis XII., who first discerned his good qualities, and rescued him from a most forlorn position. Triboulet’s sayings are almost a chronicle of the time, so much was he mixed up with the life of the two sovereigns he served. Brusquet, who compiled the “fool’s Calendar,” succeeded him in the office of jester to Francis.

Note 6, p. 54

Francis’s exact words, according to Du Bellay, were – “Les Guises mettront mes enfans en pourpoint et mon pauvre peuple en chemise.” This prophecy was poetised into the following verse: —

“François premier prédit ce mot,Que ceux de la maison de Guise,Mettraient ses enfans en pourpoint,Et son pauvre peuple en chemise.”

Note 7, p. 58

The Palace des Tournelles (so named from its many towers) stood in the Rue Saint-Antoine, opposite the Hôtel de Saint-Paul, upon the site of the Place Royal. Charles VI. was confined here when insane, by his wife, Isabeau de Bavière. The Duke of Bedford, Regent of France for Henry VI., a minor, lodged here. After the expulsion of the English from Paris, Charles VII. made it his residence. Louis XI. and Louis XII. inhabited it. The latter monarch died here.

Note 8, p. 64

Another contemporary says that the Queen of Navarre was invited to Marcel’s, the Prévôt of Paris, where, having eaten some confitures, she fell sick, and died five days afterwards.

Note 9, p. 68

Charles de Guise, Cardinal de Lorraine, was Minister under Francis II. and Charles IX. He endeavoured, without success, to introduce the Inquisition into France.

Note 10, p. 95

No sooner had Catherine de’ Medici built the Tuileries, than she left it to inhabit the Hôtel de Soissons (then called Hôtel de la Reine), in the parish of Saint-Eustache, in consequence of a prediction that she would die at Saint-Germain. The Hôtel de Soissons, as well as the Hôtel de Nesle, is now amalgamated into the Halle aux Blés. At the Hôtel de Soissons, Catherine lived for some years before her death.

Note 11, p. 124

Coligni was prosecuted as accessory to the murder of Francis, Duc de Guise, by his widow, Anna di Ferrara, but no sentence was pronounced.

Note 12, p. 126

Henri de Navarre then went to le prêche, Marguerite to mass.

Note 13, p. 128

Memoirs and Letters of Marguerite de Valois published by the Société de l’Histoire de France, by M. Guessand, 1842.

Note 14, p. 144

Coligni’s head was cut off, embalmed, and sent to Rome as a trophy. His remains were collected and buried by his friend, Montmorenci, at Chantilly. Before their removal from Montfaucon, Charles and all his court rode to see them. One of the courtiers observed “that the body smelt foul.” “Nay,” replied Charles, “the body of an enemy always smells sweet.”

Note 15, p. 135

SULLY’S ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

“I felt myself awakened at three hours after midnight by the loud ringing of all the bells, and the confused cries of the populace. My governor, Saint-Just and my valet went out. I never heard any more of them. I continued alone in my chamber, dressing myself, when in a few moments I saw my landlord enter, pale and astonished. He was of the reformed religion. He came to persuade me to go with him to mass. I did not think proper to follow him, but resolved to try if I could gain the College of Burgundy, where I studied, notwithstanding the distance it was from the house where I lodged, which made the attempt very perilous. I put on my scholar’s robe, and taking a large prayer-book under my arm, I went out. Upon entering the street, I was seized with horror at the sight of the furies who rushed from all parts, and burst open the houses, bawling out ‘Slaughter, slaughter – massacre the Huguenots!’ the blood which I saw shed before my eyes redoubled my terror. I fell into the midst of a body of guards; they stopped me, questioned me, and were beginning to use me ill, when, happily for me, the book that I carried was perceived, and served me as a passport. At last I arrived at the College of Burgundy, when a danger far greater than any I had yet met with awaited me. The porter having twice refused me entrance, I remained in the midst of the street, at the mercy of the Catholic furies, whose numbers increased every moment, and who were evidently in quest of their prey, when I bethought myself of calling for the principal of the college, La Faye, a good man, who loved me tenderly. The porter, gained by some small pieces of money which I put into his hand, did not fail to make him come at once. This honest man led me into his chamber. Here two inhuman priests, whom I heard make mention of the Sicilian Vespers, wanted to force me from him, that they might cut me in pieces, saying: ‘The order was to kill to the very infants at the breast!’ All that La Faye could do was to conduct me secretly to a remote closet, where he locked me up. I was there confined three days, uncertain of my destiny, receiving succour only from a domestic belonging to this charitable man, who brought me from time to time something to preserve my life.”

Note 16, p. 138

According to Dufresnay, Tables Chronologiques, vol. ii., seventy thousand Huguenots perished in the massacre of St. Bartholomew, which lasted seven days and seven nights. One man boasted that he had killed four hundred with his own hand.

Note 17, p. 139

It was the renown of these victories that gained for Henry the crown of Poland.

Note 18, p. 149

Comte d’Auvergne, son of Charles IX. by Marie Touchet, illegitimate nephew of Henry III. and half-brother of Henrietta d’Entragues.

Note 19, p. 158

Henry IV. was the son of Antoine de Bourbon, Duc de Vendôme, and of Jeanne d’Albret, only daughter of Henri d’Albret, King of Navarre, married to Marguerite Alençon, sister of Francis I., the widow of the Duc d’Alençon.

Note 20, p. 162

Chicot was a Gascon, jester to Henry IV. His specialité was intense hatred to the Duc de Mayenne, whom he constantly attempted to attack. During an engagement at Bures, he made prisoner the Comte de Chaligny, and carried him into Henry’s presence. “Tiens!” said he, “this is my prisoner.” Chaligny was so enraged at having been captured by a buffoon, that he poniarded Chicot on the spot.

Note 21, p. 253

Marie de’ Medici died in poverty at Cologne, aged sixty-nine.

Note 22, p. 255

The Duchesse de Montbazon died suddenly at Paris of measles. De Rancé was in the country at the time; no one dared tell him what had happened. On his return to Paris he ran up the stairs into her rooms, expecting to find her. There he found an open coffin, containing the corpse of Madame de Montbazon. The head was severed from the body (the coffin having been made too short), and lay outside on the winding sheet. Such is the story according to the Véritable Motifs de la Conversion de l’Abbé de la Trappe. Other authorities contradict these details.

Note 23, p. 283

Now the military hospital of the Val de Grâce, 277, Rue Saint-Jacques. Anne of Austria having been married twenty-two years without issue, vowed that she would build a new church within the convent, if she bore an heir to the throne. After the death of her husband, Louis XIII., she fulfilled her vow. The first stone of the present church was laid in 1645, by her son, Louis XIV.

END OF VOLUME I

1

See Note 1.

2

See Note 2.

3

See Note 3.

4

See Note 4.

5

See Note 5.

6

See Note 6.

7

See Note 7.

8

See Note 8.

9

See Note 9.

10

See Note 10.

11

See Note 11.

12

See Note 12.

13

See Note 13.

14

See Note 14.

15

See Note 15.

16

See Note 16.

17

See Note 17.

18

See Note 18.

19

See Note 19.

20

See Note 20.

21

Words used by Marie de’ Medici to Louis XIII.

22

Richelieu used these precise words in speaking of Marie de’ Medici.

23

See Note 21.

24

See Note 22.

25

See Note 23.