I cannot prevent my aunt's people from talking, but I hardly believe that she would say that I have promised her protection against you.

I love you and consider you, as much as the most pressing desires which pa.s.s through your brain are capable of inspiring me, and a.s.suredly it is my intention to give you pleasure in every degree possible. I only avow that you can do much on your part in facilitating things a little; this is my only request, and having nothing to add to so sincere an explanation of my sentiments, I finish this letter, praying G.o.d, etc.

Written at Fontainebleau, July 12, 1664.

Signed: Louis.[167]

It was beyond the strength of Mademoiselle to abstain from interference.

Her anxiety to be the fly on the wheel drew upon her a new letter from the King. The tone is that of a very impatient man.

TO MY COUSIN

MY COUSIN:

I see clearly by your last letter that you are not accurately informed of what is pa.s.sing in Piedmont; for I have been obliged to be very badly satisfied with my amba.s.sador, in that he has executed my orders with so much warmth that the Duc de Savoie complains through his despatches to Count Carrocio of apparently being forced into an action which should be the freest, even to the smallest particular. Judge by this fact if the conduct proposed and suggested to you is wise?

I perceive even malice in those who give you such advice; for their desire is to put you in such a state of mind that if the affair fail it is I who am to blame.

I see that you are already persuaded that success depends upon my simple wish expressing my desire on one side or the other, but I am not resolved to conduct myself according to the caprices of those people.

I have told you that I sincerely wish your satisfaction and I again affirm it. The friendship alone which I have for you would give me this feeling, and I realise also that the scheme is beneficial for me.

You must not doubt, therefore, that I will do all which will be really useful in furthering the affair; as for the means, it is not too much to say that I see better what should be done than those who speak and write to you. However, I pray G.o.d, etc.

At Vincennes, September 2, 1664.

Signed; Louis.

The King spoke the truth: the Duc de Savoie did not want the Grande Mademoiselle. Charles Emmanuel had never digested the affront received upon the journey to Lyons, from which he had seen his sister return d.u.c.h.ess of Parma when he had imagined to receive her as Queen of France.[168] He was not averse to revenging himself on Louis XIV. by refusing a princess of his family whose age above all "made him afraid, for he desired children."[169]

He had also an account to regulate with Mademoiselle, who had disdained him at the time in which she was young and beautiful. At this distant date, Charles Emmanuel, although her junior by seventeen years, had not concealed the fact that he would have been ready to marry her, "so much did he esteem her person and also her great wealth."[170]

But it was with the Duc de Savoie as with the Prince of Wales, and later with the Prince de Lorraine:

Quoi? moi! quoi? ces gens-la! l'on radote, je pense, A moi les proposer! helas! ils font pitie: Voyez un peu la belle espece.[171]

Having become less exacting with years, Mademoiselle at length found a man who did not disdain to play the part of subst.i.tute for his betters.

The Duke remained firm, and it was again a Nemours,[172] sister of the Queen of Portugal, who inherited the husband destined for the Grande Mademoiselle.

Equally difficult, the same fate fell upon Mademoiselle as upon the marriageable daughter in La Fontaine: she was to be reduced to wed a cadet of Gascony, the _malotru_ of the fable. I believe that La Fontaine had Mademoiselle in his mind when writing _La Fille_. It has been queried whether this subject was not borrowed from the _Epigram_ of Martial. There is no need for so distant a search. On July 8, 1664, La Fontaine had been appointed "gentleman-in-waiting to the dowager d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans."[173] He was, therefore, in a position to be well informed concerning the projects for marriage which failed, and the ridiculous actions of the daughter of the house. We possess his confidences upon the household of the Luxembourg, on the one side of the apartments of Madame, on the other those of Mademoiselle, in an epistle dedicated to Mignon, the little dog of his mistress.

For La Fontaine, the Luxembourg was the palace in which there was no place for lovers. The tender pa.s.sion was forbidden _chez_ Madame, where it was necessary to be contented with the "pious smiles" of Mme. de Crisse, the original of the Countess de Pimbesche, and to bear in mind the presence of an old Capuchin become Bishop of Bethleem in Nivernais,[174] who supervised the conversations. "Speak low," says the letter _Pour Mignon_.

Si l'eveque de Bethleem Nous entendait, Dieu sait la vie.

There was not even the resource of fleeing to the "Divinity" opposite.

Under that shelter, lovers were less well regarded year by year, and La Fontaine divined why: the antipathy always evinced by Mademoiselle was now doubled by envy.

The check in regard to the Savoie marriage had brought on a painful crisis in the life of this poor unattached heroine. For the first time, she had been made to feel that she had pa.s.sed the marriageable age, and she was one of those unfortunates who cannot easily resign themselves to the fall from the purely feminine portion of existence.

The revolt against nature frequently causes whimsicalities; a terrible injustice toward those doleful creatures who often have asked no better than to obey nature's laws in becoming wives and mothers. Nervous maladies give to the soul-tragedy a burlesque outside, and the world laughs without comprehending. Mademoiselle was one of these unfortunates. La Fontaine had well discovered it when he wrote:

Son miroir lui disait: "Prenez vite un mari."

Je ne sais quel desir le lui disait aussi: Le desir peut loger chez une precieuse.

It is very difficult to relate the decline of the Grande Mademoiselle without provoking a smile at least, and it would be a pity, however, if this proud figure should leave the even slight impression of that of Belise. She was left disabled, without aim in life, at the very moment in which women in general were being excluded from action, after having been slightly intoxicated with power under Anne of Austria. Men had at that time encouraged women to enter into public life. Thanks to masculine complicity, feminine influence and power had mounted high, and the weaker s.e.x enjoyed one of the most romantic moments of its entire history.

The habit of treating women as the equals of men had been fully formed when the will of a monarch who distrusted them precipitated the s.e.x from its giddy height.

It has been seen _a propos_ of La Valliere with what contempt Louis XIV.

spoke of women in his _Memoires_. Upon this subject he had truly Oriental ideas, approaching those held by his Spanish ancestors, inherited by them from the Moors. Louis could not do without women, but he wanted them only for amus.e.m.e.nt. He did not really believe them capable of giving anything else, judging them inferior and dangerous, perhaps in remembrance of Marie Mancini, who had almost enticed him into a crime against royalty.

Hardly had the King come to power when all who had issued from their sphere must re-enter it. Love was the only affair of importance in which women were permitted to share. Louis XIV. made no exception in favour of his mistresses. Mme. de Montespan tyrannised a little over him in spite of his fine theories. The others, however, were looked upon only in the light of beautiful and amusing creatures.

When, towards the end of the reign, Mme. de Maintenon had the glory of again raising the s.e.x to the position of being esteemed by the King, she alone benefited. In general, nothing was gained for women at large; the impression in regard to their true position had been too deep.

Suddenly reduced to an existence with a narrow horizon, women found it colourless and mean. They demanded love, since this was all that was left to them to supply those violent emotions to which they had become accustomed in the camps and councils. As the result of this new att.i.tude many strange events occurred, but they were little noticed as long as the Queen Mother remained of this world. Anne of Austria succeeded in saving appearances, if in nothing else. Once dead, there came the downfall, and strange things became frightful ones.

It was at Versailles in the midst of the Bengal fires of the "ile enchantee" that the Queen Mother felt the first pangs of the cancer which finally caused her death.

Paris followed with grief the course of her illness. Anne of Austria, remaining without influence, had again become popular. "She preserves harmony," wrote d'Ormesson, "and although she cannot be credited with much good, she still prevents much that is evil" (June 5, 1665). It is known that it was owing to her that a certain decency was maintained at the Court of France; that without her, Louis XIV. and his sister-in-law Henrietta would not have perceived in time that they already cared too much for each other and that the rumour of this was "making much noise at Court."[175]

[Ill.u.s.tration: =MADAME HENRIETTE D'ORLeANS= From the painting by Mignard in the National Portrait Gallery (Photograph by Walker, London)]

The Queen Mother was forced to open eyes which wished to remain closed.

She had spoken frankly, and her plainness had perhaps saved the kingdom of France from an ineffaceable stain. Such service cannot be forgotten by honest people. To grat.i.tude was added a sincere admiration for her courage under suffering. The poor woman endured without complaint, and with an incredible tranquillity, nine months of sharp pain increased by the barbarous remedies applied by a crowd of quacks.

In the royal family, the sentiments were mixed. Louis XIV., as Mme. de Motteville had well remarked, was a man full of "contradictions." He cherished his mother. During a previous malady, a short time before the cancer declared itself, he had cared for her night and day with a devotion and also a skill which astonished the attendants.

The thought of now losing her gave him seasons of stifling sobs. At the same time, his mother was a little too much of a personage. She troubled him by her clairvoyance. He experienced a certain relief at the knowledge that the time was approaching when she would no longer be able to watch his course of life. In all probability, he was himself ignorant of this feeling, but it was apparent to observers. When she was actually dying, affection bore away all other considerations, and the King almost fainted. Hardly was she interred when the pleasure of feeling himself entirely free again became ascendant.

The attachment of Monsieur for his mother was his best emotion. His grief possessed no hidden relief and forced him to be always near the invalid's bed. "The odour was so frightful," reports Mademoiselle, "that after seeing the wound dressed it was impossible to sup." Monsieur pa.s.sed all his time in the chamber and tried to demonstrate his tenderness. Sometimes most ridiculous ideas occurred to him; but he was not the less touching, through his never-failing tears, on account of his sincerity.

At length, Anne of Austria herself sent her son away. Monsieur returned to his pleasures and forgot his grief in them; he would not have been Philippe Duc d'Anjou if he had acted differently. When the end drew near, timid and submissive as he was, he would not be sent away. The King withdrew, obeying the custom which forbids princes, as formerly G.o.ds, to witness death. Louis twice told his brother not to remain longer, and only received the response "that he could not obey him in this, but he promised that it was the only point, during his entire life, on which he would ever disobey."[176]

A cry of Monsieur piercing the walls announced to Louis that the end had come.

The young Queen Marie-Therese, who was losing all, justified the reputation of "fool" which the Court gave her. She permitted herself to be persuaded that her position would be made higher, through all the privileges left to her by the death of the Queen Mother, and she was more than half consoled by this chimera.

Mademoiselle scrupulously observed the proprieties; which is all that can be said. Anne of Austria had emphasised in a solemn hour the tenacity of the rancour against her niece. The evening before death, she took farewell of all. Two only appeared forgotten; "I was astonished, after all that had pa.s.sed," relates Mademoiselle, "that she did not say a word to M. le Prince or to me, who were both there, especially slighting me who was brought up near her." It was precisely on account of "all that had pa.s.sed." Anne of Austria gave a good example to the King: she expired without pardoning the leaders of the Fronde.

Great changes followed this death. Louis XIV. lost his mother January 20, 1660; on the 27th of the same month, a deputation came from Parliament "to pay their compliments to the King." d'Ormesson was of this body. "I went afterwards," says his Journal, "to ma.s.s with the King, at which there were present the Queen, M. le Dauphin, Monsieur and Mlle. de La Valliere, whom the Queen has taken near her, through complaisance for the King, in which she shows her wisdom." Louis XIV.

officially presented his mistress to the people, and a.s.signed her rank immediately below that of his legitimate wife. During his mother's life he would not have dared to do this.

Two months later he was delivered from the _Cabale des Devots_, and from its intrusive observations, through the disappearance of the _Compagnie du Saint Sacrement_. It does not appear impossible that the death of the Queen may have slightly hastened this event. Anne of Austria had been acquainted with the society for a long period,[177] and had testified for it during many years of absolute devotion. She had guarded it from Mazarin. She did more: there is proof that she deceived her minister for the sake of the _Compagnie_. The situation changed with the death of the Cardinal. There is nothing to warrant the belief that Anne of Austria, whether restrained by fear or by some scruple, was willing, after the death of Mazarin, to deceive Louis XIV. for the sake of a secret society.

Actively pursued by Colbert, who divined an occult force behind the adversaries to his power, the _Compagnie_ fell back upon its habitual protector, and had the bitter disappointment of beseeching in vain. The devotion of Anne of Austria was henceforth to be a silent one. As long as she remained on earth, all hope was not lost; she might be brought back to the bosom of the fold, and better success might be looked for another time. Her death caused the final disorganisation. The society had not, during a long period, dared to reunite. Deprived of the mother of the King, it practically yielded. It dissolves and vanishes into thin air. Its register stops April 8, 1666. Have the records of the various prosecutions been destroyed or scattered? Have all the doc.u.ments been destroyed through prudence? Suppositions are free. It is with this mysterious brotherhood as with those water-courses which disappear under the ground. Their traces are lost. It even happens that they bear another name when they again spring to the surface. Such without doubt has been the fate of the "Compagnie du Saint Sacrement," for the sectarian spirit which has been its most significant mark has never lost its rights in the land; in our own days we still see it placing itself in France at the service of very different schools of thought and belief.

In this beginning of April (1666) in which the _Cabale des Devots_ had avowed itself vanquished, the Court was struck with the animation of the King.