At about the time when he attracted the attention of the Grande Mademoiselle, the insatiable little man extracted from his master (under the condition of secrecy for fear of Louvois) the promise of being shortly made Grand Master of Artillery. Lauzun was foolish enough not to be silent. Louvois, once warned, made such strong and convincing opposition that the King was aroused, and the favourite heard no more of the appointment. In his anxiety he appealed to Mme. de Montespan. She was his great friend and promised her aid; but he was distrustful and wished to "have his mind clear"; then occurred a scene which outraged Saint-Simon himself, as he related it long after. This writer avows in his Mémoires that it would have been incredible "if the truth had not been attested by all the Court."

Like most great workers, Louis XIV. was orderly and methodical in everything. He had fixed hours for his ministers and for appearing in public, hours for his wife and for his mistresses. It could always be known where he was and what he was doing. Mme. de Montespan's hour was in the afternoon. With the complicity of a chambermaid Lauzun was introduced into the room, concealed himself under the bed, and by keeping his ears open soon "cleared his mind." Mme. de Montespan did not forget him in her conversation, but he heard himself severely criticised and his bad character exploited; the slight dependence which could be placed upon him and his arrogance towards Louvois were also emphasised. All these charges were made with so much wit that the King, carried away, replied with almost as little charity.

The listener under the bed, through rage and constraint, was thrown into a "great perspiration." Finally the King returned to his own affairs and Mme. de Montespan to hers, which were to attire themselves for a ballet. After her toilet, Madame found Lauzun at her door. He offered his hand and demanded if he dared flatter himself that she had remembered him with the King. She assured him that she had not failed to do so, and expatiated upon "all the services which she had just rendered him." M. de Lauzun permitted her to finish, only forcing her to walk slowly, and then softly in a low voice repeated, word for word, all that had passed between the King and herself, without leaving out a single phrase; and always retaining the sweet and gentle voice, he proceeded to call her the most infamous names, assured her that he would "spoil her face," and led her most unwillingly to the ballet, more dead than alive, and almost without consciousness.

The King and Mme. de Montespan both believed that it was only the devil himself who could have so accurately reported what had been said. Royalty and the mistress were in trouble, and in a "horrible rage"; they had not yet recovered their equanimity when the favourite recommenced his intrigues.

Three days after this apparently inexplicable event, he came to break his sword before the King, declaiming that he would no longer serve a prince who forswore his word for a —— (the word cannot be repeated). The conduct of Louis XIV. at this juncture has remained famous. He opened the window and threw out his cane, saying that he should regret having struck a gentleman.

The next day Lauzun found himself in the Bastile, and it might have been supposed for a long sojourn, under a monarch who never as a child had pardoned a lack of respect. The public was still more astonished to learn, at the end of the second month, that it was the King who sought pardon, and Lauzun who held his head high, refusing recompense and asserting that the prison was preferable to the Court.

The feelings of Louvois and others can be imagined during the strange interchange of visits between Saint-Germain and the Bastile, for the purpose of obtaining from this dangerous personage the acceptance of the much-desired charge of Captain of the Body Guard; also the alarm at the prompt[213] return of the favourite, more of a spoiled child than before the punishment.

Whence came this credit with a prince so little susceptible to influence, who had always pretended to be as opposed to the rule of favourites as of prime ministers? In what did this little Lauzun show special merit? and what attracted women who pursued and sought his favour through cajoleries and gifts? Little Poucet he still was; for he had not increased in stature. "He is," wrote Bussy-Rabutin, "one of the smallest men God has ever made."[214] He had not become more beautiful. We can on this point believe the testimony of Mademoiselle herself. However strong her passion, she is yet able to paint Lauzun in these terms, writing to Mme. de Noailles: "He is a small man. No one can say that his figure is not the straightest, prettiest, most agreeable. The limbs are fine; he has good presence in all that he does; but little hair, blond mixed with grey, ill-combed, and often somewhat greasy; fine blue eyes, but generally red; a shrewd air; a pretty countenance. His smile pleases. The end of his nose is pointed and red; something elevated in his physiognomy; very negligent in attire; when, however, it appeals to him to be careful, he looks very well. Behold the man!"

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 Longueville[216] 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 Dévolution[219] (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 Crussol[224] 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; Romecourt[226] 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.

In the corner of the chimney, upon the bed of Romecourt, lay the Queen, turned so that she might see all that was passing. "You have only to keep open your curtain," suggested the King; "you will be able to see us all."

Near to the Queen, upon a mattress, lay Mme. de Bethune, the lady of honour, and Mme. de Thianges, sister of Mme. de Montespan, pressed together for lack of space. Monsieur and Madame, Louis XIV. and the Grande Mademoiselle, Mlle. de La Vallière, and Mme. de Montespan, a duchess and a maid of honour were crowded on the remaining mattresses, placed at right angles and proving a most troublesome obstruction to the officers going and coming on official business to the headquarters in the other room. Happily, the King at length ordered Lauzun to use a hole in the outer wall for his commands. The royal dormitory was at last left in peace, and the occupants could slumber.

At four in the morning, Louvois gave warning that a bridge had been built. Mademoiselle awakened the King and all got up. It was not a beautiful spectacle. Locks were hanging in disorder and countenances were wrinkled. Mademoiselle believed herself less disfigured than the others, because she felt very red, and she rejoiced, as she found it impossible to avoid the glance of Lauzun. The royal party mounted into their carriages and attended mass at Landrecies, after which these august personages went to bed and reposed a portion of the day.

The same evening Mademoiselle, only half aroused, was severely scolded by Lauzun for her ridiculous dread of the water. This was very sweet to her; it being the first time he had taken such a liberty, and the most passionate women in the early days of love adore the masterful tone. The two saw each other less often than at Saint-Germain, but with more freedom. The chances of travel gave, from time to time, the opportunity for long tête-à-têtes, by which they profited; she, to become more pressing, he, to make himself more keenly desired.

Lauzun said one day that he thought of retiring from the world. "I am having a vision of such beautiful and great hopes; and if they are only delusions I shall die of grief."

"But," said Mademoiselle, "do you never think of marrying?"

"The one thing of importance in marriage," replied he, "would be belief in the virtue of the lady, for if there had been the slightest lapse I would have none of her; even if it were a question of yourself, far above others as you are!"

He said this because there was a rumour that the King had the plan of marrying Mlle. de La Vallière to his favourite.

Mademoiselle cried out ingenuously: "But you would wish me; for I am good. 'Do not talk even delightful nonsense, when we are speaking seriously.' But return then to me."

This was precisely what he did not wish. He recollected all at once that the Venetian Ambassador was expecting him.

On another occasion, Mademoiselle said to him, in confessing the fact that she was "entirely resolved to marry," and that her choice was made: "I intend to speak to the King, and to have the wedding in Flanders; that will make less stir than at Paris."

"Ah, I beseech you not to do this!" cried Lauzun alarmed, for he did not consider the ground sufficiently prepared, "I do not wish it; ... I am absolutely opposed to it." Some days after, they were together looking through a window and exchanging impressions upon the persons of quality who were passing, "their forms, their bearing, their appearance, their wit." At length, Lauzun remarked, "Judging by what I hear, none of these would suit you?" "Assuredly not," replied Mademoiselle, "I wish that the person of my choice might go by, that I could point him out to you."

As every one had now passed, she continued: "He must be sought, there is still some one else." After this, relates her Mémoires, "he smiled and we talked of something else."

They had arrived at the point of smiles and mutual intelligence. Nevertheless the Court returned to Saint-Germain (June 7th) without Mademoiselle having obtained the decisive word for which she was meekly begging. Lauzun opposed some barriers to every advance. Acting through prudence or calculation, he was to have cause to congratulate himself.

Fifteen days elapsed in détours and feigned flights. Mademoiselle was exasperated. Comprehending perfectly well that a Gascony cadet could not say bluntly, "Take me!" she still was so little capable of subterfuge that she found the "manners of M. de Lauzun towards her extraordinary." Lauzun was too subtle for one so simple. La Bruyère himself was going to renounce the hope of penetrating into his motives, and to avow it in the passage in which he paints him under the name of Straton: "A character equivocal, unintelligible; an enigma; a problem never solved."

Persuaded that her lover held back through respect, Mademoiselle resolved to attack affairs boldly. On June 20th, she went to enjoy the diversions of the fine season[228] at Versailles. Monsieur and Madame were at their château at Saint-Cloud. Mademoiselle followed the Court. Lauzun was absent, but he took pains from time to time to appear in the Queen's salon. One evening, when he had met Mademoiselle and when he was chaffing her on the subject of the Duc de Longueville, the Princess said to him vivaciously: "Assuredly I shall marry; but it will not be with that person. I pray that I may speak with you to-morrow, for I am resolved to address the King and I desire that all should be finished before July 1st." He replied: "I am going to-morrow to Paris, and Sunday without fail I shall be here, and we will then talk over everything; I begin also to desire to have all ended."

On Sunday (June 29th), towards evening, Lauzun had not yet arrived. Mademoiselle was notified that the Queen was awaiting her for the daily drive. She went out quickly, and ran across the Comte d'Ayen,[229] who had also an appearance of being in haste, and who said to her in passing, "Madame is dying; I am seeking M. Vallot,[230] whom the King has commanded me to lead to her!" Below in her carriage the Queen related the tale of the glass of chicory water and the fact that Madame believed herself to be poisoned. All were astonished and exclaimed, "Ah, what a horror!" People looked at each other and did not know what to do. Marie-Thérèse descended from her carriage and was peacefully entering a boat on the grand canal, when a gentleman arrived in haste; Madame was in extremity and besought the Queen not to delay if she wished to see her alive. The château was speedily regained, where the confusion recommenced. The Queen demanded every instant: "What shall I do? What shall I do?" She could not decide to go herself, and she prevented Mademoiselle from departing without her. Finally, the King appeared. He took the Queen in his coach with Mademoiselle and the Comtesse de Soissons. Mlle. de La Vallière and Mme. de Montespan followed. It was eleven o'clock when the royal family descended at the gate of the Château Saint-Cloud.

The spectacle which awaited it has been described a hundred times. A poor little dishevelled figure, pathetic from suffering, and already drawn by the approach of the dying agony, lay upon the bed. The unfastened chemise permitted her emaciation to be seen, and she was so pale that if it had not been for her cries it might have been thought that the end had already come. We know through Mme. de La Fayette[231] that the first sentiments of the spectators had been those of pity, natural in such a case, and here doubled by the sight of the frightful sufferings and the gentleness of this young and charming being in the presence of death. The state of Madame had touched even her husband, so embittered against her by her frivolities, and only the sound of "weeping was heard in the chamber."

With the entrance of the sovereigns and their suite the aspect of the room was at once altered. Louis was indeed sincerely affected, Mademoiselle much moved, and many of the others felt "that they were losing with Madame all the joy, all the agreeableness, all the pleasures of the Court."[232] But egotism and intrigue marched on the heels of their Majesties. Even while weeping, each began to dream over the consequences of this death. Who would inherit the prestige of Madame? Whom would Monsieur marry? Would it be the Grande Mademoiselle? How would this affect the interests of each? The dying woman felt a sudden chill in the atmosphere. "She perceived with pain the tranquillity of every one," reports Mademoiselle, "and I have never seen any sight so pitiable as her state when she realised the real attitude of those surrounding her bed. The crowd kept on talking, moving about in the room, almost laughing."

Monsieur was only "astonished" at what was happening. Mademoiselle having urged him to send for a priest, he said, "Whom shall we call? Whose name will appear well in the Gazette?" This preoccupation truly reveals Monsieur.

After the departure of the King, who took away others in his train, the scene again changed. Monsieur had sent for Bossuet, who, in a letter to one of his brothers, has related details of these last hours. To judge from this letter, it appears that the presence of the priest at the bedside of Madame turned all minds from terrestrial preoccupations and banished all thoughts except those impressed by the grandeur of death. Madame herself gave the example, proving with her last sigh that she felt she was accomplishing "the most important action of life."[233] "I found her fully conscious," said Bossuet, "speaking and acting without ostentation, without effort, without violence; but so well, so suitably, with so much courage and piety, that I was completely overcome." Thus God had the last word!

On returning to Versailles, the Queen quietly ate her supper. Mademoiselle perceived Lauzun among those present. "In rising from table, I said to him, 'This is very disconcerting.' He replied, 'Very, and I am afraid that it may spoil our plans.' I responded, 'Ah, no. No matter what may happen.'"

The poor woman could not sleep during the night: how rid herself of Monsieur, if the King should wish "the marriage"? At six in the morning, word came from Saint-Cloud that Madame was dead. "At this news," continues Mademoiselle, "the King resolved to take medicine," and Mademoiselle, arriving with the Queen, found him in a dressing-gown, weeping bitterly over the loss of Madame, and very tenderly pitying his own woe. He said to Mademoiselle: "Come, watch me take medicine; let us make no more fuss; better act as I am doing." After his draught he retired, and the morning was passed in his bedchamber speaking of the dead.

In the afternoon, the King dressed and went to consult Mademoiselle, as the great authority in matters of Court etiquette, upon the proper arrangements for the funeral ceremony. After these details had been discussed, the King spoke the word she was expecting and dreading: "'My cousin, here is a vacant place, will you fill it?' I became pale as death, and said, 'You are the master, your wish is mine.' He urged me to speak frankly. I said, 'I can say nothing about this.' 'But have you any aversion to the idea?' I was silent; he went on, 'I will further the affair and report to you.'"

In the salons, the crowd of courtiers was busily engaged in remarrying Monsieur. The question was, "To whom?" and every one looked at the Grande Mademoiselle. Lauzun bore the situation like a man of spirit, without troubling himself with useless regrets or feigning a loving despair which was very foreign to his nature. His manner was free, very gay, too easy to please Mademoiselle when he congratulated her and refused to listen to her protestations that "it would never be." "The King said that he wished you would marry Monsieur; it will be necessary to obey." He besought her not to hesitate, and dilated on the joys of grandeur, and the happiness she might have with Monsieur. She responded, "I am more than fifteen, and I do not propose to accept a life fit only for children."

Of all the honours attached to the rank of sister-in-law to the King, one alone appealed to her,—that she would then have a good place in the royal carriage, instead of being always on the basket seat, and she represented to Lauzun that the "good place would not long remain vacant." It would be assigned to the children of the King as soon as they should be grown up. Once he added: "The past must be forgotten. I remember nothing of what you have told me; I have lately forgotten all."

Another time, he showed that he was not ignorant of what he was losing. She had just repeated, "Ah, this shall never be!" "But yes," rejoined Lauzun, "I shall be glad; for I prefer your grandeur to my own joy and fortune; I owe you too much to feel otherwise." "He had never before admitted as much," remarks Mademoiselle. After such delightful conversations, she shut herself up to weep. The idea of marrying Monsieur was odious to her, for other reasons besides the desires aroused by her passion.

Not that she suspected him of having poisoned his wife. Mademoiselle considered her cousin incapable of such a crime. But she could not bear the thought of the many favourites of Monsieur and of their power. One of these, M. de Beuvron,[234] had confirmed this repugnance by coming insolently and inopportunely to assure her of his protection and of that of the Chevalier de Lorraine. He frankly told her: "It will be more to our advantage to have you than a German princess without a sou, who would only be an expense, while you have so much that the allowance of Monsieur can be spent for his liberalities; thus we shall come off better." This was not a clever address to a princess who sincerely loved money. The following displayed even less tact: "If we aid in making your marriage, you will be under obligation to us, and you will realise our power."

Mademoiselle heard all and recounted the conversation to the King. "He has spoken like a fool," said Louis with his shrewd common-sense. Mademoiselle could not resign herself to this alliance, and Lauzun trembled lest he should be held responsible. He came once again, to find the Princess with the Queen, and said to her:

I come very humbly to supplicate, that you will speak no more to me. I am most unhappy at displeasing Monsieur. He might believe that all the difficulties you are making come from me. Thus I shall no longer enjoy the honour of addressing you. Do not summon me, for I shall not respond. Do not write to me, nor address me in any way. I am in despair to be forced to act in this fashion; but I must do so for love of you.

She equivocated, tried to retain him. He repeated to her his accustomed refrain that he must obey, and coldly took leave while she cried out: "Do not go away! What, shall I speak to you no more?" From that day Lauzun carefully avoided her. One day, when Mademoiselle requested him to re-knot her muff ribbon, he replied "that he was not sufficiently adroit," and yielded to Mlle. de La Vallière. He even avoided glancing in her direction.

Louis XIV. had found his brother well convinced of the advantage of marrying many millions; Monsieur only demanded delay, not wishing, with the rumours which were circulating, to appear too eager to replace the dead. Mademoiselle also on her side was endeavouring to hinder the progress of affairs. Success crowned the efforts of both, and the month of September was well advanced when the King said to his cousin in the presence of the Queen: "My brother has spoken to me; he wishes in case you have no children that you should make his daughter your heir,[235] and he says he will be well content not to have any more offspring, provided he is assured that my daughter shall marry his son. I counselled him to desire children, because this could not be a certainty."

Monsieur was thirteen years younger than Mademoiselle, and the latter very well understood the significance of words. She began to laugh. "I have never heard persons on the brink of marriage say that they did not wish children, and I hardly know whether this is a courteous proposition. What does your Majesty think?" The King also laughed. "My brother has said so many ridiculous things on this subject that I have advised silence."

The joking continued in spite of the Queen, who cried out, "This is really disagreeable!" Finally, Mademoiselle concluded in a serious tone: "Although I am no longer young, I have not reached the age at which children are impossible.... Such suggestions are most disagreeable to me." The King also became serious, and warned his cousin that she could never expect from him the gift of any government or any appointment which would permit the exercise of power, but only precious stones and furniture and other playthings. This again was a lesson from the Fronde, and in his Mémoires[236] Louis confirms this same resolution. Mademoiselle thanked her cousin somewhat ironically for what he had done to render Monsieur desirable, and, realising by the questions of the King that some hints had reached his ears, she pictured in covered words the future of which she had had a glimpse. The Queen demanded her meaning, but the King remained silent. "I do hope," observed Mademoiselle in ending, "that I may be permitted to act as I wish and that the King will not force me against my desires." "No, surely," replied Louis, "I will leave you free and will never constrain any one"; he added an instant after, "Let us go to dinner," and they separated. Some weeks rolled by. The favourites of Monsieur were cold about an alliance which the temper of Mademoiselle might make somewhat difficult, and which might in the end prove not to their advantage.[237]

Events moved quietly enough when the Princess one evening in October supplicated the King that there should be no more said of the project. Louis XIV. appeared to be indifferent. Monsieur was at first vexed and then dismissed the subject from his thoughts. Marie-Thérèse alone, interested neither in her brother-in-law nor in her cousin, "was in despair," relates Mademoiselle, "for she wishes that we should marry and have children." But no one paid much attention to the despair of Marie-Thérèse. Lauzun approved the course of Mademoiselle and ceased to avoid her. That was all. For an ambitious man, he was not a really clever schemer; he had too great a fear of being duped. He again assumed a sombre attitude and refused to hear the name of the one chosen by Mademoiselle. On a certain Thursday evening, when she had menaced him with the threat of breathing against the mirror and of writing the name of the man she loved, midnight sounded during this contest. "Nothing more can be said," observed Mademoiselle, "for it is already Friday." The next day, taking a sheet of paper, she wrote distinctly, "It is you," and sealed it. "That day I met him only on the way to supper. I said: 'I have the name in my pocket, but I do not wish to give it to you on Friday.' He responded: 'Give it to me! I promise that I will put it under my pillow and that I will not open the paper until midnight has passed.'" She did not trust him, and it did not occur to him to sacrifice a race that had been arranged for the Saturday. "Ah, well, I will wait until Sunday," said Mademoiselle with inconceivable patience, and her only vengeance was to let herself be implored a little, before giving up the paper. The couple were alone in a corner of the fireplace, in the salon of the Queen. "I drew forth the leaf, upon which only a single word was written, which, however, told much; I showed it to him, and then replaced it in my pocket, afterward in my muff. He urged me very strongly to give it to him, saying that his heart was beating rapidly.... Before yielding I said, 'You will reply on the same leaf.'"... In the evening she did not dare to raise her eyes; he declared that she was mocking him, that "he was not sufficiently foolish to be deceived," and this was the theme of the letter which he remitted to her. At the same time, he thought of the prodigious elevation which he was beginning to realise was a possibility before him. He was at last aroused, and could not always refrain from responding seriously to Mademoiselle. She spoke of the happiness which awaited them, and of her plans to make him the greatest lord in the kingdom. He counselled her always to bow before fate, but one day he added: "In marrying, the temperament of those throwing their fates together should be known. I will disclose mine." He said that he possessed a nature bizarre and unsociable, being able to live only in the wake of the King; "thus I shall be a peculiar and not very diverting husband." Later, he amplified a little, affirming that he was cured of desire for women, and had no more ambition. "When a post was proposed to me I refused it. After all, do you really want me?"—"Yes; I wish you."—"Do you find nothing in my person which is disgusting?" This question was reasonable enough. Lauzun was decidedly "unclean"[238]—but it roused the indignation of Mademoiselle: "When you say that you are afraid of not pleasing, you are simply mocking; you have pleased too easily in your life; but now about me, do you find anything unpleasant in my face? I believe that my only exterior fault is my teeth, which are not fine. That is a defect of my race, which fact bears its own compensations." "Assuredly" replied he, and she could not extract the expected compliment.

In the course of these events, the Court returned to the Louvre and the Tuileries, Mademoiselle to the Luxembourg. After much hesitation Lauzun consented that Mademoiselle should write a letter in which she should supplicate the King to forget all that he had said against mixed marriages, and permit her to be happy. The contemporaneous opinion was that Lauzun had made the first move. The Spanish Chargé d'Affaires wrote from Paris, December 21: "It is certain, as every one says, that he has arrived at this point with the authorisation and permission of the King."[239] The public voice, whose echo has been preserved for us by the novelists of the period, added that Mme. de Montespan had been mixed up in the affair, a version which two of her letters to Lauzun confirm,[240] and that she had obtained the consent of the King by saying: "Ah, Sire, let him alone. He has merit enough for this."[241]

There was evidently some secret bond between the mistress and Lauzun which united them when any mischief was at hand. The King had responded to Mademoiselle without actually saying yes, or no; he confessed that her letter had astonished him and asked her to reflect again. He repeated the advice three days later, during a tête-à-tête which took place behind closed doors at two o'clock in the morning. "I neither counsel you nor forbid you; but I pray you to consider well." He added that the affair was being discussed and that many people disliked M. de Lauzun. "Think over this fact and take your own measures."