Love And Louis XIV: The Women In The Life Of The Sun King Part 7

We Must Submit

'Lalande, we must submit.' Louis XIV to the composer, pointing to the sky, 1711 Sophie de Dangeau consoled herself for the grievous wounding of her son at Malplaquet with thought of the King, and 'that it was for him that my son risked himself.' Others were not so loyal or so resigned. The Dangeaus had been among the first to give up their silver vessels for the war effort: now the courtiers who had done likewise began to complain about the intolerable 'dirtiness' of using mere pewter and earthenware.1 There was no doubt that by the end of 1709, as Adelaide told her grandmother, the War of the Spanish Succession had lasted so long that there was no one who did not wish it was over, while Francoise told the Princesse des Ursins: 'Our woes augment every day.' Francoise herself had a naturally pacifist temperament and was far from encouraging the King in his pursuit of war. Her own feeling for the sufferings of the poverty-stricken country was so strong that she tried (in vain) to dissuade the King from building himself a magnificent new chapel at Versailles. Marie-Jeanne d'Aumale reported that Francoise 'more than doubled' her charities. Far from avoiding the ragged crowd of dirty, half-naked child beggars, she increasingly disliked Marly because it was cut off from them: there was no one to whom she could give money.2 Where once Louis had been satirised (and more than half admired) for his priapic adventures, now he was attacked for his failures in battle and the economic state of the country. Even his previous reputation for virility was used against him: 'The French King's Wedding' of 1708 described him as impotent nowadays at war and in bed. 'The Plagues of War and Wife consent / To send the King a packing. / You cannot give your spouse content ...' Another satirical rhyme ran: 'Our father that art in Versailles / Thy name is no longer hallowed / Thy Kingdom is no longer so great / Thy will is no longer done either on earth or sea / Give us our daily bread which we can no longer obtain / Forgive our enemies who have beaten us ...'3 The fact that France now had a King in his early seventies whose immediate heir, the Dauphin, was, as immediate heirs of senior parents tend to do, beginning to eye the throne, did not increase contentment. The fact that France now had a King in his early seventies whose immediate heir, the Dauphin, was, as immediate heirs of senior parents tend to do, beginning to eye the throne, did not increase contentment.

It was against the background of 'these recent and unhappy years', in Francoise's phrase to Marechal de Villeroi, that the battle of the marriage of the Duc de Berry, youngest son of the Dauphin, was fought. Adelaide managed to give birth to another healthy boy on 10 February 1710 shortly after the third birthday of Bretagne; he was created Duc d'Anjou, the traditional t.i.tle of the second son, which Philip V had enjoyed before his accession to the Spanish throne. Her labour was long and intense, her sufferings so great that those males present by tradition retreated from the room. However, high infant mortality meant that the succession was not necessarily secure with two knaves in the hand; Berry's future, bringing hope of more children, was also important.

The King had announced that there was to be no question of a match with a foreign princess, given the international situation, and the economic realities of the time. The Stuart princess, Louisa Maria, was Madame de Maintenon's candidate, as being the daughter of her adored Mary Beatrice, but n.o.body else thought that was a solution. Taking into account the real possibilities at Versailles, it was Adelaide who took a prominent part in advocating the candidature of Philippe and Francoise-Marie's daughter Marie-(Louise)-elisabeth. Her motives for this, a campaign which would lead in the end to disaster all round, were not of the finest. Her chief aim was to keep out the daughter of Madame la d.u.c.h.esse, known as Mademoiselle de Bourbon. Both these girls were granddaughters of Louis XIV, via their legitimised mothers. But their characters were very different.

Marie-elisabeth was fifteen. She was her father's favourite out of his numerous daughters.4* Unpleasant gossip gathered around their too-intimate relations.h.i.+p; certainly she consoled him for the loveless marriage he had been forced to make. Marie-elisabeth had also been brought up by her father to despise her mother for 'the defilement of her adulterous birth', an act of revenge on his part. The girl was from the start highly unstable, with a violent temper whenever her will was crossed; no one had ever tried to control her not her notoriously lazy mother and certainly not her doting father, whom she treated 'like a negro slave' and ruled much as Francoise ruled the King according to Saint-Simon. Vivacity was Marie-elisabeth's strong suit, that, and a certain wit, reminding courtiers that she was Athenais's granddaughter. Unpleasant gossip gathered around their too-intimate relations.h.i.+p; certainly she consoled him for the loveless marriage he had been forced to make. Marie-elisabeth had also been brought up by her father to despise her mother for 'the defilement of her adulterous birth', an act of revenge on his part. The girl was from the start highly unstable, with a violent temper whenever her will was crossed; no one had ever tried to control her not her notoriously lazy mother and certainly not her doting father, whom she treated 'like a negro slave' and ruled much as Francoise ruled the King according to Saint-Simon. Vivacity was Marie-elisabeth's strong suit, that, and a certain wit, reminding courtiers that she was Athenais's granddaughter.

Physically however she allowed her appet.i.tes to hold sway: Marie-elisabeth became grossly fat quite young, so that the King shuddered with distaste. Once upon a time when she had been a little girl, Marie-elisabeth had charmed him, like other little girls; at the age of twelve after hunting she had been invited to dine with him, an unusual honour for a person of her rank. Now he suggested that she was so fat that she might be infertile. Liselotte's pen portrait of her granddaughter was not flattering: pale blue eyes with pink rims, a short body with long arms, a clumsy walk and in general lacking any grace in anything that she did; only her neck, arms and hands were flawlessly white. Nevertheless the tyrannical Marie-elisabeth must have had something: Liselotte had to admit that her son Philippe was convinced 'Helen was never so beautiful'.5 Adelaide's refusal to back the far more suitable Mademoiselle de Bourbon, aged seventeen in 1710, was partly based on her strong dislike of her mother. Madame la d.u.c.h.esse had scorned the little Princess of Savoy from the start, the pretty child who had displaced her as the young star of the court; and then there was Madame la d.u.c.h.esse's unforgivable behaviour over Bourgogne's military troubles. But as Adelaide headed towards thirty the age at which she had decided to give up dancing she also feared that Mademoiselle de Bourbon, with her charming teasing ways, would replace her in the old King's affections. She certainly employed her own apparent naivety in the cause of Marie-elisabeth. Adelaide observed innocently out loud on one occasion what a lovely bride the Orleans princess would make for the Duc de Berry, and then stopped as though aghast at her own temerity: 'Tante, what have I just said? Did I say something wrong?'6 As Adelaide supported Marie-elisabeth (who went on a special diet, eating only when she was walking to improve her chances), the two mothers in question, Francoise-Marie and Madame la d.u.c.h.esse, were also locked in a poisonous struggle. Old sibling rivalries came into it Madame la d.u.c.h.esse's humiliation at having to yield precedence to her younger sister for example. And then the Dauphin, as father of the bridegroom, had some say in it all, even if the King gave the ultimate verdict.

The matter was concluded when Philippe was persuaded by Saint-Simon to write a letter to the King proposing Marie-elisabeth as a bride for Berry, with Saint-Simon advising on its contents. A moment was chosen to present this letter when the King was reported by one of his doctors to be in a good mood; he took it away unopened. The next day Louis announced that he agreed in principle, but needed some time to talk round the Dauphin, which he proceeded to do 'in the tone of a father, mixed with that of King and master.' This was a different approach from the one he had recently taken over the sons of Maine and Benedicte: then 'that most severe and tyrannical of parents' had humbled himself to the Dauphin and Bourgogne in order to establish that the boys should have the same rank as their father.7 The whole matter of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, their descendants and their degree was a delicate one, as time would show. But Louis was on surer ground when it came to the marriage of a (legitimate) grandson. The whole matter of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, their descendants and their degree was a delicate one, as time would show. But Louis was on surer ground when it came to the marriage of a (legitimate) grandson.

Up till now, no one had thought to ask the opinion of Berry himself. Aged nearly twenty-four, he had grown up from his mischievous boyhood into being a mild-mannered and good-natured young man who was especially devoted to his brother Bourgogne (and to Adelaide, whom he had known since childhood). He certainly displayed no jealousy of his two elder brothers' superior destinies. When Philip was made King of Spain, Berry sensibly announced: 'I will have less trouble and more fun than you,' and gave as an example that he would now be able to hunt the wolf 'all the way from Versailles to Madrid.' Somehow his education had been neglected, perhaps because the Dauphine's death had left 'my little Berry' motherless at the age of three and a half. He was certainly not as intelligent as Bourgogne or Philip V, and tended to be inarticulate in public as well as terrified of his grandfather (just as the Dauphin had been). Nevertheless, with his fine head of fair hair and his fresh complexion, Berry was positively handsome by the standards of a Bourbon prince; quite apart from his rank, Marie-elisabeth could be pleased with her catch. As for his own feelings, Berry, told by his grandfather that Marie-elisabeth was the highest-ranking princess in France, was uneasily non-committal.

So the betrothal was announced on 5 July 1710. The event led to glacial exchanges between the sisters. It was even suggested to Madame la d.u.c.h.esse by Francoise-Marie surely a gratuitous act of triumph that another Orleans daughter might marry a Bourbon-Conde son. Madame la d.u.c.h.esse merely replied that her son would not be of an age to be married for a long time and besides he had only a small fortune. But worse lay ahead for her. At the formal ceremony, Mademoiselle de Bourbon, the slighted fiancee, was next in rank and thus by etiquette had to carry the train of Marie-elisabeth. This was intolerable!

The King, who believed in etiquette but was also kind-hearted where these matters were concerned, suggested that Marie-elisabeth's younger sisters should be hauled back from their convent to perform the task (their rank being higher than that of Mademoiselle de Bourbon). At least that pleased the two little girls in question, known respectively, as Mademoiselle de Chartres and Mademoiselle de Valois, who at eleven and nine had bewailed their incarceration. The decision to put them in a convent was generally ascribed to Francoise-Marie's laziness over her maternal duties, and the girls were so upset pa.s.sing through Paris, that the curtains of their coach had to be drawn. Although the times did not 'permit much entertainment', the wedding was described by Adelaide to her grandmother as being as magnificent as policy permitted.'8 Unfortunately this brilliant marriage in worldly terms had the effect of encouraging Marie-elisabeth in her vile behaviour, and Berry had no resources to cope with it. At first he was quite mesmerised by his bride, according to Liselotte, although the pa.s.sion wore off thanks to her behaviour. The rest of the court was more horrified than mesmerised. 'Terrifyingly bold ... wildly proud, vulgar beyond the bounds of decency': these were some of the descriptions she merited from Saint-Simon. She gorged prodigiously in public (gone were the days of the diet) and scarcely ever failed to drink herself unconscious, 'rendering in all directions the wine she had swallowed.' Having no religion herself she proclaimed she did not believe in G.o.d she mocked those like her husband who did. At one particular supper-party given by Adelaide at Saint-Cloud, Marie-elisabeth became so 'sottish' that the effects, 'both above and below', were embarra.s.sing to all present. Her father was also drunk on the same occasion but the daughter was the drunker of the two.9 Liselotte tried to take a hand in the education of her wayward granddaughter, calling her 'my pupil.' It is true that Marie-elisabeth showed a rare graciousness in her reluctance to take precedence over her grandmother (which as the wife of the Duc de Berry she was now ent.i.tled to do): 'Push me forward, Madame, so as to propel me in front of you. I need time to grow accustomed to that honour ...' But when it came to a question of a beautiful necklace of pearls and yellow diamonds which had belonged to Anne of Austria, which she coveted for a court ball, Marie-elisabeth's behaviour to her mother was the reverse of gracious. When her mother refused to hand it over, Marie-elisabeth insolently pointed out that the necklace belonged to her father by descent from Monsieur and he would certainly let her have it.

Sure enough, in a moment of weakness Philippe did. But the matter did not rest there. Francoise-Marie complained bitterly and Liselotte took a hand, going to the King herself. Louis hated this kind of trouble among women and was furious. In the end Marie-elisabeth was induced to apologise to her mother and the matter was smoothed over. The whole unpleasant incident, so trivial and yet so important by the values of Versailles, made it clear that Marie-elisabeth was more than unruly: she was quite out of control, and even the King found it difficult to check her.

Furthermore, there was no large, consoling brood of royal children to make it all seem worthwhile in dynastic terms. A year after her marriage, the d.u.c.h.esse de Berry miscarried: because 'it had been female', wrote Saint-Simon, 'everyone was soon consoled.'10 All the same, it was to be well over a year before Marie-elisabeth conceived again, and by then the balance of power at court had been radically altered. All the same, it was to be well over a year before Marie-elisabeth conceived again, and by then the balance of power at court had been radically altered.

Sudden death is 'the ruffian on the stair' where hereditary monarchy is concerned.11 n.o.body would have predicted in the spring of 1711 that the Dauphin, a healthy, well-set-up man in his fiftieth year, would fall victim to smallpox, although it was the universal and egalitarian killer of the time. He is supposed to have caught the infection by kneeling at the wayside when a priest was pa.s.sing carrying the sacred host. The Dauphin was unaware that the priest in question had just visited a victim of smallpox. n.o.body would have predicted in the spring of 1711 that the Dauphin, a healthy, well-set-up man in his fiftieth year, would fall victim to smallpox, although it was the universal and egalitarian killer of the time. He is supposed to have caught the infection by kneeling at the wayside when a priest was pa.s.sing carrying the sacred host. The Dauphin was unaware that the priest in question had just visited a victim of smallpox.

The people of Paris, with whom he was by far the most popular member of the royal family Duc to his bluff cheerfulness (and visible self-indulgence), sent a deputation of market-women promising him a Te Deum to celebrate his recovery. 'Not yet, wait till I am well again,' was the message from the Prince. But by midnight he was all too obviously at death's door. The Dauphin, Louis de France, died on 11 April. Bourgogne and Adelaide were both completely dazed and 'pale as death.' Berry lay on the floor sobbing loudly. Upstairs Mademoiselle de Choin, his long-term mistress and (probably) morganatic wife, was Condemned, by the harsh rules of Versailles, to lurk unseen in an attic room. No one brought the news of the Dauphin's death and she only realised what had happened 'when she heard the sounds of lamentations.' Two friends bundled her into a hired coach and took the unacknowledged widow away to Paris. It was the King who continued to act with patient dignity even though his eyes kept filling with tears. Liselotte even went so far as to admit that Louis needed Francoise at this time for consolation, although she was currently laid low by one of her bouts of illness.12 Saint-Simon excoriated on the subject of the late Dauphin: he had been 'without vice, virtue, knowledge or understanding' and was quite incapable of acquiring any such qualities: 'Nature fas.h.i.+oned him as a ball to be rolled hither and thither.'13 Fortunately Father Francois Ma.s.sillon, a great orator in the tradition of Bossuet and Bourdaloue (both now dead), did rather better at his funeral. But perhaps the kindest verdict was the fact that both Mademoiselle de Choin and the people of Paris truly mourned him. Fortunately Father Francois Ma.s.sillon, a great orator in the tradition of Bossuet and Bourdaloue (both now dead), did rather better at his funeral. But perhaps the kindest verdict was the fact that both Mademoiselle de Choin and the people of Paris truly mourned him.

In the end it was Louis himself who found the right words. Michel-Richard de Lalande, composer and church organist, had become an increasingly important figure in the rituals of court music. He was able to produce a stream of the kind of grand motets on which the court of Louis XIV flourished; he had overseen the musical education of Louis's illegitimate daughters. One critic, Le Cerf de la Vieville, had heard one of his motets at a Ma.s.s and commented with enthusiasm: 'It seems to me that the King is served in music as well as he ought to be ... in sum, better than in any other place in his kingdom.' Two of the composer's daughters died about the time of the death of the Dauphin. Lalande did not like to mention their deaths, and thought it presumptuous to commiserate with his sovereign. It was Louis who brought up the subject: 'We must submit, Lalande,' he said, pointing towards the sky.14 At a stroke the map of the court at Versailles was altered for ever. The Duc de Bourgogne, aged twenty-eight, was now the direct heir to the throne, the Dauphin with his two sons following him.* (But the special t.i.tle of 'Monseigneur', created for his father, was not to be used for him: it was felt to be too painful.) (But the special t.i.tle of 'Monseigneur', created for his father, was not to be used for him: it was felt to be too painful.)15 Louis XIV in his grief solaced himself by indicating that Adelaide, now 'Madame la Dauphine', was to have all the rights Duc to a queen, including control of her own household. Her royal escort was doubled to twenty-four, and there were two Swiss guards outside her door, hitherto a privilege reserved for the monarch. Not for nearly thirty years since the death of Marie-Therese had there been such a female position of power. And of course at a stroke, too, the wasps of the Cabal in the nest at Meudon lost their power to sting. At least poor Mademoiselle de Choin was treated decently by Louis XIV: she received a pension and a house in Paris. Louis XIV in his grief solaced himself by indicating that Adelaide, now 'Madame la Dauphine', was to have all the rights Duc to a queen, including control of her own household. Her royal escort was doubled to twenty-four, and there were two Swiss guards outside her door, hitherto a privilege reserved for the monarch. Not for nearly thirty years since the death of Marie-Therese had there been such a female position of power. And of course at a stroke, too, the wasps of the Cabal in the nest at Meudon lost their power to sting. At least poor Mademoiselle de Choin was treated decently by Louis XIV: she received a pension and a house in Paris.

The great loser in her own opinion was the d.u.c.h.esse de Berry. Her position and that of Adelaide had not been so different in the lifetime of the Dauphin. As the Second Second Lady at Versailles she was now according to etiquette compelled to hand the chemise to Adelaide at her ritual dressing. Lady at Versailles she was now according to etiquette compelled to hand the chemise to Adelaide at her ritual dressing.16 Marie-elisabeth, with her usual lack of control, went over the top in complaining about this 'valetage', which had after all been routinely performed at Versailles in the past by ladies as great as if not greater than herself, including her grandmother (who had only made a fuss at the phantasmagorical prospect of handing the chemise to Francoise ...). When Marie-elisabeth was at last obliged to give in, she performed the ceremonial functions extremely slowly and with an ill grace. Adelaide kept her cool, pretending not to notice the delay which had left her virtually naked. In her great desire to have 'a happy relations.h.i.+p' with her sister-in-law, she was willing to overlook 'this latest prank', according to Saint-Simon. Marie-elisabeth, with her usual lack of control, went over the top in complaining about this 'valetage', which had after all been routinely performed at Versailles in the past by ladies as great as if not greater than herself, including her grandmother (who had only made a fuss at the phantasmagorical prospect of handing the chemise to Francoise ...). When Marie-elisabeth was at last obliged to give in, she performed the ceremonial functions extremely slowly and with an ill grace. Adelaide kept her cool, pretending not to notice the delay which had left her virtually naked. In her great desire to have 'a happy relations.h.i.+p' with her sister-in-law, she was willing to overlook 'this latest prank', according to Saint-Simon.

Adelaide, as Dauphine, did not lose sight of all her own monkey tricks, the ways which had so entranced the King. Perhaps one of her little games was not quite so entrancing: Adelaide loved to get the confidential servant Nanon to give her a lavement lavement (enema) before a theatrical performance; she then spent the whole performance in a state of wicked glee at the thought of her secret condition before Nanon attended to her relief. (enema) before a theatrical performance; she then spent the whole performance in a state of wicked glee at the thought of her secret condition before Nanon attended to her relief.* More beguiling was her treatment of Madame la d.u.c.h.esse and Marie-Anne de Conti when they were rolling their eyes at her childish conduct on one occasion at Fontainebleau. Adelaide had been 'diverting' the King by pretending to chatter in a dozen different languages and other such nonsense while the two princesses eyed each other and scornfully shrugged their shoulders. As soon as Louis had gone into his special cabinet to feed his dogs, Adelaide grabbed the hands of Saint-Simon's wife and another lady; pointing at the scornful princesses she said: 'Did you see them? I know as well as they do that I behave absurdly and must seem very silly, but he [the King] needs to have a bustle about him and that kind of thing amuses him.' More beguiling was her treatment of Madame la d.u.c.h.esse and Marie-Anne de Conti when they were rolling their eyes at her childish conduct on one occasion at Fontainebleau. Adelaide had been 'diverting' the King by pretending to chatter in a dozen different languages and other such nonsense while the two princesses eyed each other and scornfully shrugged their shoulders. As soon as Louis had gone into his special cabinet to feed his dogs, Adelaide grabbed the hands of Saint-Simon's wife and another lady; pointing at the scornful princesses she said: 'Did you see them? I know as well as they do that I behave absurdly and must seem very silly, but he [the King] needs to have a bustle about him and that kind of thing amuses him.'18 Adelaide went further than that. Swinging on the arms of the two ladies, in the words of Saint-Simon 'she began to laugh and sing: "Ha-Ha! I can laugh at them because I will be their queen. I need not mind them now or ever, but they will have to reckon with me, for I shall be their queen," and she shouted and sang and hopped and laughed as high as loud as she dared.' When the two ladies tried to hush her, in case the princesses heard, 'she only skipped and sang the more: "What do I care for them? I'm going to be their queen."' Yet who was to say that Adelaide would not one day make an excellent caring queen? The chattering girl was beginning to have serious reflections on the nature of royal duty: 'France is in such a pitiable state ... we must try by our charity to help the poor.' They are after all 'our brothers and sisters, exactly like ourselves', but since it is to us G.o.d has given riches, 'so we are all the more obliged to help others.'19 Louis XIV continued to think of Adelaide as more or less perfect with one exception a sloppiness in her dress and a frank indifference to the subject which irritated him even more now that she was Dauphine. Adelaide's lack of interest in matters such as bonnets, m.u.f.fs, gloves and even jewellery is engaging at a distance in contrast to the avidity of most ladies at that time. But it struck at Louis's sense of order, still so strong. In vain Adelaide made it clear that she preferred lounging about in casual clothes, as they would now be called, when she was pregnant; Bourgogne backed her choice not to wear her corset for comfort's sake. Tante's reaction was that such a style was not becoming to the new Dauphine nor to her rank. She gave Adelaide one of her reprimands: Your untidiness displeases the King.'20 As to wearing jewellery, the gems would draw proper attention to her beautiful complexion and neat figure. Adelaide shrugged her pretty shoulders and compromised by storing her prodigious collection of jewellery in Tante's room, so that they could be a.s.sumed before her visits to the King and discarded afterwards. As to wearing jewellery, the gems would draw proper attention to her beautiful complexion and neat figure. Adelaide shrugged her pretty shoulders and compromised by storing her prodigious collection of jewellery in Tante's room, so that they could be a.s.sumed before her visits to the King and discarded afterwards.

Adelaide personally was not entirely at fault in this. Her Mistress of the Wardrobe, the Comtesse de Mailly, another Maintenon protegee who had begun life as a poor and virtuous girl, was at best 'indolent' and at worst was misappropriating the large funds set aside to dress her employer. Thus when the King decided to make Adelaide 'absolute mistress of her own Household' one of Adelaide's first moves was to replace the Comtesse de Mailly with the altogether more satisfactory Madame Quentin.

In late 1711 there were general 'appearances' of peace, as Adelaide wrote to her grandmother in Turin, which she hoped were well founded. Although it would take a couple of years to achieve, no one much doubted that in the end peace would break out. The death of the Emperor Joseph I on 11 April 1711 had led to the accession of the Archduke Charles, hitherto the rival candidate for the Spanish throne, in his place. If the new Emperor Charles VI also acquired Spain, he would join Vienna to Madrid quite as unpopular a prospect for his allies as the union of France and Spain. The possibility of peace with Queen Anne of England led to another of Adelaide's artless aphorisms after which she pretended to be taken aback by what she had just said. 'Tante, it cannot be denied that England is better governed under a queen than under a king,' she said, 'and do you know why? Because under a king, a country is really ruled by women, and under a queen by men.'21 Adelaide did not know that the public nostalgia for Queen Elizabeth in England which grew in the later years of Charles II was based on exactly the same premise. Adelaide did not know that the public nostalgia for Queen Elizabeth in England which grew in the later years of Charles II was based on exactly the same premise.

In the meantime the advent of a Tory government in place of the Whigs in England meant that the solid support for the audacious general 'Milord Marlboroug' had vanished, just as Sarah d.u.c.h.ess of Marlborough had been displaced in the affections of Queen Anne. Englishmen, like Frenchmen, were tired of the war. In the so-called Preliminaries of London of September 1711, the possibilities of a settlement, including an Anglo-French commercial treaty, were explored.

In the meantime, in her private correspondence Adelaide began to make glancing references to toothaches. Her teeth had been one of her imperfections on her arrival, and thereafter Adelaide, who had no false pride, admitted that they were frankly black. Now she was plagued with pains in her mouth. In late January 1712 the problem flared up once more, and her face was so swollen when she reached Marly that she had to play cards with the King with her face enveloped in a hood. From evidence later, it seems that Adelaide was also in the very early stages of pregnancy. At all events, her const.i.tution, weakened by much child-bearing and child-losing over the last ten years, to say nothing of the perpetual draining caused by rotten teeth, was already frail when Adelaide fell ill with a fever on 5 February. At the time an Italian-style stew that she loved was blamed (once again 'Italian' was a term of abuse). Then there was a kind of cheesecake full of sugar and spice which she had been making at her Menagerie as she loved to do, with memories of her childhood at the Vigna di Madama; had Adelaide eaten too much of it?

If only greed had been the culprit! By Sunday 7 February Adelaide was again ill, although she tried valiantly to go to Ma.s.s.22 A piercing pain, worse than anything she had ever endured, then laid her low and continued for twenty-four hours despite the best (or worst) efforts of the doctors, their usual bleedings, both from arm and foot, and the emetics which made hideous so many sickbeds of the time. She was given opium to relieve the pain and even allowed to inhale the dreaded tobacco, which was regarded as a satisfactory prophylactic, if hateful social practice. Nothing worked. The fever and the opiates meant that she was often quite confused when the King visited her. A piercing pain, worse than anything she had ever endured, then laid her low and continued for twenty-four hours despite the best (or worst) efforts of the doctors, their usual bleedings, both from arm and foot, and the emetics which made hideous so many sickbeds of the time. She was given opium to relieve the pain and even allowed to inhale the dreaded tobacco, which was regarded as a satisfactory prophylactic, if hateful social practice. Nothing worked. The fever and the opiates meant that she was often quite confused when the King visited her.

At last some spots emerged and measles was announced; hope was felt that she would recover when the rash had broken completely. It did not happen. On the morning of Wednesday 10 February the distraught King found his Princess sufficiently lucid to hear some of the details of the peace-making process which had started at Utrecht. 'I have an idea that peace will come,' said Adelaide sadly, 'and I shall not be there to see it'; it was a pathetic testimony to how much the fraught situation between France and her native Savoy had weighed upon her. That night Adelaide was visibly worse to the watchers at her bedside. Madame de Maintenon was there all the time, except when the King was visiting, and Bourgogne most of the time despite his own growing feverishness but they put that down to exhaustion.

On Thursday 11 February the King felt desperate enough to ask publicly for the aid of St Genevieve, patron saint of Paris (she who had been so prominent in the appeals over his own birth so long ago). The coffer containing the saint's remains was to be uncovered at daybreak for the faithful to implore her protection. It was an action which, intended for times of national emergency, could only be taken with the consent of Parlement, but the a.s.sembly eagerly endorsed it. Alas, by daybreak on Friday 12 February the Princess was in extremis. in extremis.

The night before it had been judged time to bring in the last sacraments and the matter of her last confession was raised. By her silence Adelaide politely rejected the offer of the Jesuit Father de La Rue, although they had always been on excellent terms. In fact Adelaide had never really wanted a Jesuit confessor in the first place, but had accepted the Jesuit because he was the King's choice her usual obedient stance. Now she felt she had a right to her own way. Father de La Rue dealt with the situation with calm understanding and established that she preferred Father Bailly, a parish priest of Versailles with Jansenist tendencies, favoured by the more devout ladies of the court. (Adelaide had probably always leaned in that direction.) When Father Bailly proved to be away and Father de la Rue had to tell her there was no time to lose Adelaide settled for a Franciscan Father Noel. At the time nothing was seen as particularly odd about this, it was the privilege of a dying woman: in fact Adelaide's sister, Queen Maria Luisa of Spain, who died two years later, also asked for a change of priest.

Adelaide's confession, which she made alone, took some time. Afterwards, when Madame de Maintenon returned, Adelaide told her: 'Tante, I feel quite different, as though I were entirely changed.' 'That is because you have come close to G.o.d,' said Francoise.

Later, when Adelaide asked for the prayers for the dying, she was told the time had not yet come. Meanwhile Louis and Francoise desperately convened a conference of doctors, seven of them altogether, including some brought down from Paris. The verdict as ever was more bleeding, and a further emetic if the bleeding had no effect, beyond of course weakening the patient. Poor Adelaide now began to worry obsessionally about her gambling debts: 'Tante, I have one big anxiety ...' She really wanted to see her husband and explain, but when this was banned on the grounds of infection, Adelaide asked for her writing-case, managed to open it, and tried to leaf through her papers. The task was beyond her (what a sad parody of the lively Adelaide who had burrowed through the King's and Madame de Maintenon's papers with such energy!). Maintenon continued to a.s.sure her on the matter of the debts: Bourgogne would take care of them 'out of his love for you.'

It was pathetic how, even in her agonies, Adelaide's childhood training in trying at all times to please the King still held up. When asked why she did not speak to Louis, she replied that she was afraid of crying: as though anything now could upset the King further. At various points Adelaide recognised the d.u.c.h.esse de Guiche 'My beautiful d.u.c.h.esse, I am dying' and then murmured some words, unbearably sad to her listeners: 'Princess today, tomorrow nothing, and in two days forgotten.'

In spite of the doctors who bled the poor dying Princess for the fifth time from the foot, so that she actually fainted under their care in spite of the prayers, in spite of the penance, Adelaide's fever continued to rise. By now she was virtually unconscious, violent emetics simply weakening her still further without bringing her to her senses. Francoise went to the chapel to pray. The King refused to leave Adelaide's bedside. Some kind of strong powder produced by a gentleman-in-waiting was tried as a desperate measure; Adelaide did manage to comment how bitter it was. Hearing that the Dauphine was conscious, Madame de Maintenon came back. And it was she who gently acknowledged to the girl that the end was coming. 'Madame, you go to G.o.d,' she said. 'Yes, Tante,' repeated Adelaide obedient to the last. 'I go to G.o.d.' A few moments later Adelaide, Princess of Savoy, d.u.c.h.esse de Bourgogne and Dauphine of France, was dead.

Louis XIV had left the dying girl's chamber a few minutes earlier according to the tradition by which a monarch was never in the presence of death (except his own). 'We must submit,' he had told Lalande over the death of his son, pointing to the sky. But he could not have imagined how much more submission was going to be required of him. Adelaide had once mocked her husband's excessive piety: she told her ladies that she would like to die first and then he could marry a nun. But poor broken-hearted Bourgogne survived a mere six days after the death of his wife, his Draco to whom he had been a willing slave. He had been fatally infected by the measles which killed her in his early devoted and dogged visits to her bedside. In this atmosphere of tragedy, sometimes the tiny things were the most poignant. Liselotte was reduced to tears by the sight of Bourgogne's little dog searching for him in the chapel because he had last seen him kneeling there: 'The poor beast sadly looked at everyone as though to ask where his master had gone.'23 And still the need for submission was not past: the little Duc de Bretagne, five years old, was also fatally infected, and died on 8 March while the doctors were in the act of bleeding him from the arm. He had lived just long enough to be appointed Dauphin in his father's place, according to the King's wish.24 Louis XI V had now lost his son, grandson, great-grandson three Dauphins and, worst of all, his beloved granddaughter-in-law in a span of eleven months. Adelaide's surviving young son, Louis Duc d'Anjou, was saved only by the revolutionary and defiant action of the governess of the Children of France, the d.u.c.h.esse de Ventadour. The doctors wanted to bleed him also. But this splendid woman, who could see what no one dared acknowledge, that the doctors were killing their enfeebled patients with their ministrations more effectively than any disease, simply barricaded herself and the two-year-old Prince into her apartments and would not allow the doctors access. Louis XI V had now lost his son, grandson, great-grandson three Dauphins and, worst of all, his beloved granddaughter-in-law in a span of eleven months. Adelaide's surviving young son, Louis Duc d'Anjou, was saved only by the revolutionary and defiant action of the governess of the Children of France, the d.u.c.h.esse de Ventadour. The doctors wanted to bleed him also. But this splendid woman, who could see what no one dared acknowledge, that the doctors were killing their enfeebled patients with their ministrations more effectively than any disease, simply barricaded herself and the two-year-old Prince into her apartments and would not allow the doctors access.*

So Louis XIV was left with a tiny great-grandson, still in leading-strings, who would presumably in the course of time succeed him, and a grandson in the shape of the Duc de Berry, next heir if little Anjou died (as so many children had died). After that came Philippe Duc d'Orleans. It was part of the nastiness as well as the grief of the times that it was actually suggested Philippe had poisoned the princes. It has been seen that most sudden deaths of prominent people were accompanied by these lamentable charges. Not only did Liselotte strongly rebut them, saying she would put her hand in the fire to prove Philippe's innocence a natural defence of her son, perhaps but Madame de Maintenon, who detested Philippe, thought there was nothing in it either. Nor did Louis XIV show any signs of believing these charges. There was in fact no need to look for the lurid explanation of poison to explain these deaths: there was a virulent plague of measles at the time, and as many as five hundred died in Paris and Versailles alone; but they were not royal.

While some fingers pointed at Philippe (just because he had moved up two places in the succession), others took a more vengeful line. The deaths of the royal family, said Frederick I of Prussia, were 'G.o.d's judgement' on Louis XIV for sacking Heidelberg fifteen years earlier, when so many deceased Palatine Electors and Electresses had been 'dragged from their tombs.'25 The judgement of heaven was harder for Louis to rebut: for the rest of his life he had to submit to it. The judgement of heaven was harder for Louis to rebut: for the rest of his life he had to submit to it.

As Louis XIV had surely loved Adelaide more than anyone in his life, so her death caused him the greatest sorrow. Saint-Simon for one thought it was 'the only real grief he ever experienced.'26 Liselotte was equally convinced of the personal tragedy for Louis. Adelaide's loss was irreparable, as 'she had been brought up entirely to his liking.' She was 'his comfort and joy, and had such gay spirits that she could always find something to cheer him up.' Liselotte also quoted the usual horoscope predicting the event which is always cited (as with Henriette-Anne) when someone dies young ignoring all the other horoscopes which did not predict it. Adelaide was supposed to have been told in Turin that she would die in her twenty-seventh year and cried out: 'I must enjoy myself because it won't be for long ...!' Liselotte was equally convinced of the personal tragedy for Louis. Adelaide's loss was irreparable, as 'she had been brought up entirely to his liking.' She was 'his comfort and joy, and had such gay spirits that she could always find something to cheer him up.' Liselotte also quoted the usual horoscope predicting the event which is always cited (as with Henriette-Anne) when someone dies young ignoring all the other horoscopes which did not predict it. Adelaide was supposed to have been told in Turin that she would die in her twenty-seventh year and cried out: 'I must enjoy myself because it won't be for long ...!'27 This however is contradicted by her saucy admonitions to her aunts: 'I'm to be Queen ...' which one must believe was the true Adelaide. This however is contradicted by her saucy admonitions to her aunts: 'I'm to be Queen ...' which one must believe was the true Adelaide.

The bereaved King and Francoise did attempt to fill the enormous gap as far as was humanly possible, by concentrating on the girl who, at seventeen, was now the First Lady of Versailles: Marie-elisabeth d.u.c.h.esse de Berry. As Louis had embraced his surviving grandson Berry with the words 'I have no one but you', so there was a real effort to mould Marie-elisabeth into suitable material for an august position close to the throne, and an intimate one close to their hearts. But how very different the two young women were! Marie-elisabeth's raucous behaviour and her proverbial drunkenness have already been noted; she now began to torture her husband with a flagrant affair with a member of her household, one La Haye. Perhaps infidelity could be overlooked if it was stylish infidelity: after all, it was not exactly unknown at Versailles in times gone by ... Unforgivable was her dismissive att.i.tude to self-presentation. Mouches Mouches (literally flies) or beauty-spots were becoming fas.h.i.+onable. Marie-elisabeth splattered her face with them, up to twelve at one time. You look like an actress, not the First Lady of Versailles, groaned Liselotte. (literally flies) or beauty-spots were becoming fas.h.i.+onable. Marie-elisabeth splattered her face with them, up to twelve at one time. You look like an actress, not the First Lady of Versailles, groaned Liselotte.28 Worst of all, Marie-elisabeth had failed to conceal her glee at the death of Adelaide, because it led to her own elevation. Worst of all, Marie-elisabeth had failed to conceal her glee at the death of Adelaide, because it led to her own elevation.

The impossibility of making something anything of the new First Lady was, surely, partly responsible for a kind of bitterness which swept over Francoise at the death of Adelaide. 'I shall weep for her all my life,' she told her nephew-by-marriage the Duc de Noailles, 'but I am learning things every day which make me think she would have caused me a great deal of trouble. G.o.d took her from us out of pity.'29 In practical terms it is of course possible that Francoise found incriminating matter concerning Nangis, for example, or that courtiers badmouthed Adelaide (no longer able to respond) on the same subject. But the predominant cause of this bitterness was the betrayal that the old feel when the young die first. Her comments that Adelaide would not after all have turned out so well belong to this category. In February 1712 Louis was seventy-three and Francoise seventy-six. Adelaide, nearly fifty years younger, had somehow broken the contract by which In practical terms it is of course possible that Francoise found incriminating matter concerning Nangis, for example, or that courtiers badmouthed Adelaide (no longer able to respond) on the same subject. But the predominant cause of this bitterness was the betrayal that the old feel when the young die first. Her comments that Adelaide would not after all have turned out so well belong to this category. In February 1712 Louis was seventy-three and Francoise seventy-six. Adelaide, nearly fifty years younger, had somehow broken the contract by which she she would divert and care for the old couple at the head of the court until would divert and care for the old couple at the head of the court until their their deaths ... deaths ...

The canards canards of her treachery on the other hand belong to the middle of the eighteenth century, and certainly do not hold water according to the evidence of her own correspondence (nor psychologically according to her character). Burrow as she might in the King's papers, Adelaide was never in a position to discover war plans and pa.s.s them back to Savoy. That was in any case not her game: a typical letter to her mother in 1711 expressed the wish that she could bring Victor Amadeus 'back to reason' that is, back to support for France. of her treachery on the other hand belong to the middle of the eighteenth century, and certainly do not hold water according to the evidence of her own correspondence (nor psychologically according to her character). Burrow as she might in the King's papers, Adelaide was never in a position to discover war plans and pa.s.s them back to Savoy. That was in any case not her game: a typical letter to her mother in 1711 expressed the wish that she could bring Victor Amadeus 'back to reason' that is, back to support for France.

There was an alleged remark of Louis XIV to Madame de Maintenon, when they were alone, reported in the Historiography of France Historiography of France of 1745. It was the work of Charles Pinot Duclos, who would have been eight years old at the time of Adelaide's death. 'The of 1745. It was the work of Charles Pinot Duclos, who would have been eight years old at the time of Adelaide's death. 'The coquine coquine [little rascal],' the King was supposed to have said of Adelaide, 'she betrayed us.' As has been pointed out by historians, this was not the language of Louis XIV, nor is it clear how a conversation between two individuals on their own ever got reported. [little rascal],' the King was supposed to have said of Adelaide, 'she betrayed us.' As has been pointed out by historians, this was not the language of Louis XIV, nor is it clear how a conversation between two individuals on their own ever got reported.30 Duclos had an entertaining career as a colourful, sometimes scabrous novelist, and it is surely to his talent for fiction rather than fact that this remark belongs. Adelaide's loyalties had so clearly pa.s.sed to France from the moment she arrived, just as Louis XIV had planned when he deprived the child of her familiar ladies-in-waiting. Adelaide still loved Victor Amadeus in theory, but her letters to him were highly critical, with those lamentations that he was fighting the countries of both his daughters. Latterly her new devotion to her husband's interests aroused even Liselotte's admiration. Duclos had an entertaining career as a colourful, sometimes scabrous novelist, and it is surely to his talent for fiction rather than fact that this remark belongs. Adelaide's loyalties had so clearly pa.s.sed to France from the moment she arrived, just as Louis XIV had planned when he deprived the child of her familiar ladies-in-waiting. Adelaide still loved Victor Amadeus in theory, but her letters to him were highly critical, with those lamentations that he was fighting the countries of both his daughters. Latterly her new devotion to her husband's interests aroused even Liselotte's admiration.31 The awesome double funeral of the Dauphin and Dauphine of France was something no one ever forgot. Voltaire, writing a generation later, said that even during the next reign, any mention of the deaths of 1712 produced involuntary tears from courtiers. Their hearts were taken to Val-de-Grace according to royal custom; their bodies lay in state and were then buried at Saint-Denis. 'I don't think that the world has ever seen what we are about to see now,' wrote Liselotte, 'a man and his wife being taken together to Saint-Denis.' She added rather touchingly: 'I almost think that all of us here will die, one after another,' as though up till now they had all been immortal. Saint-Simon met his father-in-law the Duc de Beauvillier on his return from the solemn ceremonies at Saint-Denis and embraced him with the words 'You have just buried France!'32 The body and soul of Louis XIV lingered on, but it is difficult to believe that much was left of his heart. As Saint-Simon wrote of Adelaide years later: 'Mourning for her has never ceased, a secret involuntary sadness remains, a terrible void which nothing can fill.'33 * Francoise-Marie had displayed the same high fertility as her mother Athenais. By 1710, the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans already had four daughters of whom Marie-elisabeth was the eldest; two more would follow. Chartres remained their only son.* Here he will continue to be referred to as Bourgogne, to avoid confusion with his late father.* In the general obsession with health-giving lavements, lavements, Adelaide was not alone in this practice; the Duc de Richelieu for example took senna every evening followed by a Adelaide was not alone in this practice; the Duc de Richelieu for example took senna every evening followed by a lavement lavement even when attending the Parlement. Under the circ.u.mstances Saint-Simon strongly disliked the idea of sitting next to him. even when attending the Parlement. Under the circ.u.mstances Saint-Simon strongly disliked the idea of sitting next to him.17* Charlotte d.u.c.h.esse de Ventadour, who died in 1744 at the age of ninety-three, continued to act as governess to the Children of France for the next twenty years; King Louis XV, as the little Duc d'Anjou became, never forgot that she was the woman who had saved his life.

CHAPTER 16

Going on a Journey

He [Louis XIV] gives all his orders as though he were only going on a journey. Liselotte d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans, 27 August 1715 The peace that Adelaide, true to her dying prophecy, did not see came about in the year after her death. The Treaty of Utrecht of 11 April 1713 led to a general European and North American settlement between France, Spain, England and Holland. Lille and Bethune were restored to France, while Luxembourg, Namur and Charleroi were given to the Elector of Bavaria. Nice (then a Savoyard possession) was restored to Victor Amadeus and Sicily promised to him. Philip V was at last recognised as King of Spain by the Habsburgs, although Philip and his successors had to renounce their rights to the French throne, and the southern Netherlands, scene of so many blood-drenched battles, went to the Empire. An important part of the settlement was the full recognition of Queen Anne as the rightful monarch of Great Britain. This meant that the man known there as 'the Pretender', James Edward, had to be asked to leave France. He went to Bar-le-Duc in Lorraine.

Already for Queen Mary Beatrice it was a time of terrible sorrow. Her daughter Princess Louisa Maria, the girl on whom she doted, had died suddenly of smallpox in April 1712 at the age of twenty, two months after Adelaide, who had been her friend. It was yet another blow to the Jacobite cause: some of its supporters had harboured dreams of this delightful girl, whose countenance 'mixed the n.o.ble features of the Stuarts and the d'Estes', marrying, say, a Hanoverian prince and thus reconciling the two religious sides of the family. Madame de Maintenon told Louis XIV that Louisa Maria had been Mary Beatrice's 'companion and chief comfort'. Now King and deposed Queen met in a visit of condolence. The two of them wept to see that 'they, the old, were left, and that death had taken the young'.1 And the toll of deaths in the French royal family was not over. Marie-elisabeth, the unsatisfactory d.u.c.h.esse de Berry, failed to redeem herself in dynastic terms by producing a healthy son. The baby boy born in June 1713, created Duc d'Alencon, died after a few days. Apart from that, Marie-elisabeth, like many self-centred people, did not have a talent to amuse. In vain Louis XIV showered jewels upon her, all the jewels of the crown, so that she could bedizen herself regally in just the way that Adelaide had failed to do. Marie-elisabeth's extravagant hair-styles were also in contrast to the simple arrangements which Adelaide had adopted towards the end of her life. Her crazy drunken antics it is kindest to regard Marie-elisabeth as verging on madness if not actually mad were not the sort to appeal to the fastidious Louis XIV.

Marie-elisabeth was pregnant again in the spring of 1714 when Berry himself died at the age of twenty-eight, as a result of a riding accident out hunting at Marly in which the pommel of his saddle pierced a vein in his stomach. His life with Marie-elisabeth had been more and more wretched as a result of what Saint-Simon called her 'sudden, swift and immoderate' love affairs. There was one frightful incident at Rambouillet when, provoked beyond endurance, he actually kicked her backside in public.2 But the rules of Versailles did not permit Berry to be released from his bondage. But the rules of Versailles did not permit Berry to be released from his bondage.

Berry's posthumous child a premature daughter died on 13 June 1714. Perhaps it was just as well, again from a dynastic point of view, since Marie-elisabeth's notorious train of lovers, chosen as though on purpose to affront her husband, caused the satirists to make merry on the subject of the baby's true paternity with a list of possible candidates. After that the widowed d.u.c.h.esse de Berry no longer offered the possibility of a further royal heir to supplement the single life of the little Duc d'Anjou. Yet Louis remained remarkably tolerant towards her: even when she reviewed a regiment dressed in a soldier's costume and made her ladies do likewise, the sad old King only issued a mild protest. He himself had spoken the truest word on his own martyrdom: 'I shall suffer less in the next world,' said Louis XIV, since G.o.d was punis.h.i.+ng him for his sins in this one, and 'I have merited it.'3 An ageing monarch and a tiny child as his heir meant that barring an accident such as the death of the child in question a regency was inevitable. Philippe Duc d'Orleans, the King's forty-year-old nephew, was the obvious candidate because he was next in line of succession after Anjou. Regencies were of course hardly unknown during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with a series of child-kings succeeding in France, including Louis himself, but the Regent in question had been the Queen Mother. Indeed, Anjou's mother Adelaide might have made a great regent if she had survived Bourgogne but the truth of that would never be known. Philippe however was on bad terms with Madame de Maintenon, who strongly disliked his openly debauched way of life: it was therefore as some kind of warning to him not to exceed his powers, that the idea of entering the legitimised b.a.s.t.a.r.ds into the royal succession came into play. Madame de Maintenon's influence in this was surely crucial: her love of Maine, her dislike of Philippe, all added up to an alteration in the rules which Louis would not have countenanced in his prime: it went against every principle of order and legitimacy which he had always maintained.

For all the groans of Liselotte, the moans of Saint-Simon about 'the golden age of b.a.s.t.a.r.ds', these princes and princesses had their role to play. The 'mouse-droppings' in Liselotte's crude phrase might fill a rigidly pious man like the late Duc de Bourgogne with horror, but in fact Charles II's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds were regularly received at the French court. For example, Barbara Villiers' son, the Duke of Grafton, went swimming with the Dauphin, and her daughter the Countess of Suss.e.x attended Appartement Appartement at Versailles. James II's son the Duke of Berwick was a brilliant soldier, so that even Saint-Simon had to admit that his genius cancelled out his dubious birth. The position of the Duc de Vendome, descendant of Henri IV, has already been mentioned. Civilised behaviour was one thing: the Russian Amba.s.sador to Versailles, A. A. Matveev, in his account of French court life, suggested Louis XIV, in his treatment of the Duc du Maine, as a role model for Tsar Peter the Great, who had his own b.a.s.t.a.r.ds at home. at Versailles. James II's son the Duke of Berwick was a brilliant soldier, so that even Saint-Simon had to admit that his genius cancelled out his dubious birth. The position of the Duc de Vendome, descendant of Henri IV, has already been mentioned. Civilised behaviour was one thing: the Russian Amba.s.sador to Versailles, A. A. Matveev, in his account of French court life, suggested Louis XIV, in his treatment of the Duc du Maine, as a role model for Tsar Peter the Great, who had his own b.a.s.t.a.r.ds at home.4 But there was a vast difference between the rank Louis had begged for Maine's sons in March 1710, and the potential accession of Maine or his brother Toulouse to the throne both born when their mother was married to another man. But there was a vast difference between the rank Louis had begged for Maine's sons in March 1710, and the potential accession of Maine or his brother Toulouse to the throne both born when their mother was married to another man.*

Maine's marriage to Liselotte's 'little toad', Benedicte de Bourbon-Conde, had turned out surprisingly well (although her size did not increase, justifying Francoise's early worry that the weight of her jewels would stop her growing). With her sparkling wit and tireless energy, the tiny d.u.c.h.esse created quite a different world at Sceaux: it was a place both high-spirited and intellectual, where Plutarch, Homer and Terence were the G.o.ds. There was much emphasis on the theatre, the plays of Moliere for example being revived. In short it resembled the early court of Louis XIV in the 1660s, if the scale was not quite so grand.

The d.u.c.h.esse even had her own literary society, the Order of the Fly in Honey, which consisted of forty chevaliers, both male and female; a medal was struck for it in 1703 with the motto: 'I may be small but beware my sting'. Gradually it became accepted that fun was to be had at Sceaux, but it was innocent and imaginative fun, not debauchery, and thus tolerated by Madame de Maintenon. Even Liselotte brought herself to admire the wonderful new fountains water was always a status symbol at that time as once upon a time everyone had gaped at those of Versailles. 'Her court was charming,' wrote Marguerite de Caylus of the d.u.c.h.esse du Maine. 'One was as much amused there as one was bored at Versailles'. As for Benedicte's extravagant way of life, 'she could not have ruined her husband with more gaiety'.5 Naturally the d.u.c.h.esse du Maine was delighted at the prospect of her husband's elevation.6 Although her Bourbon-Conde nephews were in the line of succession as Princes of the Blood, as were the Bourbon-Contis, Maine had not been. Now he leaped to eighth place, with his two sons acknowledged as Grandsons of France at nine and ten. Although her Bourbon-Conde nephews were in the line of succession as Princes of the Blood, as were the Bourbon-Contis, Maine had not been. Now he leaped to eighth place, with his two sons acknowledged as Grandsons of France at nine and ten. Was it quite out of the question for Benedicte, born a Princess of the Blood, to become Queen of France? Only in her dreams, perhaps, was it a real prospect. And yet she was living in an age when three ranking members of the royal family had been wiped out within eleven months; in England the second cousin of the late Queen Anne, son of Liselotte's recently deceased aunt, Sophia of Hanover, had just succeeded to her throne as George I; that was something which would never have been envisaged at the birth of George of Hanover. Was it quite out of the question for Benedicte, born a Princess of the Blood, to become Queen of France? Only in her dreams, perhaps, was it a real prospect. And yet she was living in an age when three ranking members of the royal family had been wiped out within eleven months; in England the second cousin of the late Queen Anne, son of Liselotte's recently deceased aunt, Sophia of Hanover, had just succeeded to her throne as George I; that was something which would never have been envisaged at the birth of George of Hanover.

The decree which carried all this out was promulgated in July 1714. 'If in the course of time all the legitimate princes of our august house of Bourbon die out, so that there does not remain a single one to inherit the crown,' the legitimised b.a.s.t.a.r.ds could succeed.7 The following May Maine and Toulouse were given the rank of Princes of the Blood, with precedence over the other princes of sovereign houses. More crucial to the present, however, was the testament the King made giving charge of the future child King's 'person and education' to Maine and not to Philippe. Once again it was the need to please Francoise which prevailed over the need to placate Philippe (who remained inescapably the future Regent). Such a testamentary condition was a clear slap in the face for the Duc d'Orleans. The following May Maine and Toulouse were given the rank of Princes of the Blood, with precedence over the other princes of sovereign houses. More crucial to the present, however, was the testament the King made giving charge of the future child King's 'person and education' to Maine and not to Philippe. Once again it was the need to please Francoise which prevailed over the need to placate Philippe (who remained inescapably the future Regent). Such a testamentary condition was a clear slap in the face for the Duc d'Orleans.

In the early summer of 1715 English bookmakers began taking bets on the date of the French King's death. On 16 May the Marechal de Villeroy wrote to Francoise about his concern over his master's health: he looked ghastly and could hardly walk.8 Louis XIV was visibly fading. He had put on weight in his fifties: now he seemed quite wizened as his flesh began to fall away in the manner of very old people. There was little trace here of the young Apollo, or even the handsome, virile King whose wife Francoise Scarron had once lightly envied. But then who now remembered Apollo? And you would have to be over eighty to remember plausibly the accession to the throne of the child Louis in 1643. The King spent much of his time among women: Francoise's secretary Marie-Jeanne d'Aumale continued to amuse him with her wit and zest for life. And his love of music remained to the last: Louis would be taken to Francoise's room to hear chamber music. The King's final visit to Marly was in June. After that no courtier stepped forward to enquire anxiously: 'Sire, Marly?' Louis XIV was visibly fading. He had put on weight in his fifties: now he seemed quite wizened as his flesh began to fall away in the manner of very old people. There was little trace here of the young Apollo, or even the handsome, virile King whose wife Francoise Scarron had once lightly envied. But then who now remembered Apollo? And you would have to be over eighty to remember plausibly the accession to the throne of the child Louis in 1643. The King spent much of his time among women: Francoise's secretary Marie-Jeanne d'Aumale continued to amuse him with her wit and zest for life. And his love of music remained to the last: Louis would be taken to Francoise's room to hear chamber music. The King's final visit to Marly was in June. After that no courtier stepped forw