Liselotte von der Pfalz was married to Philippe, Duke of Orleans,
"Monsieur," the only brother of Louis XIV. Lisolette was the nickname of
Elizabeth Charlotte, Duchess of Orleans or "Madame." She wrote letters
about Louis XIV’s court, up to forty a week, to her friends in Germany.
Reference: Forster, E. (1984). A woman’s life in the court of the sun king:
Letters of Liselotte von der Pfalz, 1652-1722 (Trans. Forster). Baltimore:
John Hopkins University Press.
To FRAU VON HARLING
Saint Cloud, 10 October 1676
Although today I have already written a long letter to Ma Tante (my aunt), one of
the first I have written since my confinement, I do not wish to let this mail pass without
thanking you for all the good wishes you sent me and my newborn child. As for me, I have been
feeling exceedingly well, thanks be to God, ever since I was delivered and so far have not
suffered the slightest discomfort, although this time the labor was harder than the other
two times; I was in strong labor for ten hours and this, to tell the truth, has so put me
off that I do not wish to build up a set of organ pipes, as you say in your letter; it is
just too painful a business. And then if they stayed alive, that would be one thing, but if
one sees them die, as I sadly experienced this year, there is no pleasure in it at all. As
for my remaining de Chartres, whom I so often wish to be with you, he is now, thank God,
in quite perfect health, as is his baby sister, who is as fat as a stuffed goose and very
big for her age. On Monday last, both of them were christened and given Monsieur’s and my
names so that the boy is now Philippe and the girl, Elisabeth Charlotte. Now there is
another Liselotte in the world; God grant that she may not be more unhappy than I am,
for then she will have little to complain about. As for the rest, I am much obliged to
you for wishing as I do that my son were with you. If Ma Tante could see him now, he
should give her a moment’s amusement, for he can now speak in full sentences and walk
by himself, and he babbles all day long, it is enough to make one’s head spin;he
always converses with the King and the Queen when they come here.
To DUCHESS SOPHIE
Saint Cloud, 1 August 1683
I am certain that Your Grace was dismayed by the dreadful news of the sudden and
unexpected death of Her Majesty our Queen. I confess that this has deeply touched my
heart, for in all of my troubles the good Queen had shown me every conceivable mark
of friendship. Therefore Your Grace can easily imagine how painful it was for me to see
her give up the ghost before my very eyes in the four days of her illness. On Monday night
she was taken with fever and on Friday last at three o’clock in the afternoon she expired.
And that through the ignorance of the doctors, who killed her as surely as if they had thrust
a dagger into her heart. She had an abscess under the left arm, which by repeated bleeding
they pushed back into the body. And at the end, last Friday, they gave her an emetic, which
caused the abscess to burst open inside the body. Thus she died a quick and gentle death.
I was so affected by this scene that I cannot seem to recover. The King is terribly
grief-stricken and cannot abide to stay here. So he will leave for Fontainebleau tomorrow,
and so will the rest of us.
Fontainebleau, 29 September 1683
At the last hunt, which took place at Fontainebleau, I would have suffered a grave
accident if I had not quickly remembered my old tricks and jumped off my horse. A doe that
had been startled by the hunt bounded straight towards me so impetuously that although I
reined in my horse with all my might I was unable to stop short enough, so that in coming
at me the doe hit my horse’s mouth so hard that the harness, the bit, and the reins were
scattered all around. My horse was frightened out of its wits, snorted like a bear, and
jumped to one side. When I saw that my horse had lost the bit, I quickly placed the reins
into its mouth, jumped off, and held it until my men caught up with me. If I had not been
very quick about it, my horse would without fail have broken my neck. I assure Your Grace
that she would have lost a faithful servant in me. This adventure has caused such excitement
at court that for two days no one talked of anything else. . . .
My daughter is a true little leaf-rustler; she will not learn anything, although her
tongue is nimble enough and she is full of laughter and chatter. I am certain that if
she were fortunate enough to converse with Your Grace and Oncle (uncle) she would sometimes
make them laugh, for she comes up with the funniest ideas. I must not be too familiar with
her because she is not afraid of a single soul in the world except me, and without me no one
can do anything with her. She is not a bit concerned about Monsieur, and if he wants to
scold her when I am not present, she laughs right in his face. Her governess she deceives
from morning till night. I do not know what will become of this girl, her vivacity is quite
shocking. If she were to put it to proper use, everything might turn out well, but I do
confess that I am worried about it, for we are living in a strange country. I wish that
she and her brother could swap temperaments, for while he is also bright, he is as staid
and proper as a girl should be, and she is as wild as a boy. I suppose it is the nature of
all Liselottes to be so wild in their youth and just hope that in time some lead will be
added to the mercury; in time she may well be cured of the desire to carry on, just as I
have been cured of it since I came to France . . . .
They say here that the King of Poland has found many boxes full of money in the grand
vizir’s tent and that he has received eight million worth of spoils for himself alone. A
nice box full of ducats would not do any harm to our Raugraf either . . . .
Some days ago as I was washing my hands, Madame de Durasfort told me that the late
Prince de Tarente always had his hands washed, and his arms too, by two of his wife’s
ladies-in-waiting; one of them was called Maranville and the other d’Olbreuse. Then she
asked me whether it is true that the latter is now a reigning princess and has risen so
high; she said she could scarcely believe it, having heard that German princes never make
misalliances. I confess that his question really embarrassed me for Oncle and Godfather;
therefore I quickly changed the subject.
Saint Cloud, 13 May 1687
Your Grace is greatly mistaken to believe that the care and trouble I took during
Monsieur’s illness has done anything to soften His Grace. By no means, for as soon as he
was well again, I was made to feel his hatred. . . .Your Grace desires to know whether it
is true the King has married Madame de Maintenon, but truly, I am not able to tell Your
Grace. Not many people doubt it, but as long as this marriage is not made public, I find
it difficult to believe. And because of what I know of marriage in this country, I do not
believe if they were married they would be as much in love as they are. But then, perhaps
secrecy adds a special spice that other, publicly married people do not have.
Saint Cloud, 1 October 1687
I am also bound to tell Your Grace that court life is becoming so dull that one can
hardly stand it any longer. For the King imagines that he is pious when he sees to it that
everyone is properly bored and bothered. His son’s wife is being harassed so much by the old
women with whom she has been surrounded that it is almost unspeakable. Here is an example:
her children are ill, and therefore the good princess wanted to stay here a few more days in
order to be with them. For this she is scolded and told that she wants to stay here because
she does not wish to be with the King. Then, when she says that she will go along, the women
bruit it about that she does not care for her children and does not love them, summa summarum:
whatever one does is wrong. I for my part cannot believe that loving old women and being
cranky can be pleasing to Our Lord; if that is the way to heaven, it will be hard for me to
get in. It is a wretched thing when a man does not want to follow his own reason and lets
himself be guided by calculating priests and old courtesans; this makes life quite miserable
for honest and sincere people. But what is the use of complaining; nothing can be done about
it. Those of us who are caught in this tyranny, like the poor Dauphin and I, we can see that
the thing is ridiculous, yet we do not feel like laughing at all.
Fontainebleau, 8 October 1688
On Saturday we went to hunt the boar with the King. But I was in great anxiety during
this hunt, for we had received news from Paris that my daughter had a relapse. I have asked
Monsieur four times to let me go to Paris to look after the poor child, but so far he has
not permitted it, and all because of a cabal, for the Grancey, who meddles in everything,
wants me to have a new doctor appointed by Monsieur anyway, he has been sent to my daughter;
so now when my doctor says white, this one says black, and the poor child has to suffer for
it (sic). Yet if I were in Paris I could examine what is most useful and would abide
by that without partiality. That is why they have put it into Monsieur’s head not to let me
go to Paris. And so I have to watch my only daughter being put to death for the sake of a
cabal, which grieves me in my soul, and I just had to unburden my heart to my dearest Ma
Tante. However, I was unable to abstain from saying a few words, which Monsieur has taken
very much amiss. So all I can do is to recommend my poor child to God Almighty. . . . On
Monday I received more bad news about my poor daughter, which again made me shed bitter
tears. . . .that evening I had to attend the appartement with red eyes. On Tuesday
we again went hunting with the King and returned only at nightfall; on Wednesday we again
chased the stag, but I did not chase away my discontent, as Your Grace can easily
imagine. . . .
I wish with all my heart that I could serve the children of the Raugrafin.
I would be so glad to do it, but what can I do? I am not even allowed to take care of my own
children. They will be even more to be pitied now, for this wretched war will not be helpful
to them, nor to me either. . . .
That my children are not afraid of anyone but me is only too true, for Monsieur never
wants to take the trouble of saying a single word of reprimand to them, and both their
governor and their governess are the silliest and most stupid people one could find anywhere.
The children, thank God, are not lacking in wit and therefore cannot resist laughing at
those who are in charge of them, and so it falls to me to tell them what they must and must
not do. So they fear me, yet withal they love me too, for they are reasonable enough to see
that what I tell them is for their own good. I do not scold often, but if it has to be,
I really let them have it, and that makes it all the more impressive. If they follow my
advice, I will bring them up to be good people, notwithstanding all the bad examples these
poor children constantly have before them.
But this, too, is a text that one had better bypass in silence, and I shall therefore turn
to coiffures. I am certain that if Your Grace could see the great care and trouble that the
women are now taking to make themselves repulsive, Your Grace would have a good laugh. For
myself, I cannot go along with these masquerades, bu the coiffures are getting higher every
day. I think they will finally have to make the doors taller, for otherwise these ladies
will no longer be able to go in and out of the rooms. When they are wearing wimples, they
look just like the Melusine (a legendary female monster), as I saw her painted in an old
book that His Grace, the late Elector, had in his library at Heidelberg, and I believe that
this happened to the Grancey I should not wonder, for she already has a snake’s and adder’s
tongue with which she stings me only too often. But I think it is time now to end this long
epistle.
Fontainebleau, 10 October 1693
The duchess will be able to tell Your Grace what a wicked and devious devil the old
trollop is and how it is not by fault that she hates me so dreadfully, since I have done my
utmost to get along with her. She makes the King cruel, even though His Majesty is not cruel
by nature. The King, who in the past seemed saddened when his troops committed disorderly acts,
now admits publicly that the burning and ravaging takes place on his orders. She also makes
him hard and tyrannical, so that nothing can move his heart to pity any longer. Your Grace
cannot possibly believe or imagine the wickedness of this old woman. And all that under the
mantle of piety and humility.
Versailles, 26 November 1693
Smallpox has left a great many marks on me but has not changed me in the slightest,
which has surprised everyone. The older I get, the more ugly I am bound to become, but my
temperament and my character will always remain the same. . . .I am hated because it is
thought that I do not approve of the ways in which the great man is being ruled and because
it is imagined that my honesty makes me the only person capable of someday opening the great
man’s eyes and making him see how much he harms himself by his excessive love; that is why
I must be kept away from the great man.
Paris, 14 May 1695
So dancing must be out of fashion everywhere. At every gathering here in France people
do nothing but play lansquenet. This game is all the rage now, so the young people no
longer want to dance. I do not do one or the other; I am much too old to dance and indeed have
not danced since the death of His Grace our late father; and there are two excellent reasons
why I do not gamble. One is that I do not have the money, and the second is that I do not like
gambling. The stakes are horrendously high here, and the people act like madmen when they are
playing. One bawls, the other hits the table with his fist so hard that the whole room shakes,
and a third one blasphemes to make one’s hair stand on end; in short, they show such despair
that one is frightened even to look at them.
To ELECTRESS SOPHIE
15 April 1703
In my day bride and groom did not sit on any benches but stood up straight before
the parson. Marriages that begin with laughter are not always the happiest ones. But we all
nearly died laughing when Monsieur le Dauphin was married to Madame la Dauphine at Chalons:
The Grande Mademoiselle stood on the highest step, her foot slipped, and she fell on the
Cardinal de Bouillon, who was about to unite the couple; the Cardinal fell on Monsieur le
Dauphin and Madame la Dauphine, and they too would have fallen down if the King had not
stretched out his arm to catch them. They fell like a deck of cards. In those days I was
still thin and light; I realized that Mademoiselle was about to fall on me and I jumped down
four steps at once, that is why she fell on the Cardinal. That the bridegroom slept through
the wedding sermon I can forgive him, it is difficult to avoid. And in any case it was good
for the bride that he did not need any more rest, having slept before he went to bed.
Marly, 14 December 1704
Beauties have become exceedingly rare here; to be beautiful has gone quite out of
fashion. The ladies are doing their bit too, for what with painting their ears white and
pulling their hair tightly back from the temples, they all look like white rabbits when
one holds them up by the ears so that they cannot get away and to my mind make themselves
look quite ugly. And since they have also become so lazy that they go around unlaced all
day long, their bodies are becoming thick so that they no longer have a waist. In short,
one no longer sees beautiful bodies or faces.
Louis XIV wrote his memoirs, or reminiscences, for his son and heir, the Dauphin.
In it he discusses his rule and gives his son advice for when he would be king. The Dauphin
never lived to follow that advice, for he died before Louis did.
Reference: Sonnino, P. (1970). Mémories for the instruction of the
Dauphin (Trans. Sonnino). New York: The Free Press.
My son, many excellent reasons have prompted me to go to a considerable effort in the midst
of my greatest occupations in order to leave you these mémoires of my reign and
of my principal actions. I have never believed that kings, feeling as they do all the paternal
affections and attachments in themselves, were dispensed from the common and natural obligation
of fathers to instruct their children by example and by counsel. On the contrary, it has
seemed to me that in this high rank of ours a public duty combined with the private, and that
all the respects that are paid to us, all the affluence and brilliance that surround us being
nothing but rewards attached by Heaven Itself to the care entrusted in us for people and for
states, this care would be insufficient if we did not extend it beyond us by handing down all
our insights to our successor.
I have even hoped that for this purpose I could be more useful to you, and consequently to
my subjects, than could anyone else in the world. For those who might have greater talents and
more experience than I would have not reigned, let alone in France, and I don’t hesitate to
tell you that the higher the position, the more things it entails that can neither be envisaged
nor understood without occupying it.
I have considered, moreover, what I have so often experienced myself: the crowed of
people who will press around you, each with his own design; the difficulty that you will
have in obtaining sincere advice from them, the entire assurance that you will be able to
take in that of a father who will have had no interest but your own, nor any passion except
for your greatness.
I am also sometimes flattered by the thought that if the occupations, the pleasures, and
the contacts of this world should, as all too often happens, take you away from books and
from histories, where alone, however, princes find a thousand truths unmixed with flattery,
the reading of these mémoires might somehow compensate for all the other
reading, always preserving its taste and its quality for you through the friendship and
through the respect that you would preserve for me.
I have, finally, given some reflection to the hard and demanding condition of kings in
that they owe, so to speak, a public accounting of all their actions to the entire world and
to all time, and yet cannot render it to any of their contemporaries without disclosing the
secrets of their conduct and neglecting their greatest interests. And having no doubt that
the rather great and important things in which I have participated both within and outside my
kingdom will one day stimulate the intelligence and the passions of writers in various ways,
I shall not be displeased for you to have here the means to correct history if it should go
astray and misunderstand, from not having fully penetrated into my plans and into my motives.
I shall explain them to you without deception, even in cases where my good intentions may not
have been successful, convinced that it befits a small mind, which is usually mistaken, never
to admit a mistake, and those who have enough merit to succeed most often find a certain
greatness in recognizing their errors. . . .
. . . Finally after some years had passed in this manner, the general peace, my marriage,
and the death of Cardinal Mazarin obliged me to stop postponing what I had both wanted and
feared for so long.
I began, therefore, to cast my eyes over all the various parts of the state, and not casual
eyes, but the eyes of a master, deeply struck at not finding a single one that did not cry
out for my attention; yet carefully observing what time and circumstances would permit.
Disorder reigned everywhere. My court, in general, was still quite far removed from the
sentiments in which I hope that you will find it. People of quality, accustomed to continual
bargaining with a minster who did not mind it, and who had sometimes found it necessary, were
always inventing an imaginary right to whatever was to their fancy; no governor of a stronghold
who was not difficult to govern; no request that was not mingled with some reproach over the
past, or with some veiled threat of future dissatisfaction. . . .
The finances, which move and activate the whole great body of the monarchy, were so
exhausted that there hardly seemed to be any recourse left. Many of the most necessary
and imperative expenses for my household and for my own person were either shamefully
postponed or were supported solely through credit, to be made up for later. Affluence
prevailed, meanwhile, among the financiers who, on the one had, covered their irregularities
by all kinds of artifices while they uncovered them, on the other, by insolent and brazen
luxury, as if they were afraid to leave me ignorant of them. . . .
The least of the defects in the order of the nobility was the infinite number of usurpers
in its midst, without any title or having a title acquired by purchase rather than by service.
The tyranny that it exercised over its vassals and over its neighbors in some of my provinces
could neither be tolerated nor could it be suppressed without examples of severity and of
rigor. The fury of duels, somewhat mitigated since my strict and inflexible enforcement of
the latest regulation already showed through the well-advanced recovery from such a
deep-rooted evil that noone was beyond remedy.
Justice which was responsible for reforming all the rest, seemed itself to me as the most
difficult to reform. An infinite number of things contributed to this: offices filled by
chance and by money rather than by choice and by merit; lack of experience among the judges,
even less learning; the ordinance of my predecessors on age and on service circumvented
almost everywhere; chicanery, established through long possession, fertile in schemes against
the best laws, and caused primarily by one thing, I mean this excessive number of people
delighting in trials and cultivating them as their personal birthright, with no other concern
than to prolong and to multiply them. Even my council, instead of regulating the other
jurisdictions, all too often confused them through an incredible number of conflicting decisions
all given in my name and as if coming from me, which made the disorder even more shameful.
All these evils, or rather, their consequences and their effects, fell primarily upon the
lower classes, burdened, moreover, with taxes and pressed by poverty in many areas, disturbed
in others by their own idleness since the peace, and especially in need of relief and of
employment.
Admist so many difficultites some of which seemed virtually insurmountable, three
considerations gave me encouragement.
The first, that in these sorts of things, since kings are men and they must deal
with men, they cannot possibly achieve perfection, . . . but that this impossibility
is a poor reason for not doing what one can and this distance for not perpetually
pushing forward, which cannot be without utility and without glory. . . .
The second, that in all just and legitimate undertakings, time, action itself,
and the aid of Heaven usually break a thousand paths and uncover a thousand unexpected
solutions.
The last, finally, that It seems Itself to be promising me this aid by directing all
things toward the same purpose that It inspired in me. . . .
Here I shall not merely tell you that this is nonetheless how one reigns, why one reigns,
and that there is ingratitude and temerity toward God as well as injustice and tyranny toward
men in wanting one without the other, that these demands of royalty which may sometimes seem
harsh and unpleasant to you from such a lofty post would appear delightful and pleasant to you
if it were a question of attaining them!
There is something else, my son, and I hope that you will never find it out for yourself.
Nothing would be more taxing for you than prolonged idleness, if you should have the
misfortune of falling into it, disenchanted first with affairs, then with pleasures,
then with idleness itself, and seeking everywhere in vain for what cannot be found, that
is, the delight of rest and of leisure without some labor and some occupation to
precede it.
I made it a rule to work regularly twice a day for two to three hours at a time
with various persons, aside from the hours that I worked alone or that I might devote
extraordinarily to extraordinary affairs if any arose, there being no moment when it
was not permitted to discuss with me anything that was pressing, except for foreign envoys,
who sometimes use the familiarity that they are permitted in order to obtain something or
to pry, and who must not be heard without preparation.
I cannot tell you what fruits I immediately gathered from this decision. I could almost
feel my spirits and my courage rising. I was a different person. I discovered something new
about myself and joyfully wondered how I could have ignored it for so long. That first
shyness, which always comes with good sense and which was especially disturbing when I had
to speak at some length in public, vanished in less than no time. I knew then that I was king,
and born for it. I experienced, finally, an indescribable delight that you will simply have
to discover for yourself. . . .
I commanded the four secretries of state not to sign anything at all any longer without
discussing it with me, the superintendant likewise, and for nothing to be transacted and
the finances without being registered in a little book that was to remain with me, where I
could always see at a glance, briefly summarized, the current balance and the expenditures
made or pending.
The Chancellor received a similar order, that is, not to seal anything without my command. . . .
I announced that all requests for graces of any type had to be made directly to me, and
I granted to all my subjects without distinction the privilege of appealing to me at any time,
in person or by petitions. . . .
As to the persons who were to support me in my work, I resolved above all not to have a
prime minister, and if you and all your successors take my advice, my son, the name will
forever be abolished in France, there being nothing more shameful than to see on the one
hand all the functions and on the other the mere title of the king.
For this purpose, it was absolutely necessary to divide my confidence and the execution
of my orders without entirely entrusting it to anyone, assigning these various persons to
various functions in keeping with their various talents, which is perhaps the first and
foremost talent of princes.
In order to concentrate the entire authority of a master more fully in myself—even
though there are all sorts of details into which our occupations and our very dignity do
not usually permit us to go, I resolved to enter into these with each of the ministers
whom I would choose, and when he would least expect it, so that he would realize that I
might do the same on other subjects and at any time, aside from the fact that by casually
acquiring a knowledge of these little details as a diversion rather than systematically, we
learn gradually and effortlessly about a thousand things that are by no means useless for
general decisions, and which we should know and do ourselves if it were possible for a single
man to know everything and to do everything. . . .
It was necessary for a thousand reasons, including the urgently needed reform of justice,
to diminish the excessive authority of the principal courts, which, under the pretext that
their judgements were without appeal, or as they say, sovereign and of the last instance, had
gradually assumed the name of sovereign courts and considered themselves as so many separate
and independent sovereignties. I announced that I would not tolerate their schemes any longer,
and to set an example, the Court of Excises of Paris having been the first to depart slightly
from its duty, I exiled some of its officials, believing that a strong dose of this remedy
initially would dispense me from having to use if often later, which has succeeded for
me. . . .
In all these things, my son, and in some others that you will see subsequently which
have undoubtedly humiliated my judicial officials, I don’t want you to attribute to me,
as those who know me less well may have done, motives of fear, hatred, and vengeance for
what had transpired during the Fronde, when it cannot be denied that these courts often
forgot themselves to the point of amazing excesses.
But in the first place, this resentment which appears initially so just might not
perhaps fare so well on closer scrutity. They have returned by themselves and without
constraint to their duty. The good servants have recalled the bad. Why impute to the
entire body the faults of a few, rather than the services which have prevailed in the
end? . . .
Moreover, my son, even though when it comes to offenses, at least as much as in
anything else, kings are men, I don’t hesitate to tell you that they are this a little
less so when they are truly kings because their governing and dominant passion is for
their interest, for their greatness, and for their glory. The delight of vengeance is
hardly made for us. It flatters only those whose power is uncertain, which is so true
that even private individuals who have some honor hesitate to persecute an enemy who is
entirely defeated. As for us, my son, we are only very rarely in a position to take
pleasure in vengeance, for we can do everything easily, unless we find ourselves in certain
delicate and difficult circumstances that do not call up on us to test our power.
Finally, just as we belong to our people, our people belong to us, and I have yet to see
a wise man taking revenge to his prejudice by ruining those who belong to him under the
pretext that he had been served badly, instead of providing that he should be served a
little better in the future.
Thus, my son, the resentment and anger of true kings against their subjects consist
of nothing but of justice and of prudence. The rise of the parlements in general
had been dangerous to the entire kingdom during my minority. They had to be humbled,
less for the harm that they had done that for what they might do in the future. As long
as their authority seemed opposed to mine, whatever their good intentions, it produced
some very bad effects for the state and obstructed all my greatest and most useful
undertakings. It was just for this utility to prevail, and to reduce all things to
their natural and legitimate order, even if it had been necessary—although I have
avoided it—to deprive these bodies of part of what they had been given, just as the
painter has no hesitation about softening what is most striking and most beautiful in
his own work whenever he finds that it is bigger than it should be and clearly out of
proportion with the rest of it.
But I know, my son, and can sincerely assure you that I feel neither aversion nor
bitterness toward my judicial officials. . . .
Moreover, my son, make no mistake about it. We are not dealing with angels but with
men, in whom excessive power almost always ultimately produces a temptation to use it.
In the affairs of the world , the discussion of details and true merit are absolutely
inseparable. No one shares in your work without participating in your power. Leave only
as much of it to others as you must, for however careful you are, you will always lose
much more of it than you should. . . .
The greatest dearth of 1661 did not actually make itself felt until the beginning of
the year 1662, when most of the wheat of the previous ones had been consumed, but then
it afflicted the entire kingdom in the midst of these first successes, as if God, who is
careful to temper His blessings, had wanted to balance the great and joyful hopes for the
future with a present misfortune. . . .
One may imagine, however, my son, what effect markets empty of all sorts of grains,
peasants compelled to abandon the cultivation of the soil in order to go elsewhere in desperate
search for their sustenance produced in the kingdom, even causing apprehension that the
misfortune of that year would continue into the following ones; artisans who raised the
prices of their products in proportion to the cost of living, the poor making their complaints
and their murmurs heard everywhere, middling families who held back their usual charities from
fear of an impending need. . . .
It would have been infinitely greater, my son, if I had merely agonized uselessly over
it or if I had relied on the remedies at hand, on the ordinary magistrates, who are all
too often weak and incompetent, lacking in zeal, or even corrupt. I became intimately
acquainted with the needs of the people and with conditions. I obliged the more affluent
provinces to aid the others, private individuals to open their stores and to put up their
commodities at a fair price. I hastily sent orders everywhere to bring in as much wheat
as I possibly could by sea from Danzig and from other foreign countries. I had my treasury
purchase it. I distributed most of it free to the lower classes of the biggest cities, such
as Pairs, Rouen, Tours, and others. I had the rest sold at a very modest price to those who
could afford it, and any profit from this was immediately employed for the relief of the poor,
who derived, by this means, voluntary, natural , and imperceptible aid from the more
wealthy. . . . I appeared, finally, to all my subjects, as a true father of a family,
who provides for his household and equitably distributes nourishment to his children
and to his servants.
I have never found any expense more useful than this one. For our subjects, my son,
are our true riches and the only ones that we conserve purely for themselves, all the
others being good for nothing unless we know the art of using them, that is, of spending
them wisely. And if God gives me the grace to execute everything that I have in mind, I
shall try to bring the prosperity of my reign to such a point, not in truth that there
should be no more rich or poor, for fortune industry, and intelligence will always retain
this distinction among men, but at least that there should be no more indigence or begging
throughout the kingdom. . . .
It must assuredly be agreed that as bad as a prince may be, the revolt of his subjects
is always infinitely criminal. He who has given kings to men has wanted them to be respected
as His lieutenants, reserving to Himself alone the right to examine their conduct. His will
is that whoever is born a subject must obey without qualification; and this law, so explicit
and universal, is not made in favor of princes alone, but is beneficial to the very people
on whom it is imposed, who can never violate it without exposing themselves to much graver
evils than those they claim to be guarding against. No maxim is more established by
Christianity than this humble submission of subject to those who are instituted over
them; and indeed, these who would inquire into past times will easily see how rare, since
the coming of Jesus Christ, have been those ghastly revolutions that occurred so often
under paganism.
But it is not fair for the sovereigns who profess this holy doctrine to rely on the
innocence that it inspires in their people in order to live, for their part, in greater
indiscipline. They must sustain by their own example the religion whose support they
desire and consider that their subjects, seeing them immersed in vice and in blood, can
hardly render to their person the respect due their rank, nor recognize in them the living
image of Him who is all-holy as well as all-powerful.
I am well aware that those who are born like yourself with virtuous inclinations never
go to these scandalous extremes which openly offend the people, but you should know that in
our high rank the smallest errors always have dangerous consequences. He who has committed
them has the misfortune of never knowing their seriousness until it is too late to remedy
them. . . .
Kings, who are the sovereign arbiters of the fortunes and of the conduct of men, are
themselves always the most severely judged and the most carefully scrutinized. With the
many people who surround them, what escapes the notice of one is almost always discovered
by the other. . . .
The greater the merit and virtue of the prince who is being discussed, moreover, the
harder the envious try to dim his brilliance, so that far from hiding his faults, he is
sometimes even attributed some of which he is entirely innocent; from which you must conclude,
my son, that a sovereign cannot live too wisely or too innocently, that in order to reign
prosperously and gloriously, it is not enough to provide for general affairs if we do not
also regulate our own morals, and that the only means to be truly independent and above the
rest of mankind is to do nothing, either in public or in secret, that it could justly
censure.
Louis de Rouvroy, the Duke of Saint-Simon (b.1675, d.1755), lived for a number of
years at Versailles during the reign of Louis XIV. His memoirs, which are preoccupied with
life at Versailles, were not published during Louis’ lifetime.
Reference: de Gramont, S. (1963). The age of magnificence: The memoirs of the Duc
de Saint-Simon (Trans. de Gramont). New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons.
The King’s Passion for Building
Who can count the buildings he erected? At the same time, who will not deplore their bad
taste, and his whims and arrogance in building them? He abandoned Saint-Germain, and never
built anything useful or decorative in Paris except the Pont Royal because he had to, which
is why Paris is so inferior to other cities throughout Europe, in spite of its size. When the
Place Vendôme was built, it was meant to be square. M. de Louvois supervised the
construction of the four corners. His plan was to make it the site of the King’s library,
the treasury, the mint, all the academies and the high council, which still holds it sessions
in a rented room on the square. This first thing the King did on the day of Louvois’ death was
to stop the work in progress and order the corners cut to make the square smaller, so that
only private houses could be built there, which is the way it can be seen today.
Saint-Germain was unique because of its marvelous view, adjacent forest, the beauty of its
trees, its grounds, its location and the advantages of its mineral waters, the admirable
amenity of its gardens, its heights, and it terraces, and the charms and pleasure of the Seine.
In a word, it was a self-contained city, which had only to be kept up. The King gave it up for
Versailles, the most mournful and unpleasant place possible, without a view, without a forest,
without mineral water, and without grounds or fresh air because it was all quicksand and
swamp.
He took pleasure in tyrannizing nature and subduing it with works of art and precious
objects. He built one thing after the other, pell-mell; he mixed the beautiful with the ugly,
the spacious with the cramp. The apartments of the King and Queen were among the most badly
placed, with a view that was dark, confined, and offensive. The gardens were startlingly
magnificent but unpleasant for strolling and equally lacking in taste. One can only reach
the shade of the trees by crossing a vast torrid zone that leads to a rise; and the gardens
end after this short hill. The gravel burns the feet, but without it one would sink into
quicksand and black mire. One cannot help being repelled and disgusted by the outrages
committed everywhere against nature. The abundant waters brought and channeled from all
over become green, thick and muddy; they emanate an uncomfortable and unwholesome dampness,
and a smell that is even worse. However, the fountains are incomparable, although they must
be used sparingly; as an over-all impression, one admires the gardens but shuns them. On the
side facing the courtyard, the closeness is suffocating, and the vast wings of the building
spread out as though unattached. On the side facing the gardens, one can relish the beauty of
the general view, but the palace looks as though it had burned down and was still missing a
top floor and a roof. The top-heavy chapel (Mansart built it to try to get the King to add
another floor), looks from every angle like the mournful replica of a huge catafalque. The
craftsmanship is exquisite, but the arrangement is worthless, everything in the chapel
focuses on the balcony, because that is where the King always sat, and the side aisles
are inaccessible through the small passageways built to reach them. One could go on forever
describing the monstrous defects of such a tremendous and tremendously expensive palace and
its vast dependencies: orangeries, vegetable gardens, kennels, small and large stables, a
prodigious commons, in fact an entire city where once there had only been a miserable inn,
a windmill, and the tiny card castle Louis XIII had built so he would not have to sleep
in the hay. It could have fitted in Versailles’ Marble Courtyard, and its principal building
had only two small wings. My father knew it well, and slept there often. And again, this
Versailles of Louis XIV, this masterpiece of extravagance and bad taste, whose fountains and
groves cost their weight in gold, was never completed; among so many rooms there is no banquet
hall, no theater, no ballroom, and there remains a great deal to be done both in the front
and in the back. The seedlings planted in the parks and lanes have not yet grown. Game must
endlessly be brought to the parks; the numberless irrigation channels are four or five
leagues long, and the vast circumference of the walls surrounds Versailles as though it were
a small province of the saddest and ugliest country in the world.
How to handle the King
Le Tellier, in the old days before he became chancellor of France, knew how to handle the
King. One of his best friends (and he had many because he knew how to keep them) had asked
him to put in a good word for him with the King. Le Tellier promised to do his best. The friend
replied that in his place and position, he should be able to do even more. "You are not familiar
with the terrain, " replied Le Tellier. "Of twenty proposals we bring the King, we are certain
he will agree to nineteen and refuse the twentieth. We never know which one will be refused,
but it is usually the one we hold most dear. The King reserves the right to say No to show us
that he is the master and rules the land. On the rare occasions when we match his stubbornest,
either because the matter is vital in itself or because we are eager to have our way, you can
be almost sure that he will throw a fit of temper; however, once the King has had his way and
exhausted his anger, he becomes more tractable. He is pleased to have exposed our impotence and
sorry to have disappointed us, and that is the moment we can obtain what we like."
This was, in effect, the way the King behaved with his ministers all his life. The youngest,
least able, and least respected among them was able to govern him completely, although he was
constantly on his guard against them, and was convinced that he was having his way. He behaved
the same way with Mme. De Maintenon, and congratulated himself for upbraiding her from time to
time. Sometimes he would make her cry and keep her on tenterhooks for several days. . . .
Sometimes she faked illness after these scene, and that was usually how she got the most out
of him.
Not that these devices, or even the most obvious reality, could ever constrain the King in
any matter. He was interested only in himself, and his interest in others no matter who they
were, was only in reaction to himself. In this, his callousness was extreme.
Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, Marquise de Sévigné (b.1626, d.1696), better
known to history simply as Madame de Sévigné, worte many sharply ovserved letters
which among other matters, record events at the court of Versailles. Here she describes the
death of Vatel, one of the best known cooks in France, who was in charge of preparing the
banquet for Louis XIV on the king’s visit to the Prince of Condé ("Monsieur le Prince")
when the jonquils were in bloom in 1671.
Reference: Robinson, J.H. (Ed.). (1906). Readings in European history.
Boston: Ginn.
It is Sunday, the 26th of April; this letter will not go till Wednesday. It is not really
a letter, but an account, which Moreuil has just given me for your benefit, of what happened
at Chantilly concerning Vatel. I wrote you on Friday that he had stabbed himself; here is the
story in detail.
The promenade, the collation in a spot carpeted with jonquils,—all was going to perfection.
Supper came; the roast failed at one or two tables on account of a number of unexpected
guests. This upset Vatel. He said several times, "My honor is lost; this is a humiliation
that I cannot endure." To Gourville he said, "My head is swimming; I have not slept for twelve
nights; help me to give my orders." Gourville consoled him as best he could, but the roast
which had failed, not at the king’s, but at the twenty-fifth table, haunted his mind. Gourville
told Monsieur le Prince about it, and Monsieur le Prince when up to Vatel in his own room
and said to him, "Vatel, all goes well; there never was anything so beautiful as the king’s
supper." He answered, "Monseigneur, your goodness overwhelms me. I know that the roast failed
at two tables." "Nothing of the sort," said Monsieur le Prince. "Do not disturb yourself,all
is well."
Midnight comes. The fireworks do not succeed on account of a cloud that overspreads them
(they cost sixteen thousand francs). At four o’clock in the morning Vatel is wandering
about all over the place. Everything is asleep. He meets a small purveyor with two loads of
fish and asks him, "Is this all?" "Yes, sir." The man did not know that Vatel had sent to all
the seaport towns in France. Vatel waits some time, but the other purveyors do not arrive;
he gets excited; he thinks that there will be no more fish. He finds Gourville and says to him,
"Sir, I shall not be able to survive this disgrace." Gourville only laughs at him. Then Vatel
goes up to his own room, puts his sword against the door, and runs it through his heart, but
only at the third thrust, for he gave himself two wounds which were not mortal. He falls
dead.
Meanwhile the fish is coming in from every side, and people are seeking for Vatel to
distribute it. They go to his room, they knock, they burst open the door, they find him
lying bathed in his blood. They send for Monsieur le Prince, who is in utter despair.
Monsieur le Duc bursts into tears; it was upon Vatel that his whole journey to Burgundy
depended. Monsieur le Prince informed the king, very sadly; they agreed that it all came
from Vatel’s having his own code of honor, and they praised his courage highly even while
they blamed him. The king said that for five hears he had delayed his coming because he
knew the extreme trouble his visit would cause. He said to Monsieur le Prince that he ought
not to have but two tables and not burden himself with the responsibility for everybody, and
that he would not permit Monsieur le Prince to do so again; but it was too late for poor
Vatel.
Gourville, however, tried to repair the loss of Vatel, and did repair it. The dinner
was excellent; so was the luncheon. They supped, they walked, they played, they hunted.
The scent of jonquils was everywhere; it was all enchanting.
The following are eyewitness accounts of historical events which occurred during the
French Revolution.
Reference: Carey, J. (Ed.). (1987). Eyewitness to history.
New York: Avon Books.
Louis XVI and the French Royal Family, Prisoners at the Tuileries, January 1790
(Eyewitness account reported by Arthur Young).
After a breakfast walk in the gardens of the Tuileries, there is the most
extraordinary sight that either French or English eyes could ever behold at Paris.
The King walking with six grenadiers of the milice bourgeouise, with an officer
or two of his household and a page. The doors of the gardens are kept shut to respect him,
in order to exclude everybody but deputies or those who have admission tickets. When he entered
the palace the doors of the gardens were thrown open for all without distinction, though the
Queen was still walking with a lady of her court. She also was tended so closely by the
gardes bourgeoises, that she could not speak, but in a low voice, without being
heard by them. A mob followed her talking very loud, and paying no other apparent respect
than they of taking off their hats whenever she passed, which was indeed more than I expected.
Her Majesty does not appear to be in health; she seems to be much affected and shows it in
her face; but the king is as plump as ease can render him. By his orders, there is a little
garden railed off for the Dauphin to amuse himself in, and a small room is built in it to
retire to in case of rain; here he was at work with his little hoe and rake, but not without
a guard of two grenadiers. He is a very pretty good-natured looking boy of five or six years
old, with an agreeable countenance; wherever he goes, all hats are taken off to him, which I
was glad to observe. All the family being kept thus close prisoners (for such they are in
effect) afford, at first view, a shocking spectacle; and is really so if the act were not
absolutely necessary to effect the revolution.
Marie-Antoinette at the Opera, July 1792 (Eyewitness account reported
by Grace Elliot).
After the 20th of June, the people who wished well to the King and Queen
were desirous that her Majesty should sometimes appear in public, accompanied by the Dauphin, a
most interesting beautiful child and her charming daughter, Madame Royale. In consequence of
this she went to the Comédie Italienne with her children, Madame Elizabeth, the King’s
sister, and Madame Tourzelle, governess to the royal children. This was the very last time on
which her Majesty appeared in public. I was there in my own box, nearly opposite the Queen’s;
and as she was so much more interesting than the play, I never took my eyes off her and her
family. The opera which was given was Les Evénements Imprévus, and Madame
Dugazon played the soubrette. Her Majesty, from her first entering the house, seemed
distressed. She was overcome even by the applause, and I saw her several times wipe the tears
from her eyes.
The little Dauphin, who sat on her knee the whole night, seemed anxious to
know the cause of his unfortunate mother’s tears. She seemed to soothe him, and the audience
appeared well disposed, and to feel for the cruel situation of their beautiful Queen. In one of
the acts a duet is sung by the soubrette and the valet, where Madame Dugazon
says: Ah! Comm j’aime ma maitress.(Ah! How I love my mistress)" As she looked
particularly at the Queen at the moment she said this, some Jacobins, who had come into
the playhouse, leapt upon the stage, and if the actors had not hid Madame Dugazon, they
would have murdered her. They hurried the poor queen and her family out of the house,
and it was all the Guards could do to get them safe into their carriages.
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