But this affair “hung up” the peace, to use Saint Simon’s phrase—the peace that Louis XIV. could now sign, because it was honourable. His displeasure was extreme. It was all very well for Madame des Ursins to say that she had nothing to do with the matter, that the King of Spain was only following his own inclination, and that after all she despised the malevolent designs of his enemies; still the delay experienced in the conclusion of the general peace was imputed to her. She was accused of occupying herself too exclusively with her own interests, and of placing in the scales the repose of Europe entire: it was said that she abused Philip’s good-nature, and that she ought not to have availed herself of her ascendancy over that conscientious prince save to release him from his promise, to free him from all trammel, and incline him towards the wishes of his grandfather.
It was from the French ministry that these complaints came, and Torcy, so greatly humiliated in 1704, at length had his revenge. Madame de Maintenon herself made remarks upon her, based upon the same motives; only that she threw more form into them, contenting herself with giving the Princess to infer that of which the others did not spare her the harshest expression. “You have good reason to let folks chatter;” she wrote, “provided that you have nothing to reproach yourself with.... for, you must know, we here look upon the treaty of Spain with Holland, such as it is, as equally necessary, as you think it shameful at Madrid.... Make up your mind, therefore, Madam, and do not allow it to be said that you are the sole cause of the prolongation of the war. I cannot believe it, and think it very scandalous that others should.”[67]
But these warnings and exhortations, imparted with such delicate tact, had no more effect at Madrid than the harsh severity of the ministerial reprimands. Louis XIV. then made his solemn voice heard. “Sign,” said he, tartly, to his grandson, “or no aid from me. Berwick is on his march for Barcelona—I will recall him; then I will make peace privately with the Dutch and with the Emperor; I will leave Spain at war with those two powers, and I will not mix myself up further in any of your affairs, because I do not choose, for the private interest of Madame des Ursins, to defer securing the repose of my people, and perhaps plunge them into fresh sufferings.”[68]
When Louis XIV. had thus proffered his last word, Philip V. even yet urged some objections, and the Princess des Ursins on her part, moved her friends into action; but there was no means of converting Louis XIV. to what the Court of Madrid demanded, since not one of the allies was willing either; and, as for the acquisition of those few manors in Luxembourg, in exchange for an equivalent in Touraine, he preferred personally to have nothing upon any frontier, than to gain so little, and owe such feeble legacy to an intrigue, unworthy of his character, unworthy of a great nation, and only fit to serve as a text for the biting irony of foreigners or that of his own subjects.
Madame des Ursins is indeed no longer comprehensible throughout this affair. She, hitherto so noble-minded, so devoted to high-class politics, so prudent, so full of tact. Oh! how far off are we from realising that lofty sentiment of hers:—
“Sans peine je passerais de la dictature à la charrue!”
There was nothing left, however, but to give way. The treaty of Utrecht was signed by Philip V., and unconditionally. The net gain in the business fell to d’Aubigny; he received for his trouble as a negotiator, and for his constancy in another way, the manor of Chanteloup, revealed the motive of its construction—yet an enigma to everybody in France, says Saint Simon[69]—installed himself therein, and, for the rest, made himself loved and esteemed there. To Madame des Ursins there only remained the mortification of having failed, a mortification the greater that her pretensions had been so lofty and tenacious. It was further increased, also, by having turned the Court of France against her, and engendered a coolness towards her on the part of Madame de Maintenon herself, who up to that juncture had always approved of her manner of acting and her system of government, but who now, seizing the occasion of Orry having established some imposts upon the Catalans, did not hesitate to say very harshly and laconically: “We do not think Orry fit for his post, for Spain is very badly governed.”[70]
Those were accents which must have deeply grieved the heart of the Princess. Next came Berwick, who was by no means, as we have seen, to be ranked amongst her friends—Berwick, whom Louis XIV. had sent in spite of her, in spite of what she had said of Tessé, who, by his own account, had failed the first time before Barcelona only because he had been prevented from commencing the siege soon enough. Her influence, it was impossible to longer doubt, had been greatly lessened at Versailles, if it had not perished altogether.
Trembling for herself, she continued naturally to lean upon the King of Spain, who was devoted to her. In order that this plank of safety should not escape her grasp, she permitted only those she liked to have access to him; she regulated all his proceedings; she kept him from all private audience; she seemed jealous of it, whilst she was only so as regarded her own preservation. Scandal, as may be imagined, was again busy with her name. It was again whispered that she was in hopes that the King, scarcely yet thirty-two, would not be repelled by the faded charms of a septuagenarian; that he would marry her, that was certain; and in every saloon throughout the world of fashion in France, circulated the following anecdote, which Saint Simon duly registered in his Memoirs, and in which further figured, to render it more piquante and authentic, the Reverend Father Robinet. The King certainly had one evening withdrawn with his confessor into the embrasure of a window. The latter appearing reserved and mysterious, the curiosity of Philip V. was excited, and the King questioned his confessor as to the meaning of the unwonted mood in which he found him. Upon which Father Robinet replied, that since the King forced him to it, he would confess that nobody either in France or Spain doubted but that he would do Madame des Ursins the honour of espousing her. “I marry her!” hastily rejoined the King. “Oh! as to that, certainly not!” and he turned upon his heel as he uttered the sentence. It was the pendant of “Oh! pour mariée, non!” of the famous letter of the Abbé d’Estrées, related by the same historian. Saint Simon’s two pictures are delightful; in either of the two, the priest, whether cunning or malignant, figures conspicuously, attracts attention, and keeps up one’s curiosity.
For some time, Philip V. treated these reports as mere inventions and calumnies, “the offspring of envy, hatred, and ambition.” All that was said concerning the omnipotence of Madame des Ursins, of her empire over him, of her hopes, her designs, of that same corridor, of their private interviews, left him unmoved and indifferent. The Count de Bergueick, until then a stanch adherent of the Princess des Ursins, himself declared that that omnipotence had become insupportable, and he asked permission to return to Flanders, whence he had been summoned. Philip V. allowed him to depart, and Madame des Ursins lost not one jot of her authority. But the complaints, the murmurs, the idle talk continued, the incessant repetition of which could not fail at last to make an impression upon a weak mind. In the end the King grew wearied, and vexed, especially at the reports relating to such a ridiculous marriage, to a matrimonial project which wounded his self-love as a man as well as his royal dignity, and tormented besides by the exigencies of a temperament, in which the flesh was far too predominant over the spirit—“Find me a wife,” said he, one day to Madame des Ursins, “our tête-à-têtes scandalise the people.”[71]