IV
THE KING FAITHFUL TO THE QUEEN
For several years Louis XV. gave no scandal. Faithful to his religious duties, he lived like a good Christian and good husband. The courtiers, habituated to the manners of the Regency, did not conceal their surprise and annoyance. One day, in January, 1729, when there had been several sleighing excursions, old Marshal de Villars wrote: “These sleighing parties give the ladies some hopes that things are going to be rather livelier. There was dancing after supper, and if that happens often, it is not impossible that some courageous beauty may lay hold of the King.” But this daring beauty was not to be found. The intimidating politeness and freezing glance of the young sovereign kept all women at a distance. Louis XV. did not yield. People wondered whether pride or timidity, goodness or egotism, wisdom or ennui, was what gave its predominating character to his attitude of taciturnity and extreme reserve.
The character of the King, who as yet did not know himself, was an enigma to the court. Versailles, under the direction of an aged priest, resembled an Escurial, and the small apartments destined to so scandalous a future had at this time the tranquillity of a convent or a sanctuary. If any one mentioned a woman famous for her beauty to the monarch, he would merely say: “She is not more beautiful than the Queen.” Marie Leczinska kept her spouse within the bounds of duty by her exquisite goodness, her remoteness from all intrigue, her submissive and gentle spirit. Loving neither luxury nor racket, she lived like a worthy citizeness, charitable, modest, and entirely occupied with her salvation. She arrived in France in September, 1725, and for three years she did not see Paris. A sort of votive pilgrimage took her there for the first time on October 4, 1728. She had brought twin daughters into the world the previous year, Louise Elizabeth and Henriette of France; this time she desired a son, and to obtain one from Heaven she came to invoke the intercession of the Blessed Virgin in the Parisian churches. Barbier, the advocate, thus describes in his Journal Marie Leczinska’s pious excursion:—
“October.—Monday, 4, our good Queen has seen Paris. She came to Notre Dame to ask a dauphin from the Virgin, and from there she went to Saint-Geneviève with the same end in view. She made this journey incognita after a fashion; that is to say, it was not a formal entry. She had only her usual suite, which consists of four carriages with eight horses apiece.... As to the person of the Queen, she is little, rather slender than stout, not pretty without being disagreeable, and looks good-natured and gentle, which does not impart the majesty needful in a queen. She went about a good deal in Paris and saw astonishing crowds of people. They say that money to the extent of twelve thousand livres was scattered from the door of her carriage.”
Marie Leczinska’s prayer was heard. The next year she had a son (September 4, 1729). She gave the King ten children in ten years (1727–1737). And yet there was no real intimacy between the married pair. During the daytime they scarcely addressed a word to each other. One might have said they never came together but from a sense of duty, for the welfare of the State. Cold, polite, reserved, they mutually intimidated each other.
Was the Queen as clever as she ought to have been in order to keep Louis XV. in the straight path? One may be permitted to doubt it. Her frank and simple nature knew neither astuteness nor diplomacy. The secrets of feminine coquetry were completely foreign to her. If D’Argenson is to be believed, she was not adroit. He says she was too prudish with her husband, thinking she had noticed that in France it was considered in good taste to be so. He accuses her of overdoing the matter, and then lamenting her mistake with bitter tears when it was past all remedy. He says, too, that she did not do all that was in her power to make her society agreeable to her husband. “At the beginning of his marriage,” he writes, “the King wanted to spend his evenings in the Queen’s apartments, playing cards and chatting. The Queen, instead of attracting him thither, putting him at his ease, and amusing him, played the disdainful. Hence the King grew disgusted, accustomed himself to pass the evenings in his own apartments, at first with men and afterwards with women, his cousin Charolais, the Countess of Toulouse. The King is naturally very timid and seeks for those with whom he can be at his ease. When he once meets them, it is plain to what degree he is a man of habitudes.”
The Queen would have tried in vain to use the language of passion to her husband or treat him to jealous scenes. Louis XV. had a horror of everything that seemed to him exaggerated. In his wife’s chagrin he would have seen a freak, a forgetfulness of etiquette, a want of deference. Already, in 1726, Marshal de Villars had recommended calmness and resignation to Marie Leczinska. He says in his Memoirs: “The Queen led me into her cabinet, and spoke to me with keen sorrow of the changes she observed in the King’s affection. Her tears flowed abundantly. I replied: ‘I think, Madame, that the King’s heart is far removed from what is called love; you are not the same with regard to him; but, believe me, it is best not to display your passion too much; don’t let any one see that you fear a diminution in his sentiments, lest the many fine eyes that are ogling him continually should risk everything in order to profit by this change. For the rest, it is all the better for you that the King’s heart is not much inclined to tenderness, because where passion is concerned, natural coldness is less cruel than abandonment.’”
What is to become of this undecided, timid, vacillating king? In which direction will this young man go, who, like Hercules in the fable, is hesitating between Virtue and Pleasure? Will he be a saint or a debauchee? He wants to do what is right, but will he have the courage? Everything conspires to thrust him into the evil way. His morality is begrudged him. The air he breathes is poisonous. The women, who incessantly provoke him, rival each other in glances and coquetries. His former preceptor, now become directing minister, dares not venture a counsel. His first valet de chambre, Bachelier, already dreams of playing the pander, and great lords, with the Duke de Richelieu at their head, likewise aspire to those sorry but lucrative functions. Who would dare to reprimand the monarch if he gave a scandalous example? The clergy hold their peace. The nobles demand but one thing from the King: to choose his mistress among women of quality. Shame needs a blazon. The bourgeoisie will be too prudent to meddle with the secrets of the gods. D’Argenson and Barbier, the nobleman and the advocate, will rival each other in indulgent judgments on adultery.
In D’Argenson’s eyes the sole fault of favorites is their propensity to meddle with State affairs. He adds: “I approve of private persons confiding in a mistress in whose affection they believe; it makes little scandal, and is even edification and honesty, according to the present relaxation of manners, which are coming closer and closer to nature.” Barbier, the lawyer, goes farther still. He says in his Journal, with an astonishing mixture of cynicism and naïveté: “Fifteen out of twenty nobles of the court do not live with their wives, and do have mistresses; nothing is so common even among private persons. It is ridiculous, then, that the King, who is certainly the master, should be in worse condition than his predecessors.”
The courtiers could not accustom themselves to the absence of a royal mistress. It seemed to them as if there was a place vacant, a post to which some one ought to be appointed. How could any one fancy Henri IV. without la belle Gabrielle, Louis XIV. without La Vallière and Montespan? And what! said they with indignation, shall Louis XV. confine himself to his wife, that Polish woman without beauty, and seven years older than himself? In their eyes this would be to derogate from all the traditions of French gallantry. The military men, impatient of peace, fancied that a favorite might be an Agnes Sorel, who would rouse this new Charles VIII. from his torpor, and lead him to victory. Fashionable young people were persuaded that Versailles would become animated, that there would be feasts, suppers, diversions, pleasures of every kind.