VI.
LETTERS OF THE DUCHESSE DE BOURGOGNE.
PRECEDED BY REMARKS OF
C.-A. SAINTE-BEUVE.
Marie-Adélaïde de Savoie, Duchesse de Bourgogne, who was married to the grandson of Louis XIV. and was the mother of Louis XV., has left a very gracious memory behind her. She flitted through the world like one of those bright, rapid apparitions which the imagination of contemporaries delights to embellish. Born in 1685, daughter of the Duc de Savoie, who transmitted to her his ability and possibly his craft, grand-daughter by her mother of that amiable Henrietta of England (first wife of Monsieur, Louis XIV.’s brother), whose death Bossuet immortalized, and whose charm she resuscitated, Marie-Adélaïde came to France when eleven years old to marry the Duc de Bourgogne, who was then thirteen. The marriage took place the following year, but in form only; and for several years the education of the young princess was the occupation of her life. Mme. de Maintenon applied herself to that purpose with all the care and consistency of which she was so capable. It was not her fault if the Duchesse de Bourgogne did not become the most exemplary of the pupils of Saint-Cyr. The vivacity and lively spirits of the princess disconcerted at times the well-laid schemes of prudence, and she constantly broke from the frame in which it was designed to hold her. Nevertheless, she profited through it all; serious thoughts slipped in among her pleasures. It was for her that sacred plays, some by Duché, but especially Racine’s “Athalie,” were acted in Mme. de Maintenon’s apartment. In “Athalie,” the Duchesse de Bourgogne played a part.
The Duchesse de Bourgogne
The princess had already received in Savoie a certain education, especially in that so necessary to princes and which nature itself gives to women, namely, the desire and the effort to please. She arrived at Montargis on Sunday, November 4, 1696. Louis XIV. had left Fontainebleau after dinner and gone to Montargis with his son [Monseigneur], his brother [Monsieur, the little Adélaïde’s grandfather], and all the principal seigneurs of his Court, in order to receive her. Before going to bed that night the king concludes an important letter to Mme. de Maintenon in which he gives her an account in the fullest detail of the person and slightest action of the little princess; it was the affair of State of the moment. The original of this letter of Louis XIV. exists in the library of the Louvre, and it is here given textually. Let us now read Louis XIV. undisguised, or rather, let us listen to the great monarch conversing and relating; language excellent, phrases neat, exact, and perfect, terms appropriate, good taste supreme in all that concerns externals and visible appearance; whatever, in short, contributes to regal presentation. As for the moral basis, that is slim and mediocre enough, we must allow, or rather, it is absent. But let us read the letter:—
“I arrived here [Montargis] before five o’clock,” writes the king; “the princess did not come till nearly six. I went to receive her at the carriage; she let me speak first, and afterwards she replied extremely well, but with a little embarrassment that would have pleased you. I led her to her room through the crowd, letting her be seen from time to time by making the torches come nearer to her face. She bore that march and the lights with grace and modesty. At last we reached her room, where there was a crowd, and heat enough to kill us. I showed her now and then to those who approached us, and I considered her in every way in order to write you what I think of her. She has the best grace and the prettiest figure I have ever seen; dressed to paint, and hair the same; eyes very bright and very beautiful, the lashes black and admirable; complexion very even, white and red, all that one could wish; the finest blond hair that was ever seen, and in great quantity. She is thin, but that belongs to her years; her mouth is rosy, the lips full, the teeth white, long, and ill-placed; the hands well shaped, but the colour of her age. She speaks little, so far as I have seen; is not embarrassed when looked at, like a person who has seen the world. She curtseys badly, with a rather Italian air. She has also something of an Italian in her face; but she pleases; I saw that in the eyes of those present. As for me, I am wholly satisfied. She resembles her first portrait, not the second. To speak to you as I always do, I must tell you that I find her all that could be wished; I should be sorry if she were handsomer.
“I say it again: everything is pleasing except the curtsey. I will tell you more after supper, for there I shall observe many things which I have not been able to see as yet. I forgot to tell you that she is short rather than tall for her age. Up to this time I have done marvels; I hope I can sustain a certain easy air I have taken until we reach Fontainebleau, where I greatly desire to find myself.”
At ten o’clock that night, before going to bed, the king added the following postscript:—