Ninon de l'Enclos and her century

by Mary C. Rowsell

While the persecution of His Majesty’s Protestant subjects was being ruthlessly carried on by fire and sword, and dragonnading generally, a matter of the gravest moment was under consideration at Versailles, and there was wide division of opinion in high places. It was on the question of the Fontanges head-gear, and for once the king openly set his face against that of Madame de Maintenon, which, he declared, now appeared in the middle of her body, and, he added, by no means enhanced its charm; for the height of the ugly head-dress had risen to two feet. Eloquence, mild argument, raillery and angry words from the Grand Monarque, however, simply fell on stony ground. Two gauze horns had been added to the abominable structure of whalebone, ribbon, horsehair, etc., etc. These projections were fixed behind the ears, and carried upward, crowning the work. The Sun-King’s defeat was complete, “Vires acquirit eundo. Nec pluribus impar”: his mottoes were ever mocking him, and lest the Fontanges should mount higher still, he said no more.

He had better success on the frontiers, where Catinat in Piedmont, and Luxembourg in Flanders, brilliant pupil of Condé, routed the enemy. In this expedition Madame de Maintenon secured the advancement of de Villars, the lover who had consoled her days of widowhood; and the first step to glory made, he mounted rapidly, proving himself one of the bravest of the campaign.

Another thorn in the side of Louis, or rather more absolutely of Madame, was her brother. Years had not mended d’Aubigné’s ways; he was just the same vaurien of a bon viveur and gourmet, he had been in his bouts with Scarron.

De Santeuil, the poet-canon who had been one of the party when Ninon travelled to Rome, was now d’Aubigné’s Fidus Achates, and they were fairly evenly matched in their modes of life. Santeuil was invited one morning by Ninon to breakfast with her. D’Aubigné naturally came too, expressing himself delighted, he said, to kiss Ninon’s hand once more after such an interval of years. He inquired whether she still kept up her acquaintance with his bégueule of a sister.

“Is it so you speak of a person who has made the glory of your family?” demanded Ninon.

D’Aubigné did not regard the case at all in this light. It was a good joke to call her that, he said, and added that he was furious against his brother-in-law. “Don’t you know why?” he went on, planting his hands on his hips in truculent fashion. “Are you not aware of the persecutions and insults Françoise treats me to? Well, we’ll have breakfast first, and then I’ll tell you.” And having fortified himself with a bumper or two of Burgundy, he went on. “Only imagine, that this infernal bigot—Oh well,” he continued, when Ninon reminded him that she and Françoise were still on terms of friendship, “you can tell her what I say. It is all the same to me, and if my brother-in-law has anything to grumble at in it, let him out with it. Prison? flames and fury! I’ll pin my dagger into any of them who dare to lay hand on me, and there you have it. They won’t silence me! Head of the family indeed! That’s me!—and so much the worse for Louis Dieudonné! taking it into his head to marry my sister! Prudence?” he went on, when his hostess suggested its adoption, “it is the mother of all the vices—a watchword only for cowards. Françoise is my sister, and I’ll have them pay me proper respect.” Then d’Aubigné, having mercilessly criticised the mature attractions of Françoise, went on to say that he loved her, and if need were, would protect her at the sword’s point; but that because she was saintly and surrounded herself with Jesuits, it was no reason why he should be made a monk. Yes, that was her plan. She and the brother-in-law greatly desired that he should shut himself up in St Sulpice, where the livelong day was spent in reading litanies. “B-r-r-r-r-t!” shivered d’Aubigné. “Me!” he added, when Santeuil said if he did such a thing, he would excommunicate him—“I would sooner be chopped to mincemeat by the dragonnades.”

Santeuil suggested that he might prefer entering St Cyr to St Sulpice.

But d’Aubigné replied that the inmates of St Cyr would be too much of his sister’s mould for his fancy. Ninon was disturbed at this forcible language, which she had very good reason to believe was not reserved for her ear alone; but that d’Aubigné exploded in much the same fashion in the taverns and the avenues and public gardens, and possibly also even in the galleries of Versailles, where he had access. She took Santeuil aside, and begged him to use his influence in restraining his friend’s ebullitions. But Santeuil was in no mind to do anything of the kind; he said it was only just and proper that the widow Scarron, who had not always been a saint, should meet with those little contrarieties, and the matter must settle itself in its own way. Soon after this, Santeuil, who was a great favourite with all the family of the Condés, on account of his wit and gaiety of disposition, was invited to spend the summer at Dijon; and Madame de Maintenon, finding her brother thus unprotected, used every endeavour to persuade him to enter St Sulpice. In any case, however, d’Aubigné said he saw no reason to hurry over the step.

That same year the marriage took place of the Duc du Maine, the eldest son of Madame de Montespan. The bride was neither intelligent or beautiful, but she was huge of frame, and the duke, entertaining a passion for gigantic women, selected her from a trio of ladies, one of whom was adorably beautiful, and the other rejected one brilliantly gifted and accomplished.