Guided and encouraged by her spiritual advisor, a Barnabite monk named Père Lacombe, Mme Guyon preached self-denial, serenity of mind, the suppression of all desire, the cult of the inner soul, and disinterested love that was not humiliated by fear or inspired by the hope of reward.
Mme Guyon had a cousin, Mme de La Maisonfort, who was a favorite of Françoise, and it was through her subsequent friendship with Françoise that Mme Guyon came to Versailles. Here, she met Abbé Fénelon, tutor to the royal children. A gentle man, well-educated and intellectual, Fénelon was also drawn to the mystical, and in him Mme Guyon found a kindred spirit. It was only a matter of time before she was introduced to the young ladies at Saint-Cyr.
Mme Guyon taught her own brand of spirituality at Saint-Cyr, where the young ladies embraced it passionately. This brought her to the attention of Godet, bishop of Chartres in whose diocese the school fell. He complained of her conduct to the archbishop of Paris, who threatened to take action against her. Françoise now began to realize the danger she was in. She promptly broke off relations with Mme Guyon and refused to allow her to remain any longer at Saint-Cyr.
Françoise was right to worry. When Louis heard how Quietism had spread through Saint-Cyr, he was furious with Françoise for allowing Mme Guyon and Fénelon to preach what he considered to be heresy. He ordered Mme de La Maisonfort and Françoise’s closest friend, Mme de Brinon, from Saint-Cyr, while Fénelon was told to withdraw to his bishopric at Cambrai. Louis then reprimanded his wife mercilessly over the affair before leaving her room and refusing to see her.
Bishop Bossuet and Fénelon carried on a spiritual war, attacking each other from the pulpit and in print. Bossuet took pity on Françoise, and he wrote to Louis urging him to give back his confidence “to that excellent partner, filled with the spirit of God, and with tenderness and fidelity to your person.” He went on: “I know the depths of her heart, and I will pledge you my word that no one can love you more tenderly and respectfully than she loves you. She will never deceive you, unless she is deceived herself.”40 Bossuet’s words were scarcely necessary, for Louis loved Françoise and would do nothing to hurt her. The heart he had tried to harden against her had already softened, and he went to her room to find her worn out with weeping. Moved almost to tears himself, he sat beside her bed and said tenderly, “Madame, are you going to die of this business?”41
Their crisis was over, but it is easy to see why Quietism had concerned Louis so much. Fénelon was, from Louis’s point of view, a dangerous man.42 He believed that the king ought to live a simpler, less ostentatious life with a smaller, less expensive court. The king’s concerns should be focused not on the pursuit of gloire but on the welfare of his subjects. Moreover, Louis should encourage agriculture over massive industry and commerce. Fénelon advocated aristocratic rule as opposed to the absolute monarchy practiced by Louis. He thought France would be better served by being governed by the Estates General, with regular meetings led by the nobility. In other words, France should become a democracy, albeit with certain limits.
Fénelon, a pacifist who believed all wars were civil wars, opposed the War of the Spanish Succession and laid the blame for the conflict firmly upon Louis’s shoulders. Wars could be avoided in future, he believed, if the rulers of Europe were to form a league of states and come together in regular summits.
Fénelon’s followers formed a small but influential group, while his political importance lay in his position as tutor to the young duc de Bourgogne, who would one day become king. His gentle, mystical philosophy appealed to many high-ranking members of the court, among them the duchesses de Beauvillier and Chevreuse, both daughters of the late Colbert, and their husbands. Mme Guyon’s daughter was also married to Nicolas Foucquet’s son and heir, the vicomte de Vaux. It is easy to see why Louis worried that Fénelon might provoke factionalism at court. This, even more than the question of heresy, was the reason why he persecuted Fénelon and was resolute in his condemnation of Quietism.
The controversy surrounding Quietism, however, was to continue for some while yet. Fénelon, anxious to retain his offices at court, urged Mme Guyon to seek spiritual council from Bossuet. She received the sacrament and gave him her writings for examination. She did everything he told her to and promised never again to disseminate her teaching. However, she broke her promise, and Louis was forced to order her arrest. She spent her time in the Bastille composing mystical verses.
Bossuet, long considered Fénelon’s mentor and master, ordered Fénelon to condemn Mme Guyon and submit to his own pastoral instruction. Fénelon was unwilling to do either, and upon his departure for his own diocese, he published his work, Maxims of the Saints, in which he refuted the charges against Mme Guyon and developed a doctrine of holy meditation and spirituality. The outraged Bossuet denounced the book to Louis as he fell to his knees before the king and begged his forgiveness for having allowed a fatal heresy to flourish in his kingdom.
As Louis and Françoise consulted Père de La Chaise for advice, it became a matter of theological discussion as to whether “loving God for Himself” was indeed a heresy. Courtiers sneered at Bossuet, prompting him to write another attack on Fénelon. Both bishops sent their writings to Pope Innocent XII with promises that they would submit to his decision.
Cardinal d’Estrées, Louis’s ambassador in Rome, persuaded the king to write to Innocent to demand Fénelon’s condemnation. He did so, stating that the Maxims of the Saints on the Inner Life had been presented to him as a pernicious work, and urging Innocent to condemn it. After a thorough examination by theologians appointed by the Council of the Holy Office, the propositions expounded by Fénelon were condemned by a majority of votes in Rome on March 13, 1699. Fénelon not only accepted defeat with good grace but he also condemned his own work from his pulpit at Cambrai, while forbidding his friends to defend it. Four years later, Mme Guyon was allowed to leave the Bastille and retire to her own estates, where she spent her time writing and performing acts of charity.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Sire, Marly!”
Louis was justifiably proud of the gardens at Versailles. Whenever dignitaries visited, he insisted upon showing them the beautiful bosquets, flower gardens, parterres, and fountains. He decided to write Manière de montrer les jardins de Versailles, a guide to the best way to view the gardens. There were seven versions in all, the first of which appeared in 1689. The guide was updated as new features were added until the final version was completed in 1705. Some of the editions were written in Louis’s own hand, others were the work of various secretaries and corrected by Louis.
Why Louis wrote the guide is not known for certain; it is only known that it was never intended for publication. It might have been written for official receptions or for the king’s personal use in later years when painful gout and rheumatism kept him confined to a wheelchair for much of the time. That it could be used by the fountain engineers, to allow them to know which fountains to activate as the king and his guests made their way through the vast park, is equally plausible. Whatever the reason, the itinerary covered several distances depending upon which route was taken. Walks to the menagerie and Trianon were the longest, at some eight kilometers.1
Those who ventured through the gardens towards the canal would have been rewarded by the sight of miniature boats, the beginnings of the squadron that would replicate in perfect detail the boats and ships of the royal fleet. Initially, three boats graced the waterways: the Dunkerquoise, a replica of a ship used by Dunkirk privateers; the Réale, a miniature version of the galleon of the same name and flagship of the Marseilles squadron; and the Grand Vaisseau, a small frigate equipped with cannon. Louis would use these ships for cruising on the canal until his physician, M. Fagon, ordered him to stop for fear that the damp air would further aggravate his rheumatism.
Louis was coming up to his fifty-fifth birthday, which, for the period in which he lived, meant that he was swiftly approaching old age. He turned his thoughts to his children, sp
ending more time with them and contemplating the succession. He had already legitimized his children by Mme de La Vallière and Athénaïs and many had been married off, or “established,” to use the proper term. In 1680, Louis’s daughter by Louise de La Vallière, Marie-Anne de Blois, had married Louis de Conti, nephew of the prince de Condé, although she would be widowed at nineteen. Five years later, his daughter by Athénaïs, Louise-Françoise, Mlle de Nantes, had married Louis III de Bourbon, prince de Condé, a grandson of the prince de Condé. His son by Athénaïs, the duc du Maine, had overcome the illnesses that had afflicted his childhood, although he had been left with a limp. In 1692, at the age of twenty-two, he married Anne-Louise-Bénédicte de Bourbon, one of Condé’s granddaughters. By marrying three of his legitimized children into the Condé family, Louis was seeking to ensure their loyalty to the crown, thereby sparing his successor the fear of another Fronde.2 He still had one more daughter to establish, however: Françoise-Marie. Her marriage to the duc de Chartres, Philippe’s son by his second wife, Liselotte, was smoothed by the granting of favors to two of Philippe’s friends, the marquis d’Effiat and the chevalier de Lorraine, and the promise of high military office and the governorship of an important province for young Chartres.3 A large financial incentive further sweetened the agreement, and the wedding went ahead on February 18, 1692.
Louis had one surviving child by Queen Marie-Thérèse, Louis de France, the dauphin, known as Monseigneur. Now aged thirty-two, he was a widower with three fine boys, the eldest of whom, the duc de Bourgogne, was second in the line of succession. Louis took the boy under his wing and instructed him in statecraft, just as Mazarin had taught him. The duc attended councils with the king, and, like him, he learned to listen to petitions and take advice from specialists before making up his mind as to the proper way to proceed in each case.
Bourgogne had been betrothed to Marie-Adélaïde, daughter of Victor Amadeus II de Savoy, who had been won over to France’s side during the War of the League of Augsburg. Their marriage would seal the peace agreement between the two states.4 Now, in October 1696, the eleven-year-old bride arrived at the bridge of Beauvoisin, where she rested in a house on the Savoy side of the border. Having changed her clothes, she went to the bridge, at the entrance of which she was received by her new household, who escorted her to the French house that had been prepared for her on the other side. Here, she spent the night and departed the following morning. She bid farewell to her Italian household without shedding a tear. Only one lady-in-waiting and her physician accompanied her into her new country, but they were not allowed to remain with her for very long.
On November 4, Louis, the dauphin, and Philippe set out in separate journeys for Montargis to receive the new princess. As usual, Louis could not contain his curiosity and excitement, and he rode on ahead so that he was the first to meet Marie-Adélaïde. Their first encounter took place at six in the evening at the door of his carriage. He then took her to the apartment that had been prepared for himself in a house in the town, and here she was presented to the other members of the royal family who had accompanied him.
Louis wrote to Françoise, praising the new princess:
She has the best grace and the finest figure I have ever seen. Dressed like a picture, and her head to match. The eyes bright and very beautiful; black and admirable eyelashes; the skin smooth, red and white, just as one would have it; the most beautiful and abundant black hair that one can see; a very red mouth, full lips; the teeth white, long, and very irregular; well-made hands, but of the colour of her age. . . . I am quite satisfied. . . . I hope you will be so too. . . . A noble style, polished and pleasant manners. I am glad to speak well of her, for I think, without prepossession or flattery, I am obliged to do so.5
Louis decreed that although Marie-Adélaïde would immediately assume her married title, duchesse de Bourgogne, she would be called a princess.6 She should dine alone, being served by the duchesse du Lude, and would receive visits only from her own ladies and anyone to whom Louis granted his express permission. She would not yet hold court, and would receive visits from her betrothed once every two weeks and his brothers once a month.
By November 8, the whole court had returned to Versailles and Marie-Adélaïde was granted the honor of being installed in the late queen’s apartments. Here, she was presented to all the most distinguished persons of Paris. Louis and Françoise instantly fell in love with her. She was the daughter they had never had. They indulged, even spoiled, her, and she, in her turn, “usurped with both a freedom never attempted by any of the children of the king.” She called Françoise “aunt” and was, quite simply, enchanting. Marie-Adélaïde’s father had been well versed in the ways of the French court, and he had taught his daughter everything she needed to know. She, who had been a willing pupil, “knew so well how to profit by the instruction, and with what grace she did so.”
Louis was captivated by Marie-Adélaïde’s cleverness, her attentions and graces, which exceeded her age, and he did not want to wait any longer than necessary to marry her to his grandson. He therefore announced that the couple would marry on December 7, the day after the bride’s twelfth birthday. He also expressed his wish that the court should wear splendid dress for the wedding. The king, who for some time now had taken to wearing simple clothes, ordered a magnificent suit. No expense was to be spared, and the courtiers competed with each other to see who would be the best dressed on the day; so much so that Louis began to repent having given his order. He “could not comprehend how husbands could be foolish enough to let themselves be ruined for their wives’ clothes.” Deep down, however, he took great pleasure in the celebrations, and in studying the sumptuousness of the costumes his courtiers wore.7
The wedding took place as scheduled on Saturday, December 7. The bridal pair arrived in the king’s room just after midday, and Louis led them into the chapel. After the betrothal and the marriage ceremony, the Cardinal de Coislin said low mass. Louis then led the party to dinner. A courier was sent to Turin to inform the new duchesse’s father of the marriage, but the rest of the day passed very quietly. That evening, however, the court was joined by King James of England and Mary of Modena. It was a rainy evening, but this did not stop the company from enjoying a fireworks display before they went to supper.
It was now time for the coucher of the bride. Louis had ordered that all men were to be excluded from the ritual, but the ladies remained with her, and Queen Mary received the honor of giving the duchesse de Bourgogne her chemise. The duc, meanwhile, undressed in the antechamber, seated on a folding stool. The king and all the princes attended him, while James, in an echo of his wife’s role, handed him his chemise.
It was then announced that the duchesse was in bed. The duc entered the bedchamber and climbed into the right side of the bed in the presence of the king and all the court. The king and queen of England withdrew first, then Louis retired to bed, upon which everyone else left the nuptial chamber except the dauphin, the duchesse’s ladies, and the duc de Beauvillier, who remained beside the duc’s pillow, and the duchesse du Lude, who attended the bride.
The dauphin remained for fifteen minutes or so, during which he told his son to kiss his bride, against the furious protests of the duchesse du Lude. He then made his son get out of bed and return to his own room. As it turned out, the duchesse du Lude was correct to protest, for when Louis found out, he said it was wrong and that “he did not choose his grandson to kiss so much as the tip of his wife’s finger till the time came for them to live together.”
On the following day, a circle was held for Madame la duchesse de Bourgogne in her apartments. Louis came in towards the end, and he conducted the ladies to a salon near the chapel, where a fine collation awaited them. The evening was filled with music, and the company remained there until nine, when Louis escorted the young couple to the duchesse’s apartments. They continued to live as they had done before their marriage; and, although the duc visited his wife every day, her ladies were under
strict orders not to leave them alone together. The couple would not be “put together,” as the saying went, until shortly after New Year 1699, when the duc de Bourgogne was not yet sixteen and the duchesse was still only thirteen.
Both Louis and William III had come to realize that the war could not be won by either side. The fighting would, nonetheless, continue for some time yet. In the summer of 1695, William’s forces threatened Namur, which Louis had captured the previous year.8 The maréchal de Villeroy,9 knowing that the fate of the Low Countries rested upon who held Namur, rushed to its defense. On July 13, the French forces encamped before the town and prepared for an assault the next day. The enemy commander, Vaudémont,10 was in an exposed position, with his only chance of escape being to flee to a wooded area some three leagues distant.
As the morning of July 14 dawned, Villeroy issued orders to the duc du Maine to attack Vaudémont as a delaying tactic designed to allow the maréchal time to position his troops for the main assault and to prevent Vaudémont from escaping. Du Maine was Louis’s favorite legitimized son by Athénaïs, and his father, who valued military heroism and courage above everything else, expected much from him.
Some time went by, but Villeroy received no news from du Maine. He issued his orders again five or six times, but still he heard no word. Du Maine claimed to need time to reconnoiter, to go to confession, or to organize his men, but the truth was that he had been ready for a while and his troops were eager to begin the attack. The duke’s delay allowed Vaudémont to begin his march, and the French could only stand, watch, and fume as the enemy slipped beyond their reach.
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