Let me repeat. The King's intelligence was
below the average, but was very capable of improvement. He loved glory;
he desired peace and good government. He was born prudent, temperate, secretive,
master of his emotions and of his tongue--can it be believed?, he was born
good and just. God endowed him with all the makings of a good and perhaps
even of a fairly great king. All the evil in him came from without. His
early training was so dissolute that no one dared to go near his apartments,
and he would sometimes speak bitterly of those days and tell how they found
him one night fallen into the fountain at the Palais Royal. He became very
dependent on others, for he had scarcely been taught to read and write,
and he remained so ignorant that he learned nothing of historical events
nor the facts about fortunes, careers, ranks, or laws. This lack caused
him sometimes, even in public, to make many gross blunders.
You could imagine that as king he would have loved the old nobility and would not have cared to see it brought down to the level of other classes Nothing was further from the truth. His aversion to noble sentiments and his partiality for his Ministers, who, to elevate themselves, hated and disparaged all who were what they themselves were not, nor ever could be, caused him to feel a similar antipathy for noble birth. He feared it as much as he feared intelligence, and if he found these two qualities united in one person, that man was finished.
His ministers, generals, mistresses, and courtiers learned soon after he became their master that glory, to him, was a foible rather than an ambition. They therefore flattered him to the top of his bent, and in so doing, spoiled him. Praise, or better, adulation, pleased him so much that the most fulsome was welcome and the most servile even more delectable. They were the only road to his favour and those whom he liked owed his friendship to choosing their moments well and never ceasing in their attentions. That is what gave his ministers so much power, for they had endless opportunities of flattering his vanity, especially by suggesting that he was the source of all their ideas and had taught them all that they knew. Falseness, servility, admiring glances, combined with a dependent and cringing attitude, above all, an appearance of being nothing without him, were the only means of pleasing him. Once a man left that path there was no return for him, as Louvois found out to his cost.
The poison gradually spread until it reached a degree almost unbelievable in a prince who was not unintelligent or without experience of the world. For example, although he had no voice nor ear for music, he could often be heard in his private rooms singing the verses written in his praise in the prologues of the plays and operas. You could see that he revelled in them, and sometimes even at State suppers he hummed the words under his breath when the orchestra played these tunes.
Flattery fed the desire for military glory that sometimes tore him from his loves, which was how Louvois so easily involved him in major wars and persuaded him that he was a better leader and strategist than any of his generals, a theory which those officers fostered in order to please him. All their praise he took with admirable complacency, and truly believed that he was what they said. Hence his liking for reviews, which he carried to such lengths that he was known abroad as the 'Review King', and his preference for sieges, where he could make cheap displays of courage, be forcibly restrained, and show his ability to endure fatigue and lack of sleep. Indeed, so robust was his constitution that he never appeared to suffer from hunger, thirst, heat, cold, rain, or any other kind of weather. He greatly enjoyed the sensation of being admired, as he rode along the lines, for his fine presence and princely bearing, his horsemanship, and other attainments. It was chiefly with talk of campaigns and soldiers that he entertained his mistresses and sometimes his courtiers. He talked well and much to the point; no man of fashion could tell a tale or set a scene better than he, yet his most casual speeches were never lacking in natural and conscious majesty.
He had a natural bent towards details and delighted in busying himself with such petty matters as the uniforms, equipment, drill, and discipline of his troops. He concerned himself no less with his buildings, the conduct of his household, and his living expenses, for he always imagined that he had something to teach the experts, and they received instruction from him as though they were novices in arts which they already knew by heart. To the King, such waste of time appeared to deserve his constant attention, which enchanted his ministers, for with a little tact and experience they learned to sway him, making their own desires seem his, and managing great affairs of State in their own way and, all too often, in their own interests, whilst they congratulated themselves and watched him drowning amidst trivialities.
Pride and vanity, which tend always to increase, and the flattery with which he was fed continually without his perceiving it, even from the clergy preaching before him, were the foundations on which his ministers raised themselves above all other ranks. He was cunningly persuaded that their rank was merely an extension of his own, supreme in him, in them capable of increase (since without him they were nothing), and useful to him, because it gave them as his instruments greater dignity and made them more readily obeyed. That is why secretaries of state and ministers gradually left off their cloaks, then their bands, then their black gowns and simple seemly dress, and finally came to clothe themselves like gentlemen of quality. They then began to adopt the manners and later the privileges of the nobility, rising by stages to eat with the King, their wives assuming, as by right, the same prerogatives as their husbands, dining at the royal table, riding in the royal coaches, and in every way appearing equal to ladies of the highest rank.
Personal vanity of another kind led the King to encourage this behaviour. He was well aware that though he might crush a nobleman with the weight of his displeasure, he could not destroy him or his line, whereas a secretary of state or other such minister could be reduced together with his whole family to those depths of nothingness from which he had been elevated. No amount of wealth or possessions would avail him then. That was one reason why he liked to give his ministers authority over the highest in the land, even over the Princes of the Blood and all others who held no office under the crown, and to grant them rank and privileges to match. That is why any man of consequence who possessed anything which the King had no power either to destroy or maintain was carefully kept from the ministry; he would have been a source of danger and a continual anxiety. The sole exception to this rule was the Duc de Beauvilliers. During the whole course of the King's long reign, from the death of Mazarin to the King's own death fifty-four years later, he was the only nobleman to be admitted to the council.
Therein lay the reason for the watchful, jealous attitude of his ministers, who made it difficult for the King to hear any but themselves, although he pleased to think that he was easy for any man to approach. Indeed, he considered that it enhanced his majesty and the respect and fear with which he was regarded, and which he used to snub the most noble, to give all men access to him only as he passed. Thus great lords and underlings alike might speak freely to him as he went from one room to another on his way to or from mass, or stepped into his coach. The more distinguished might wait at the door of his study, but none dared to follow him inside. In fact, approach to him was limited to those moments. Any matters whatsoever had to be explained to him in a few words, very awkwardly, and always within hearing range of his entourage, or, if one knew him well, one might whisper into his wig, which was scarcely more convenient. His almost invariable answer was, 'We shall see' (je verrai), very useful no doubt as a means of gaining time, but often bringing little comfort.
Private audiences in his study were rarely if ever granted, even when the matter concerned State affairs, never, for example, to envoys returning or going abroad, never to generals, unless in extraordinary circumstances; and private letters written to the King always passed through the hands of some minister, except on one or two most rare and special occasions.
Nevertheless, in spite of the fact that the King had been so spoiled with false notions of majesty and power that every other thought was stifled in him, there was much to be gained from a private audience, if it could be obtained, and if one knew how to conduct oneself with all the respect due to his majesty and habits. I, indeed, can speak from experience, for I have described already how I obtained, even compelled him to grant me one when he was most angry, and how I each time managed to over-persuade him and leave him satisfied with me; and he said as much to me and afterwards to others.
Once in his study, however prejudiced he might be, however much displeased, he would listen patiently, good-naturedly, and with a real desire to be informed. You could see that he had a sense of justice and a will to get at the truth, even though he might feel vexed with you, and that quality he retained all through his life. In private audience you could say anything to him, provided, as I have already remarked, that you said it respectfully, with submissiveness and proper deference, for without that you would have been in a worse plight. With the proper manner, however, you could interrupt him when it was your turn to speak, and bluntly deny his accusations, you could even raise your voice above his without vexing him, and he would congratulate himself on the audience and praise the person he interviewed for ridding him of prejudices and the lies he had been told; moreover, he would prove his sincerity by his subsequent attitude.
It is therefore enough to make one weep to think of the wickedness of an education designed solely to suppress the virtue and intelligence of that prince, and the insidious poison of barefaced flattery which made him a kind of god in the very heart of Christendom. His ministers with their cruel politics hemmed him in and made him drunk with power until he was utterly corrupted. If they did not manage entirely to smother such kindness, justice, and love of truth as God had given him, they blunted and obstructed those virtues to the lasting injury of his character and his kingdom.
From such alien and pernicious sources he acquired a pride so colossal that, truly, had not God implanted in his heart the fear of the devil, even in his worst excesses, he would literally have allowed himself to be worshipped. What is more, he would have found worshippers; witness the extravagant monuments that have been set up to him, for example the statue in the Place des Victoires, and its pagan dedication, at a ceremony at which I myself was present, and in which he took such huge delight. From this false pride stemmed all that ruined him. We have already seen some of its ill-effects; others are yet to come.
The awkward situation with his mistresses and the dangers involved in conducting such scandalous affairs in a busy capital, crowded with people of every kind of mentality, played no small part in deciding him to leave, for he was embarrassed by the crowds whenever he went in or out or appeared upon the streets. Other reasons for departure were his love of hunting and the open air, so much more easily indulged in the country than in Paris, which is far from forests and ill-supplied with pleasant walks, and his delight in building, a later and ever-increasing passion, which could not be enjoyed in the town, where he was continually in the public eye. Finally, he conceived the idea that he would be all the more venerated by the multitude if he lived retired and were no longer seen every day. All these considerations led him to take up his residence at Saint-Germain soon after the Queen-Mother's death, and it was then that he first began to attract society to him with fetes and diversions and to let it be known that he wished often to be visited.
The liaison with Mme de la Valliere, which was at first kept secret, occasioned many excursions to Versailles, then a little hunting-lodge erected by Louis XIII when he, and still more his courtiers, grew tired of sleeping in a low tavern or an old windmill, after long, exhausting hunts in the forest of Saint-Leger and still further afield. They used to cover great distances in those days, even by present standards, when the speed of hounds and the great numbers of mounted grooms and huntsmen have made hunting so short and easy. Louis XIII never, or very rarely, slept there for more than one night, and then only when it was unavoidable. His son used it to be more private with his mistress, a pleasure unknown to that most upright monarch, that worthy son of Saint-Louis, who first built the little chateau at Versailles.
Gradually, those quiet country excursions of Louis XIV gave rise to a vast building project, designed to house a large Court more comfortably than in crowded lodgings at Saint-Germain, and he removed his residence there altogether, shortly before the death of the Queen. Immense numbers of suites were made, and one paid one's court by asking for one, whereas, at Saint- Germain, almost everyone had the inconvenience of lodging in the town, and those few who did sleep at the chateau were amazingly cramped.
The frequent entertainments, the private drives to Versailles, and the royal journeys, provided the King with a means of distinguishing or mortifying his courtiers by naming those who were or were not to accompany him, and thus keeping everyone eager and anxious to please him. He fully realized that the substantial gifts which he had to offer were too few to have any continuous effect, and he substituted imaginary favours that appealed to men's jealous natures, small distinctions which he was able, with extraordinary ingenuity, to grant or withhold every day and almost every hour. The hopes that courtiers built upon such flimsy favours and the importance which they attached to them were really unbelievable, and no one was ever more artful than the King in devising fresh occasions for them. In later days, he made great use of the Marly excursions for that purpose, and Trianon, too, for although every man had the right to go there to pay his court, only the ladies ate with him, and they were specially selected for every meal. Another of his contrivances was the ceremony of the candlestick, which he allowed some courtier to hold every evening at his coucher. He always chose from among the most distinguished persons present and called his name aloud as he went out from prayers.
Still another device was the granting of the justaucorps a brevet, blue, lined with scarlet, with scarlet facings and waistcoat, embroidered with gold thread and a little silver in a particular pattern. Only a certain number of these jackets were made. The King and the members of the royal family and the Princes of the Blood each possessed one, but the latter had to wait, like the other courtiers, until a vacancy occurred. The greatest persons at the Court used to beg one for themselves or another, and it was considered an enormous privilege to obtain one. Originally, they were designed for the very select few who had the right to go with the King on his excursions to Saint-Germain or Versailles without a special invitation. When these outings ceased, the jackets no longer had any special significance, but they might be worn for Court or family mourning, unless it were full mourning, or at those periods when it was forbidden to wear gold or silver. I never saw the King wear his, nor Monseigneur nor Monsieur, but Monseigneur's three sons often wore theirs, and so did the other princes. Until the King's death, there was always great rivalry among the courtiers as soon as one became available, and if some young nobleman received one it was thought to be a great distinction.
But there would be no end to describing all the different expedients that followed one after another as the King grew older and the entertainments increased or diminished in number, or to telling of the methods he employed to keep so large a Court always about him.
He not only required the constant attendance of the great, but was also aware of those of lower rank. He would look about him at his lever and coucher, at meals, and while walking through the state apartments or the Versailles gardens, where none but courtiers might follow him. He saw and noticed every one of them, marked very well the absences of those usually at Court and even of those who attended more rarely, and took care to discover the reason, drawing his own conclusions and losing no opportunity of acting upon them. He took it as an offence if distinguished people did not make the Court their home, or if others came but seldom. And to come never, or scarcely ever, meant certain disgrace. When a favour was asked for such a one, the King would answer haughtily, 'I do not know him at all', or, 'That is a man whom I never see', and in such cases his word was irrevocable.
Another crime was not to go to Fontainebleau, which he regarded as a second Versailles, and if certain people did not beg for an invitation to Marly, even though he might have no intention of taking them, they needed, man or woman, a pretty good excuse to save them from disgrace. Above all, he could not bear people to go to Paris for their amusements. He did not so much mind the absences of those who loved their estates, but none the less, one needed to be moderate, or else take precautions before making a long visit.
Louis XIV took enormous pains to be well-informed about all that went on in public places, in private houses, society, family business, or the progress of love-affairs. He had spies and reporters everywhere and of all descriptions. Many of them never realized that their reports reached the King, others wrote directly to him, sending their letters by secret channels of his own devising. Their letters were seen by him alone and he always read them before proceeding to other business. There were even some who spoke privately with him in his study, entering by the back way. Through such secret informants, an immense number of people of all ranks were broken, often most unjustly and without their ever discovering the reason, for the King, once suspicious, never trusted again, or so rarely that it made no matter.
One other fault he had, that made him highly dangerous to others and, indeed, to himself, for it often deprived him of loyal subjects. Although his memory was so good that he could recognize some common man, whom he had seen perhaps once, twenty years earlier, and could learn things easily without confusing them, he could scarcely be expected to remember everything. But if he chanced to have only a vague recollection of some person, there remained imprinted upon his mind the idea that he had something against that man, and that alone was enough to exclude him. Nothing could persuade him to change his mind. No matter what his ministers, generals, or even his confessor might argue, he always answered that he could not clearly remember what there was against the man, but that he would feel more secure in choosing some other.
It was owing to the King's curiosity that the lieutenants of police assumed their dangerous power, which went on steadily increasing. These officers were more dreaded, more delicately handled, more respected during his reign even than the ministers, and even by the ministers themselves. No one in France, not even the Princes of the Blood, thought it politic to treat them disrespectfully; for apart from the official reports which they sent to the King, they amused themselves by knowing all the intrigues and the latest scandals in Parisian society.
But the cruellest of all the King's methods of obtaining information was the opening of private letters. Years passed before this practice was generally suspected; and even afterwards, many ignorant and foolish people continued to feed him, for it was almost incredible how swiftly and skilfully the letters were dealt with. He read extracts of those containing any matter which the postmasters or their minister decided that he should see, and entire letters when their contents or the importance of the persons addressed made it appear worth while. Thus it came about that the chief postmasters were in a position to impute whatsoever they chose to whomever they chose, and since it needed very little to ruin a man irretrievably, they had no need for plots or forgeries. A single word of abuse or disparagement of the King or the government, one jest, one sarcastic remark, one plausible fragment cut out of a letter was enough to finish a man's career without further inquiry. Rightly or wrongly accused, it is almost unbelievable how many people of all sorts and conditions were broken to a greater or lesser extent by such means. The veil of secrecy was impenetrable, for nothing came more easily to the King than absolute silence or dissembling. Indeed it was a talent which he carried to the verge of deceit, but never to actual falsehood, for he prided himself on keeping his word, once given. That was why he almost never gave it, and he guarded other people's secrets as scrupulously as he did his own. It even pleased his vanity to receive confidences and to be trusted, and neither mistresses, ministers, nor favourites could drag them out of him, not even when they themselves were implicated.
There is one story in particular of a certain noble lady, whose identity has never yet been discovered, who found that she was pregnant just as her husband was returning after a year's absence with the army. At last, when all other expedients had failed, she besought the King to grant her an absolutely secret audience on the most urgent business in the world. She obtained her interview and told the King that, in her extreme necessity, she had come to the man whom she could best trust in the whole of France. He advised her to let this great trouble be a lesson to live more wisely for the future, and promised her instantly to send orders to keep her husband on duty at the frontier in such a way and for so long that he would have no suspicions, and to refuse him home-leave on any pretext whatsoever. What is more, he sent Louvois instructions that very moment, and forbade him also to leave the fortress which he was to command throughout the winter, even for a single day. The husband, an officer of high rank, had never expected, and had certainly not asked, to be employed at that season on the frontier, neither had Louvois, and both were equally vexed and astonished. None the less, they could do nothing but obey and ask no questions, and when the King finally told the story many years later, he made sure that none of the people concerned would be identified, as indeed they never have been, not even by the vaguest hint. ...
There was nothing to equal his bearing at reviews or, indeed, anywhere graced by the presence of ladies. I have already said that he had learned his gracious manner at his mother's Court and in the drawing-room of the Comtesse de Soissons. The company of his mistresses had encouraged it. He was sometimes gay, but never undignified, and never, at any time, did he do anything improper or indiscreet. His smallest gesture, his walk, bearing, and expression were all perfectly becoming, modest, noble, and stately, yet at the same time he always seemed perfectly natural. Added to which he had the immense advantage of a good figure, which made him graceful and relaxed. On state occasions such as audiences with ambassadors and other ceremonies, he looked so imposing that one had to become used to the sight of him if one were not to be exposed to the humiliation of breaking down or coming to a full stop. At such times, his answers were always short and to the point and he rarely omitted some civility, or a compliment if the speech deserved one. The awe inspired by his appearance was such that wherever he might be, his presence imposed silence and a degree of fear.
He loved the open air and exercise so long as strength was given to him. In his youth, he had excelled in dancing, at pall-mall, and at the jeu de paume, and all his life he was a superb horseman. He liked men to acquit themselves well in such pastimes; gracefulness or clumsiness in them he regarded as a virtue or discredit, for he used to say that such pursuits were unnecessary and it were better not to do them at all than do them badly. Shooting he loved and was better than the average. He liked beautiful setter bitches and always had seven or eight in his rooms and fed them with his own hands so that they learned to know him. He also loved stag-hunting, but after he broke his arm he rode in a carriage. He drove himself in a small open carriage, drawn by four ponies with five or six relays, and went alone, going full tilt with a skill that few professionals could equal and all the elegance which he habitually displayed. His postillions were children between nine and fifteen years of age, whom he trained himself.
In everything he loved magnificently lavish abundance. He made it a principle from motives of policy and encouraged the Court to imitate him; indeed, one way to win favour was to spend extravagantly on the table, clothes, carriages, building, and gambling. For magnificence in such things he would speak to people. The truth is that he used this means deliberately and successfully to impoverish everyone, for he made luxury meritorious in all men, and in some a necessity, so that gradually the entire Court becam. dependent upon his favours for their very subsistence. What is more, he fed hi' own pride by surrounding himself with an entourage so universally, magnificent that confusion reigned and all natural distinctions were obliterated.
Lucy Norton, ed., Saint-Simon at Versailles. New York, 1980, 217-226, 229-230.