Memoirs of Louis XIV and His Court and of the Regency — Volume 03 — Background and Themes

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Authors: Saint-Simon, Louis de Rouvroy, duc de, 1675-1755 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2004 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: France -- Court and courtiers; France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715; France -- History -- Regency, 1715-1723 Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

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Words 28,185

Reading time 123 min

Text sections 3

This digital edition of Memoirs of Louis XIV and His Court and of the Regency — Volume 03 — Background and Themes is described by source-level measurements including 28,185 words, 2 hr 3 min estimated reading time, and 3 detected text sections.

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Source: Project Gutenberg record #3862

Saint-Simon's memoir details the diplomatic maneuvers over the Spanish succession and the death of Monsieur, Louis XIV's brother, with sharp observations of courtly behavior, royal tears, and the absurdity of a confessor's plea.

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There was yet one of the preliminary steps to take, without which it was thought that success would not be certain. This was to dismiss the King's Confessor, who had been given to him by the Queen, and who was a zealous Austrian.

Cardinal Portocarrero was charged with this duty, and he succeeded so well, that two birds were killed with one stone. The Confessor was dismissed, and another was put in his place, who could be relied upon to do and say exactly as he was requested. Thus, the King of Spain was influenced in his conscience, which had over him so much the more power, because he was beginning to look upon the things of this world by the glare of that terrible flambeau that is lighted for the dying. The Confessor and the Cardinal, after a short time, began unceasingly to attack the King upon the subject of the succession. The King, enfeebled by illness, and by a lifetime of weak health, had little power of resistance. Pressed by the many temporal, and affrighted by the many spiritual reasons which were brought forward by the two ecclesiastics, with no friend near whose opinion he could consult, no Austrian at hand to confer with, and no Spaniard who was not opposed to Austria;--the King fell into a profound perplexity, and in this strait, proposed to consult the Pope, as an authority whose decision would be infallible. The Cardinal, who felt persuaded that the Pope was sufficiently enlightened and sufficiently impartial to declare in favour of France, assented to this step; and the King of Spain accordingly wrote a long letter to Rome, feeling much relieved by the course he had adopted.

The Pope replied at once and in the most decided manner. He said he saw clearly that the children of the Dauphin were the next heirs to the Spanish throne, and that the House of Austria had not the smallest right to it. He recommended therefore the King of Spain to render justice to whom justice was due, and to assign the succession of his monarchy to a son of France. This reply, and the letter which had given rise to it, were kept so profoundly secret that they were not known in Spain until after the King's death.

Directly the Pope's answer had been received the King was pressed to make a fresh will, and to destroy that which he had previously made in favour of the Archduke. The new will accordingly was at once drawn up and signed; and the old one burned in the presence, of several witnesses. Matters having arrived at this point, it was thought opportune to admit others to the knowledge of what had taken place. The council of state, consisting of eight members, four of whom were already in the secret, was made acquainted with the movements of the new party; and, after a little hesitation, were gained over.

The King, meantime, was drawing near to his end. A few days after he had signed the new will he was at the last extremity, and in a few days more he died. In his last moments the Queen had been kept from him as much as possible, and was unable in any way to interfere with the plans that had been so deeply laid. As soon as the King was dead the first thing to be done was to open his will. The council of state assembled for that purpose, and all the grandees of Spain who were in the capital took part in it, The singularity and the importance of such an event, interesting many millions of men, drew all Madrid to the palace, and the rooms adjoining that in which the council assembled were filled to suffocation. All the foreign ministers besieged the door. Every one sought to be the first to know the choice of the King who had just died, in order to be the first to inform his court. Blecourt, our ambassador, was there with the others, without knowing more than they; and Count d'Harrach, ambassador from the Emperor, who counted upon the will in favour of the Archduke, was there also, with a triumphant look, just opposite the door, and close by it.

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Saint-Simon opens this volume with a diplomatic crisis: the failing health of the childless King of Spain and the ensuing scramble among European powers. The author's account of William III's partition plan reveals a courtly world where secret negotiations quickly become public scandal, and ambassadors are expelled for insolence. Saint-Simon's prose is precise, noting how the Spanish queen, sister-in-law to the Emperor, purges ministers who resist her influence. The narrative then shifts abruptly to a domestic tragedy: the sudden apoplexy and death of Monsieur, the King's only brother. Saint-Simon juxtaposes high politics with intimate bedside scenes, capturing the King's easy tears and the dark comedy of a confessor's repeated question, 'Do you not know the good little Pere du Trevoux?'

The Language of Power and Illness

Saint-Simon's diction in describing the King of Spain's decline is clinical: 'very weak health,' 'danger of his life several times.' He avoids melodrama, letting the political stakes speak for themselves. When Monsieur falls ill, the vocabulary shifts to urgency: 'emetic had no effect,' 'no remedy has taken effect.' The author's choice of the word 'hubbub' to describe the chaotic flight from Marly to Saint Cloud is deliberately informal, contrasting with the usual decorum of court. He notes that Monseigneur, the Dauphin, was 'so struck' by the resemblance to his own past illness that he 'could scarcely stand'—a rare moment of physical vulnerability in a memoir otherwise concerned with protocol.

Tears and Tactics: The King's Display of Grief

Saint-Simon repeatedly observes Louis XIV weeping: 'naturally he wept with great facility; he was, therefore, all tears.' The author does not take this at face value. He suggests the King's tears may stem from guilt over a morning quarrel that 'hastened death,' or from the unsettling fact that his younger brother had 'enjoyed as good health as he.' The memoirist notes that the King wept again when told of the death, and tears 'often ran down his cheek' during dinner. Yet Saint-Simon also records the King's immediate return to business: after weeping, he 'worked with Chamillart and Pontchartrain' to arrange funeral ceremonies. The juxtaposition of tears and paperwork is characteristic of Saint-Simon's unsentimental eye.

Ridiculous Contrasts in a Deathbed Scene

Saint-Simon explicitly states that 'the most horrible sights have often ridiculous contrasts.' He illustrates this with the confessor Pere du Trevoux, who, after Monsieur loses consciousness, cries out, 'Monsieur, do you not know your confessor? Do you not know the good little Pere du Trevoux?' The repetition of 'good little' and the confessor's self-identification strike Saint-Simon as indecently comic, causing 'the less afflicted to laugh.' This detail is not mere gossip; it reveals the author's method of puncturing solemnity with observed absurdity. The dying man lies on a couch in his cabinet, surrounded by a crowd that 'little by little withdrew' after the King left—a quiet detail that underscores the transactional nature of court attendance.

The Young Duke's Calculated Embrace

In the aftermath of Monsieur's death, Saint-Simon records a striking exchange between Louis XIV and his nephew, the Duc de Chartres (later Regent). As the King departs Saint Cloud, Chartres, 'weeping very much,' embraces the King's thighs and exclaims, 'Oh Sire! what will become of me? I lose Monsieur, and I know that you do not like me.' The King, 'surprised and much touched,' responds with tender words. Saint-Simon does not comment on the sincerity of either party, but the scene is carefully placed: the young prince seizes the moment of royal vulnerability to secure favor. The memoirist's choice to include the detail of the embrace—'embracing the King's thighs'—emphasizes the physicality of the plea, a gesture both desperate and strategic.

Saint-Simon's memoir demands attention to its small, telling details: the confessor's absurd refrain, the King's tears that flow and then dry as he turns to state papers, the young duke's theatrical grief. Readers should watch for the author's habit of juxtaposing high drama with mundane particulars—a technique that makes these courtiers feel both remote and startlingly human. The volume offers no grand moral, only the relentless observation of power as it is performed, wept over, and calculated.

There’s something humbling about watching Saint-Simon record the theatrical tears at Monsieur’s deathbed, knowing how quickly those same mourners turned to scheming. It reminds me of another long captivity, endured far from Versailles, where survival stripped away all pretense. I keep thinking of that other prisoner’s quiet endurance—The captivity, sufferings, and escape of James Scurry Who was detained a prisoner during ten years, in the dominions of Hyder Ali and Tippoo Saib — Edition Insights—and how both memoirs, in their different ways, show what a person becomes when the performance finally stops.