Memoirs of Louis XIV and His Court and of the Regency — Volume 05 — Reading Notes

A Lost Hunting Party and a Disgraced Host

The hunting-party episode is the most fully realized narrative in the excerpts. Saint-Simon frames it as a story told to him by M. de Lauzun, one of the participants. The courtiers lose their way 'just as darkness was coming on,' spy a light, and reach a 'kind of castle' near ten or eleven at night, 'towards the end of autumn.' The host, Fargues, takes them in without ceremony: he has them remove their boots, warms them, stables their horses, and prepares an excellent supper with several fine wines. His manner is 'polite and respectful, yet without being ceremonious or eager,' suggesting he has 'frequented the best company.' The next morning, after an excellent breakfast, the courtiers find their horses ready. They return to Saint Germain, where their adventure becomes 'the common talk.' The King, upon hearing the host's name, reacts with recognition and apparent displeasure—the text cuts off, but the implication is that Fargues is in disgrace. Saint-Simon does not explain further, leaving the reader to infer the political dimensions from the King's exclamation.

A Legal Battle Won by Personal Appeal

Saint-Simon recounts a legal struggle over a property case in Rouen. His opponents, led by Madame d'Aumont, obtain 'letters of state' to delay the trial. With the parliament of Rouen about to end, Saint-Simon faces a procedural disaster. He decides to go directly to the King at Marly, despite the King's usual refusal to hear such matters while there. He arrives on Tuesday morning at eight o'clock. The Chancellor and Chamillart pity him but offer no hope. Yet at a council of state the next morning, the letters of state are 'thrown out by every voice.' Saint-Simon rushes back to Rouen with an order for the parliament to proceed immediately. On the final day, the judges rule in his favor 'with penalties and expenses, amid acclamations.' The victory is followed by a kitchen chimney fire—'only a marvel that it was extinguished'—which turns joy into bitterness. Saint-Simon notes that 'only the master of the house who was unmoved,' a dry observation on the calm of his host amid the chaos.

A Surprise Offer of an Ambassadorship

In early 1706, Saint-Simon receives news that 'almost took away my breath.' The papal nuncio Gualterio, with whom he is on intimate terms, hints at the post of ambassador to Rome. Saint-Simon dismisses it, knowing the King's reluctance to employ young men—he is only thirty. But eight days later, the nuncio enters his chamber 'about an hour after mid-day,' arms open, joy on his face, and tells him to shut the door. The excerpt breaks off, but the scene is characteristic: Saint-Simon presents himself as a reluctant recipient of high favor, surprised by a promotion he did not seek. The detail of the nuncio's physical demeanor—'arms open, joy painted upon his face'—is typical of Saint-Simon's vivid, almost theatrical descriptions of personal interactions.

Diction and the Texture of Court Life

Saint-Simon's prose is dense with concrete details that evoke the physical and social texture of court life. He notes the time of day ('eight of the clock'), the season ('towards the end of autumn'), and the precise sequence of events. His diction is often blunt: he describes Lamoignon's anecdote as 'curious and instructive,' and the letters of state as 'thrown out by every voice.' He uses direct speech sparingly but effectively—the King's exclamation 'What, Fargues!' carries more weight than any description. The memoirist also reveals his own character: he is tenacious in legal matters, willing to defy convention by appealing directly to the King, and capable of dry humor (the chimney fire 'strongly warned us'). The excerpts show a writer who values precision over elegance, and who uses anecdote to expose the mechanisms of power and favor.

Saint-Simon's memoirs reward readers who attend to small details—the time of day, the quality of wine, the exact words of a royal exclamation. These are not decorative touches but evidence of a method that treats court life as a system of signs. The reader is encouraged to watch for similar patterns: a sudden change in tone, a broken sentence, a seemingly trivial incident that reveals a larger truth about favor, disgrace, or the exercise of power.

There’s something strangely touching about Saint-Simon’s fallen nobleman, opening his doors to a lost hunting party. All that court maneuvering, and the kindness still slips through. It reminds me of the quieter, steadier sense of character I found in The Great Company — A Closer Reading. Different world, same felt ache of human decency surviving the machinery around it.