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

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In Category - Modern Nations

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 25,917

Reading time 113 min

Text sections 3

Memoirs of Louis XIV and His Court and of the Regency — Volume 05 — Reading Notes can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 25,917 words, 1 hr 53 min estimated reading time, and 3 detected text sections.

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Source: Project Gutenberg record #3864

Saint-Simon's memoir recounts a lost hunting party's hospitality from a disgraced nobleman, a legal battle against letters of state, and a nuncio's surprise offer of an ambassadorship, revealing court corruption and personal maneuvering.

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Fargues was much astonished when he learnt of what he was accused. He exculpated himself, nevertheless, completely; alleging, moreover, that as the murder of which he was accused had been committed during the troubles, the amnesty in which he was included effaced all memory of the deed, according to law and usage, which had never been contested until this occasion. The courtiers who had been so well treated by the unhappy man, did everything they could with the judges and the King to obtain the release of the accused. It was all in vain. Fargues was decapitated at once, and all his wealth was given by way of recompense to the Chief- President Lamoignon, who had no scruple thus to enrich himself with the blood of the innocent.

The other person who died at the same time was, as I have said, Ninon, the famous courtesan, known, since age had compelled her to quit that trade, as Mademoiselle de l'Enclos. She was a new example of the triumph of vice carried on cleverly and repaired by some virtue. The stir that she made, and still more the disorder that she caused among the highest and most brilliant youth, overcame the extreme indulgence that, not without cause, the Queen-mother entertained for persons whose conduct was gallant, and more than gallant, and made her send her an order to retire into a convent. But Ninon, observing that no especial convent was named, said, with a great courtesy, to the officer who brought the order, that, as the option was left to her, she would choose "the convent of the Cordeliers at Paris;" which impudent joke so diverted the Queen that she left her alone for the future. Ninon never had but one lover at a time-- but her admirers were numberless--so that when wearied of one incumbent she told him so frankly, and took another: The abandoned one might groan and complain; her decree was without appeal; and this creature had acquired such an influence, that the deserted lovers never dared to take revenge on the favoured one, and were too happy to remain on the footing of friend of the house. She sometimes kept faithful to one, when he pleased her very much, during an entire campaign.

Ninon had illustrious friends of all sorts, and had so much wit that she preserved them all and kept them on good terms with each other; or, at least, no quarrels ever came to light. There was an external respect and decency about everything that passed in her house, such as princesses of the highest rank have rarely been able to preserve in their intrigues.

In this way she had among her friends a selection of the best members of the Court; so that it became the fashion to be received by her, and it was useful to be so, on account of the connections that were thus formed.

There was never any gambling there, nor loud laughing, nor disputes, nor talk about religion or politics; but much and elegant wit, ancient and modern stories, news of gallantries, yet without scandal. All was delicate, light, measured; and she herself maintained the conversation by her wit and her great knowledge of facts. The respect which, strange to say, she had acquired, and the number and distinction of her friends and acquaintances, continued when her charms ceased to attract; and when propriety and fashion compelled her to use only intellectual baits. She knew all the intrigues of the old and the new Court, serious and otherwise; her conversation was charming; she was disinterested, faithful, secret, safe to the last degree; and, setting aside her frailty, virtuous and full of probity. She frequently succoured her friends with money and influence; constantly did them the most important services, and very faithfully kept the secrets or the money deposits that were confided to her.

She had been intimate with Madame de Maintenon during the whole of her residence at Paris; but Madame de Maintenon, although not daring to disavow this friendship, did not like to hear her spoken about.

She wrote to Ninon with amity from time to time, even until her death; and Ninon in like manner, when she wanted to serve any friend in whom she took great interest, wrote to Madame de Maintenon, who did her what service she required efficaciously and with promptness.

But since Madame de Maintenon came to power, they had only seen each other two or three times, and then in secret.

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Saint-Simon opens this volume with a pointed contrast: the deaths of Chief President Lamoignon and the famed courtesan Ninon de l'Enclos. He uses Lamoignon to illustrate judicial corruption through a single anecdote—a hunting party lost at night stumbles upon the château of a man named Fargues, who treats them with exquisite courtesy. When the King learns the host's identity, he exclaims, 'What, Fargues! is he'—the sentence breaks off, but the implication is clear: Fargues is a figure the King knows and disapproves of. The anecdote serves as a microcosm of Saint-Simon's method: a vivid, self-contained story that exposes the gap between personal merit and royal favor.

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.