Memoirs of Louis XIV and His Court and of the Regency — Volume 06 — Context and Discussion

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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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Source: Project Gutenberg record #3865

Saint-Simon's sixth volume dissects court hierarchy through precise ceremonial details, such as who holds the communion cloth, and contrasts public ritual with private tension in the Bourgogne couple's reunion.

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Produced by David Widger

MEMOIRS OF LOUIS XIV AND HIS COURT AND OF THE REGENCY

BY THE DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON

I went this summer to Forges, to try, by means of the waters there, to get rid of a tertian fever that quinquina only suspended. While there I heard of a new enterprise on the part of the Princes of the blood, who, in the discredit in which the King held them, profited without measure by his desire for the grandeur of the illegitimate children, to acquire new advantages which were suffered because the others shared them. This was the case in question.

After the elevation of the mass--at the King's communion--a folding-chair was pushed to the foot of the altar, was covered with a piece of stuff, and then with a large cloth, which hung down before and behind. At the Pater the chaplain rose and whispered in the King's ear the names of all the Dukes who were in the chapel. The King named two, always the oldest, to each of whom the chaplain advanced and made a reverence. During the communion of the priest the King rose, and went and knelt down on the bare floor behind this folding seat, and took hold of the cloth; at the same time the two Dukes, the elder on the right, the other on the left, each took hold of a corner of the cloth; the two chaplains took hold of the other two corners of the same cloth, on the side of the altar, all four kneeling, and the captain of the guards also kneeling and behind the King. The communion received and the oblation taken some moments afterwards, the King remained a little while in the same place, then returned to his own, followed by the two Dukes and the captain of the guards, who took theirs. If a son of France happened to be there alone, he alone held the right corner of the cloth, and nobody the other; and when M. le Duc d'Orleans was there, and no son of France was present, M. le Duc d'Orleans held the cloth in like manner. If a Prince of the blood were alone present, however, he held the cloth, but a Duke was called forward to assist him. He was not privileged to act without the Duke.

The Princes of the blood wanted to change this; they were envious of the distinction accorded to M. d'Orleans, and wished to put themselves on the same footing. Accordingly, at the Assumption of this year, they managed so well that M. le Duc served alone at the altar at the King's communion, no Duke being called upon to come and join him. The surprise at this was very great. The Duc de la Force and the Marechal de Boufflers, who ought to have served, were both present. I wrote to this last to say that such a thing had never happened before, and that it was contrary to all precedent. I wrote, too, to M. d'Orleans, who was then in Spain, informing him of the circumstance. When he returned he complained to the King. But the King merely said that the Dukes ought to have presented themselves and taken hold of the cloth. But how could they have done so, without being requested, as was customary, to come forward? What would the king have thought of them if they had? To conclude, nothing could be made of the matter, and it remained thus. Never then, since that time, did I go to the communions of the King.

An incident occurred at Marly about the same time, which made much stir. The ladies who were invited to Marly had the privilege of dining with the King. Tables were placed for them, and they took up positions according to their rank. The non-titled ladies had also their special place. It so happened one day; that Madame de Torcy (an untitled lady) placed herself above the Duchesse de Duras, who arrived at table a moment after her. Madame de Torcy offered to give up her place, but it was a little late, and the offer passed away in compliments. The King entered, and put himself at table. As soon as he sat down, he saw the place Madame de Torcy had taken, and fixed such a serious and surprised look upon her, that she again offered to give up her place to the Duchesse de Duras; but the offer was again declined. All through the dinner the King scarcely ever took his eyes off Madame de Torcy, said hardly a word, and bore a look of anger that rendered everybody very attentive, and even troubled the Duchesse de Duras.

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Saint-Simon opens this volume with a seemingly minor dispute over a folding-chair and a cloth at the King's communion. The ritual is described with exacting precision: a chair is pushed to the foot of the altar, covered with stuff and a large cloth; at the Pater the chaplain whispers the names of Dukes present; the King kneels on the bare floor behind the seat, and two Dukes take hold of the cloth's corners. The Princes of the blood, envious of the Duke of Orléans's privilege to hold the cloth alone, maneuver to serve without a Duke—a breach of precedent that Saint-Simon immediately protests in letters.

Ceremonial as Political Battleground

The communion-cloth episode is not an isolated curiosity. Saint-Simon treats ceremonial order as a precise index of power. He notes that when a son of France is present, he alone holds the right corner; when M. le Duc d'Orléans is there, he holds it likewise; but a Prince of the blood, if alone, must be assisted by a Duke. The Princes' attempt to serve alone at the Assumption—without calling a Duke—is a calculated encroachment. Saint-Simon's immediate response, writing to the Maréchal de Boufflers and to Orléans, shows how quickly such gestures are read and contested. The memoirist's own role as watchdog of precedent becomes part of the narrative.

The Mechanics of a Royal Reunion

The return of the Duc de Bourgogne from a sad campaign is staged with elaborate choreography. Saint-Simon records the King's initial embarrassment, the Duchesse de Bourgogne's fluttering to hide her trouble, and Madame de Maintenon's thoughtfulness. Doors fly open; the King masters himself, embraces his grandson, and points to the Princess with a smiling countenance. The Prince's response is stiff: he turns a moment, answers respectfully, does not move. The tete-a-tete lasts two hours; then the Duchesse de Bourgogne emerges, troubled that her husband does not hurry to salute his father. The Maréchale d'Estrées's random remark—that Monseigneur should go embrace his son—is met with a stiff reply: it is the Duc de Bourgogne's duty to seek him.

Contrasting Receptions: Berry vs. Bourgogne

When the Duc de Berry arrives later that evening, the atmosphere shifts. All hearts open; the King embraces him very tenderly; Monseigneur looks at him tenderly, not daring to embrace his youngest son in the King's presence. All present court him. The King speaks sufficiently to the Duc de Bourgogne at table, but to Berry he assumes a very different air. Saint-Simon underscores the disparity: Berry stands near the King all through supper, and talk is only of post-horses and roads. The conjugal impatience of the Duc de Bourgogne cuts the subsequent supper too short. Saint-Simon later tells the Duc de Beauvilliers that the Duc de Bourgogne seemed very gay on returning from so sad a campaign—a misplaced gaiety that everyone blamed.

Saint-Simon's Method: Witness and Intermediary

Saint-Simon does not merely observe; he intervenes. He writes to Boufflers and Orléans about the communion-cloth breach. He expresses his freedom to Beauvilliers about the Duc de Bourgogne's demeanor. He receives secondhand reports, as when Pontchartrain relates an interview to him that very evening. The memoir is built from such relayed intelligence and personal commentary. Saint-Simon positions himself as a guardian of custom and a confidant of key players, yet he never claims omniscience. His account is explicitly filtered through his own correspondence and conversations, making the reader aware of the partial, partisan nature of the record.

Readers attentive to Saint-Simon's method will note how he uses small gestures—a cloth held, a door opened, a tone of voice—to map the invisible lines of favor and resentment at Louis XIV's court. This volume rewards those who read for the telling detail rather than grand narrative. The memoirist's own voice, at once indignant and intimate, is the thread that binds these scenes into a coherent anatomy of power.

I have often lingered over Saint-Simon’s careful record of who held the communion cloth, that silent measure of standing. It reminds me of another quiet volume, its pages full of secret handshakes and whispered oaths across the ocean. Both books share a tender faith in the weight of small gestures, in the hidden architecture of belonging. New England and the Bavarian Illuminati — Key Ideas to Explore holds that same hush, that careful counting of invisible threads.