Memoirs of Madame la Marquise de Montespan — Volume 2 — Text and Context

A Poisoned Goblet and a Confessor’s Silence

Montespan’s account of Henrietta’s death relies on sensory details meant to authenticate her story. She describes the princess’s “horrible agony” and the “sudden change” in her countenance, emphasizing that the dying woman repeatedly declared she had been poisoned. The author also notes that the princess’s confessor tried to constrain her from speaking, a detail that implies a cover-up. However, the excerpt does not reveal whether Montespan witnessed the poisoning or the aftermath firsthand; she states she arrived at Saint Cloud after hearing of the illness. This gap between her claim to insider knowledge and her actual presence raises questions about the reliability of her narrative. The episode serves as a microcosm of the memoirs’ broader tension: Montespan presents herself as a truth-teller against a backdrop of courtly deception, yet her own position as a participant in that world complicates her authority.

The King of Arda’s Embassy and a Child’s Game

In a later chapter, Montespan describes an embassy from the King of Arda (in present-day Benin), focusing on the exotic gifts and the envoys’ behavior. She notes that the Africans brought lions, a panther, and a “little blackamoor” who could not grow larger—a detail that reflects the period’s colonial attitudes. The author’s tone is amused and proprietary: she recounts how her son, the Comte de Vegin, rode “pick-a-back” on one envoy, who did not seem offended. This anecdote, while seemingly trivial, reveals Montespan’s comfort with power and her role as a hostess who can command the attention of foreign dignitaries. The envoys’ claim that missionaries told them she was the “second spouse of the King” underscores her ambiguous status—neither queen nor mere mistress—and the way her reputation preceded her even in distant lands.

An Abbey for a Child and a Dispute over Revenue

The final excerpt shows Montespan’s involvement in ecclesiastical appointments. When the wealthy Abbey of Saint Germain des Prés is given to her young son, the Comte de Vegin, the Benedictine monks complain about having a child as their abbot. The King responds by citing precedents of married, warlike abbots, dismissing the monks’ objections. Montespan does not record her own reaction, but the episode illustrates how royal favor could override ecclesiastical norms. The author’s inclusion of this detail—and the specific revenue of five hundred thousand livres—suggests her interest in the material benefits of her position. Throughout the memoirs, such concrete references to money, gifts, and land anchor her narrative in the tangible rewards of courtly life, even as she claims to be above mere self-interest.

Readers should approach these memoirs with an awareness of their dual nature: they are at once a personal vindication and a historical source, but one that must be weighed against other accounts. Montespan’s voice is vivid and self-assured, yet her silences—about her own role in the poison plot, for instance—are as telling as her declarations. The excerpts here offer a taste of her method: specific, anecdotal, and always centered on her own experience. To fully assess her reliability, one would need to compare her version of events with those of her contemporaries, such as the memoirs of the Duc de Saint-Simon or the letters of Madame de Sévigné.

Sitting with the second volume of Madame de Montespan’s memoirs, I found myself oddly reminded of a different kind of record — one where voices slip between the lines of official accounts. Her quiet, half-bitter recollections of court ceremony have a weight that lingers, much like the unspoken margins in The Great Company — A Closer Reading. It’s a strange pairing, but both feel like shadows behind grand façades.