The Lemoine Affair (6 page)

I might have been less surprised by this matter of the carriage perhaps, if I had
remembered some rather strange suggestions, such as at one of the last
marlis
⁵
where Mme Murat had tried the ruse of making way for Mme de Saint-Simon, but very
equivocally and without putting on a show of rank, saying that there was less air
there, that Mme de Saint-Simon feared air but that Fagon on the other hand had prescribed
it for her; Mme de Saint-Simon had not let herself be taken in by these bold words
and had briskly replied that she chose that place not because she feared the air,
but because it was her place and that if Mme Murat made as if to have one, she and
the other duchesses would go ask Mme the Duchesse de Bourgogne to complain to the
King. To which Princess Murat had said not a word, except that she knew what was due
to Mme de Saint-Simon, who was strongly applauded for her firmness by the duchesses
present and by the Princess d’Espinoy. Despite this very singular
marli
, which had remained in my memory and where I clearly grasped that Mme Murat had wanted
to test the waters, I believed this time in a mistake, so strong did the pretension
seem to me; but seeing that Prince Murat’s horses were getting ahead, I sent a gentleman
to ask him to make them fall back, to whom it was replied that Prince Murat would
have done so with great pleasure had he been alone, but that he was with Mme Murat,
and some vague words about the fancy of a foreign prince. Deeming that this was not
the place to demonstrate the triviality of such an enormous undertaking, I gave the
order to my coachman to spur on my horses, which did some little damage to Prince
Murat’s carriage in passing. But, thoroughly worked up over the Le Moine business,
I had already forgotten that
of the carriage, important as it was for what concerns the smooth functioning of the
justice and honor of the kingdom, when on the very day of the parvulo at Saint-Cloud,
the Ducs de Mortemart and de Chevreuse came to warn me, as one who had at heart the
fairest concern for the ancient and indubitable privileges of dukes, the true foundation
of the monarchy, that Prince Murat, to whom the royal court had already given the
dangerous assurance of its favor, had claimed the royal hand for dinner, claiming
precedence over the Duc de Gramont, supporting this fine claim on being the grandson
of a man who had been King of the Two Sicilies, as he had explained to M. d’Orléans
through Effiat, and had been the chief support of the court of Monsieur his father,
so that M. the Duc d’Orléans, utterly embarrassed and moreover not having that clear,
clean, profound training whereby a decisive person reduces such whims to nothingness,
had not dared to make any definitive decision about this, but had replied that he
would see, that he would speak about it with the Duchesse d’Orléans. Strange irony
of going off to entrust the most vital interests of the affairs of state, which rests
on the privileges of dukes so long as they are not interfered with, to a person who
was connected with them only by the most shameful ties and had never known what was
proper to herself, much less to Monsieur her husband and to the entire peerage. This
very curious and unprecedented reply had been relayed by Princess Soutzo to Messieurs
de Mortemart and de Chevreuse who, surprised to the extreme, had immediately come
to
find me. It is common enough knowledge that she is the only woman who, for my unhappiness,
had succeeded in making me emerge from the retirement in which I had been dwelling
since the death of the Dauphin and the Dauphine. One scarcely knows oneself the reason
for these kinds of preferences, and I could not say how she succeeded, where so many
others had failed. She looked like Minerva, as she is represented in the beautiful
miniatures on the pendant earrings my mother left me. Her charms had captivated me
and I hardly ever stirred from my room in Versailles except to go see her. But I will
wait for another part of these Memoirs that will be especially devoted to the Comtesse
de Chevigné, to speak at greater length about her and her husband, who had greatly
distinguished himself by his valor and was one of the most honest people I have ever
known. I had had almost no commerce with M. de Mortemart since the bold cabal he had
initiated against me at the Duchesse de Beauvilliers’ to make me lose the King’s esteem.
Never was there a duller mind, one more inclined to be contrary, more tempted to strengthen
this contrariness with gibes without any foundation whatsoever, gibes that he then
went on to peddle by himself. As for M. de Chevreuse, companion to Monsieur, he was
another kind of man and he has been too often spoken of elsewhere here for me to have
to go back over his infinite qualities, his science, his kindness, his gentleness,
his word that was always kept. But he was a man who, as they say, made mountains out
of molehills, a man to dig holes in the moon. We have seen the hours I spent trying
to show him the flimsiness of his fantasy about the antiquity of Chevreuse and the
fits of rage he almost displayed to the chancellor for building Chaulnes. But in the
end, they were both dukes, and very justly attached to the prerogatives of their rank;
and since they knew that I myself was more punctilious about ducal prerogatives than
anyone at court, they had come to find me because I was moreover a special friend
of M. the Duc d’Orléans, and had never had in mind anything but the good of this prince,
and had never abandoned him when the intrigues of La Maintenon and the Maréchal de
Villeroy left him alone in the Palais Royal. I tried to reason with M. the Duc d’Orléans,
I represented to him the insult he was showing not only to dukes, who would all feel
wounded in the person of the Duc de Gramont, but to common sense, by letting Prince
Murat, like the Ducs de la Tremoïlle earlier, under the empty pretext of being a foreign
prince and because his grandfather, so well-known for his bravura, was King of Naples
for a few years, take during the parvulo at Saint-Cloud the hand he would make a point
not to demand later on at Versailles, at Marly, and that it would serve as a vehicle
to being called Highness, since we know where these ridiculous and base ways of princery
lead when they are not nipped in the bud. We have seen the effect of this in Messieurs
de Turenne and de Vendôme. More authority and a more extensive knowledge were necessary
than M. the Duc d’Orléans possessed. Never however was a case simpler, clearer, or
easier to explain, more impossible, more abominable to contradict. On one hand, a
man
who cannot go back more than two generations without getting lost in a night where
nothing of note appears; on the other, the head of an illustrious family known for
a thousand years, father and son of two Marshals of France, never having admitted
any but the greatest alliances. The Le Moine affair itself did not involve interests
so vital for France.

During the same period of time, Delaire married a Rohan and rather oddly took the
name of Comte de Cambacérès. The Marquis d’Albuféra, who was a good friend of mine
as was his mother, filed a number of complaints that, despite the minuscule and, as
we will see later on, well-deserved esteem the King had for him, remained without
effect. So now he is one of those fine Comtes de Cambacérès (not to mention the Vicomte
Vigier, whom we imagine still back in Les Bains where he arose), like the counts de
Montgomery and de Brye, whom ignorant Frenchmen think of as descended from G. de Montgomery,
so famous for his duel under Henri II, and as belonging to the de Briey family, which
included my friend the Comtesse de Briey, who has often figured in these Memoirs and
who jokingly called the new Comtes de Brye, who at least were gentlemen of good stock
although of lower lineage,
les non brils
.
⁶

Another, greater marriage delayed the arrival of the King of England, one that concerned
more than just this country. Mlle Asquith, who was probably the most intelligent of
anyone, and was like one of those beautiful figures painted in fresco that one sees
in Italy,
married Prince Antoine Bibesco, who had been the idol of the people who lived where
he resided. He was a good friend of Morand, envoy from the King to their Catholic
Majesties; he will often be discussed in the course of these Memoirs, as a good friend
of my own. This marriage made a great stir, and was applauded everywhere. A few poorly
educated Englishmen alas believed that Mlle Asquith was not contracting a good enough
marriage. She could indeed lay claim to anything, but they did not know that these
Bibescos are related to the Noailles, the Montesquious, the Chimays, and the Bauffremonts
who are of Capetian stock and could with great reason claim the crown of France, as
I have often said.

Not a single duke, or any titled gentleman, went to that parvulo at Saint-Cloud, aside
from me, who came because Mme de Saint-Simon was lady-in-waiting to Mme the Duchesse
de Bourgogne, and consented under sheer compulsion, and at risk for any refusal, and
out of necessity to obey the King, but with all the suffering and tears we have seen
and the endless entreaties of M. the Duc and Mme the Duchesse d’Orléans; the Ducs
de Villeroy and de La Rochefoucauld, present because they were unable to console themselves
at counting for so little, one might even say for nothing, and wanting to cook up
one last little stew of rumors, who used this as an occasion to pay court to the Regent;
the chancellor too was there, needing advice, of which he got none that day; at times,
Artagnan, Captain of the Guard, would come in, to say that the King was served, or
a little later,
with the fruit, bringing dog biscuits for the pointers; finally when he proclaimed
that the music had begun, by which he fervently hoped to win favorable regard, which
yet eluded him.

He was of the house of Montesquiou; one of his sisters had been a lady’s maid to the
Queen, had gotten ahead nicely, and had married the Duc de Gesvres. He had asked his
cousin Robert de Montesquiou-Fezensac to come to this parvulo at Saint-Cloud. Who
replied, however, with the admirable apothegm that he was descended from the ancient
counts of Fezensac, who were known before Philippe-Auguste, and that he did not see
why a hundred years—it was Prince Murat he meant—should have precedence over a thousand
years. He was the son of T. de Montesquiou who was well-known to my father and about
whom I have spoken in another place, and he had a face and demeanor that gave a powerful
sense of what he was and where he came from, his body always slim, and that’s an understatement,
as if tilted backwards; he could bend forward, actually, when the whim took him, with
great affability and with bows of all kinds, but returned quite quickly to his natural
position which was all pride, hauteur, intransigence not to bend before anyone and
not to yield on anything, to the point of walking always straight ahead without bothering
about the way, jostling someone without seeming to see him, or if he wanted to annoy
someone, showing that he did see him, that he was in his way, with a great crowd always
around him of people of high quality and wit to whom he sometimes bowed right
and left, but most often left them, as they say, by the wayside, without seeing them,
both eyes fixed in front of him, speaking very loudly, and very well, to those of
his acquaintance who laughed at all the funny things he said, and with great reason,
as I have said, for he was as witty as can be imagined, with graces that were his
alone and that all those who approached him tried, often without wanting to, sometimes
even without suspecting they were doing so, to copy and assume, but not one person
ever managed to succeed, or do anything but let appear in their thoughts, in their
discourse, and in the very air almost, his writing and the sound of his voice, both
of which were very singular and very beautiful, like a varnish of his that was recognized
immediately and that showed by its light and indelible surface that it was just as
difficult not to try to imitate him as it was to manage to do so.

He had often at his side a Spaniard by the name of Yturri whom I had known during
my ambassadorship in Madrid, as has been related. At a time when everyone else scarcely
ever advanced an opinion except to have his merit noticed, he had that quality, very
rare actually, of putting all his own merit into making the Count’s shine, helping
him in his researches, in his dealings with booksellers, even in matters of the table,
finding no task too tedious so long as it spared the Count one, his own task being,
if one may say so, only to listen and make Montesquiou’s statements resound far and
wide, just as those disciples did whom the ancient sophists were accustomed to have
always with them, as is
evident from the writings of Aristotle and the discourses of Plato. This Yturri had
kept the fiery manner of his countrymen, who make a fuss over anything at all, for
which Montesquiou chid him very often and very amusingly, to the merriment of all
and of Yturri himself first of all, who apologized, laughing at the heatedness of
his race, yet took care not to do anything about it, since everyone liked him that
way. He was an expert in antique objects, of which knowledge many people took advantage
to go see him and consult him about them, even in the retirement our two hermits had
resorted to, located, as I have said, in Neuilly, close to the house of M. the Duc
d’Orléans.

Those whom Montesquiou invited were very few and very select, only the best and the
greatest, but not always the same ones, and this was done expressly, since he played
very much at being king, offering favors and disgraces to the point of shameful injustice,
but all this was supported by such well-known merit, that others overlooked it in
him, but some however were invited very faithfully and very regularly, and one was
almost always certain of finding them at his house when he hosted an entertainment,
like the Duchesse Mme de Clermont-Tonnerre of whom much will be spoken later on, who
was the daughter of Gramont, granddaughter of the famous secretary of state, sister
of the Duc de Guiche, who was very much inclined, as we have seen, toward mathematics
and painting, and Mme Greffulhe, who was a Chimay, of the famous princely house of
the counts of Bossut. Their name is Hennin-Liétard and I
have already spoken about the Prince de Chimay, on whom the Elector of Bavaria had
the Golden Fleece bestowed by Charles II and who became my son-in-law, thanks to the
Duchesse Sforze, after the death of his first wife, daughter of the Duc de Nevers.
He was no less attached to Mme de Brantes, daughter of Cessac, of whom it has already
been spoken quite often and who will return many times in the course of these Memoirs,
and to the Duchesses de la Roche-Guyon and de Fezensac. I have spoken enough of these
Montesquious, about their amusing fancy of being descended from Pharamond, as if their
antiquity were not great enough and well-known enough not to need to scribble fables,
and also about the Duc de la Roche-Guyon, eldest son of the Duc de La Rochefoucauld
and ward of his two charges, of the strange present he received from M. the Duc d’Orléans,
of his nobility at avoiding the trap that the shrewd villainy of the first president
of Mesmes set for him and of the marriage of his son with Mlle de Toiras. One also
very often saw there Mme de Noailles, wife of the eldest brother of the Duc d’Ayen,
today the Duc de Noailles, whose mother is La Ferté. But I will have occasion to speak
of her at greater length as the woman of the finest poetic genius her time has seen,
who renewed, and one might even say enlarged, the miracle of the famous Mme de Sévigné.
Everyone knows that what I say of her is pure fair-mindedness, it being well enough
known by everyone what terms I came to with the Duc de Noailles, nephew of the cardinal
and husband of Mlle d’Aubigné, niece of Mme
de Maintenon, and I have gone on enough in its place about his intrigues against me
to the point of making himself along with Canillac an advocate to the state councillors
against people of quality, his skill at deceiving his uncle the cardinal, in criticizing
the chancellor Daguesseau, in courting Effiat and the Rohans, in lavishly pouring
the enormous pecuniary graces of M. the Duc d’Orléans onto the Comte d’Armagnac to
have him marry his daughter, after having failed to snare the eldest son of the Duc
d’Albret for her. But I have spoken too much of all that to return to it, of his dark
schemes concerning Law, and of the matter of the gemstones, and also of the conspiracy
of the Duc and Duchesse du Maine. Quite otherwise, and of quite a different breed,
was Mathieu de Noailles, who married the woman in question here, and whom her talent
has made famous. She was the daughter of Brancovan, reigning prince of Wallachia,
which they call there Hospodar, and had as much beauty as genius. Her mother was a
Musurus, which is the name of a very noble family, one of the foremost in Greece,
made illustrious by numerous and distinguished ambassadorships and by the friendship
of one of those Musuruses with the famous Erasmus. Montesquiou had been the first
to speak of her verses. Duchesses went often to listen to his own, at Versailles,
at Sceaux, at Meudon, and in the past few years women in town have been imitating
them by a familiar strategy, and they invite actors over who recite them, with the
aim of attracting one of those ladies, many of whom would go to the house of the Great
Nobleman rather
than abstain from applauding them there. There was always some recitation in his house
at Neuilly, and also the concourse of the most famous poets as well as of the most
respectable people and the best company, and on his part, to everyone, and in front
of the objects of his house, always a flood of discourse, in that language so peculiar
to him that I have described, at which everyone continually marveled.