The Sun King (23 page)

Portland was chosen for these delicate tasks for two reasons. First, he knew King William's thoughts and intentions as nobody else could, since he had been heart's brother of the King all their lives. William never confided the secrets of his foreign policy to Englishmen; who he thought cared nothing for foreign affairs and seemed to ignore the existence of other lands, beyond the sea. He was having a difficult time with his new subjects, now that the honeymoon was over. In so far as the English took account of foreigners, they felt that the best of a poor bunch were the Dutch. Though they had been at war with them so recently, they bore them no grudge; on the contrary they respected them as honest Protestant sea-faring folks like themselves, and sworn enemies of the abhorred French. The idea of William the Silent has always appealed to the English; he may be said to be an honorary Englishman. So when the time came to get rid of the hopeless James, they were not displeased that the crown should go to Mary and her Dutch husband. What was their distress when this honest Dutchman turned out to be a product of
French
civilization — speaking, writing and thinking in French, obviously more at home with Frenchmen than with the native lords. Like the Prince Consort, William was appreciated by his English subjects only after his death when he was to become, in the eyes of more than one historian, our greatest king. As for his shadow, Hans William Bentinck, he spoke not a word of English and was frankly unpopular among his new countrymen: his brilliant social gifts were wasted on those of them who had no French and the money, lands and honours which William showered on him were a cause of much jealousy. He was known as The Wooden Man.

The second reason for the choice of Portland may seem frivolous
but was in fact most cunning: he knew how to behave. William realized that it would be useless to send an English nobleman with the usual insular contempt for and ignorance of etiquette to Louis XIV: the ambassador to a dictator must be a man who can get on with him otherwise nothing is gained. Nobody without manners ever succeeded at Versailles; the lack of them was to be the only cause of Voltaire's failure in a domain where he would so much have liked to shine. The Duke of St Albans who had preceded Portland, to carry King William's congratulations on the marriage of the Duc de Bourgogne, had made the worst possible impression: civilized behaviour was a closed book to him and he had left debts everywhere. Indeed what British bulldog would ever have been conversant with the mysteries of the
Armchair
, the
Door
and the
Coach
, or aware that the English Ambassador must not give precedence to the President of the Paris Parlement? Portland knew.

His embassy was magnificent; the French, accustomed as they were to splendid and luxurious establishments, had never seen anything like his. He took the house of Prince d'Auvergne, situated in a large garden, where the Boulevard Raspail now cuts across the rue de Varenne. The dining-room was too small for his requirements, so he built one in the garden; it was ready in three weeks. Here he kept open house for any Englishmen who were in, or passing through Paris. Prince d'Auvergne had only ten horses; Portland had ninety and seven coaches, so stables had to be hired all over Paris for them. He was prepared to cut a dash out hunting as well as in other ways. In his train were Lords Cavendish, Hastings, Paston, Raby and Woodstock, who found houses for themselves and provided their own servants and carriages. Matthew Prior was Secretary to the Embassy; Portland's personal secretary, d'Allone, was a French Protestant refugee. He was never molested, but the chaplain was taken off on one occasion by the police and accused of holding illegal services. Portland soon got him back, however.

In spite of the glitter he showed the world, Portland came to France with death in his heart. As he left London, Whitehall Palace was in flames, his own apartment there collapsing; he may have thought this all too symbolical. The one person in the world he cared for was William; and William's favourite now was Arnold van Keppel, Lord Albemarle, a stupid, pretty, jolly young fellow of so little value that nobody could have much doubt as to the nature of their relationship. The Englishmen who accompanied Portland told Madame all about it. When they found that sodomy was fashionable in France they made no secret of their own predilection for this form of amusement and were soon disporting themselves in Monsieur's set. They said that King William was in love with Albemarle as with a woman, and used to kiss his hands before the whole Court. Portland passionately minded leaving these two together and his letters to William reveal a broken heart. William (so like a man) replied with such phrases as ‘I cannot explain myself more clearly on this
subject, at present, than by assuring you that I always entertain for you the same affection'. ‘Impossible to love you more heartily than I do — death alone can make me change my feelings.' ‘I hope that you no longer doubt the solemn oath I swore you.' His letters were still signed with the little G (Guillaume) which he reserved for Portland. Portland was unconvinced; and presently he learnt that Albemarle and William were dining alone together twice a week. However, he may have been slightly cheered to get a letter from King William saying that never had he been more depressed.

Portland's state coaches were loaded on ships which were to bring them the whole way to Paris; but when he arrived, in January 1698, the Seine was frozen over so that it was some time before he could make his official
entrée
. He saw the King at once, however, going to Versailles in Maréchal de Boufflers's coach. He had an audience at 9 a.m. alone with the King and the foreign minister, who was now the Marquis de Torcy, son of Colbert de Croissy. Then he paid calls on all members of the royal family, dined with Torcy in his flat and returned to Paris. Not for another fortnight did he have a business interview with the King, when he immediately raised the question of King James's domicile. The King said that James was his near relation; that he was afflicted by his troubles and could not in honour send him away. Portland, who knew as everybody did that the penniless exiles were a great expense to Louis at a time when his finances were in a poor state, proposed that King William should pay Queen Mary of Modena her jointure of fifty thousand pounds a year on condition that she and her husband and family should leave Saint-Germain-en-Laye and live either at Modena or Avignon. The King replied that he would never oblige them to go unless they wished to.

Indeed his behaviour to King James was quixotic to the point of rashness; and no question of interest ever budged him from it. The exiles always cost him more money than he could afford; in the end they nearly cost him the fruits of his life's work. No doubt Louis had a weakness for Queen Mary, whose mother had been yet another niece of Mazarin's, and who, though not at all clever, was charming and beautiful. She became intimate with Mme de Maintenon and was a great addition to their little circle. As for James, he was, like Louis himself, the Lord's Anointed and this set them both apart from their fellow men. It was a comfort to the King to be sometimes with people of his own age and whom he could regard as equals. Everybody liked ‘the poor Queen' and felt sorry for, while slightly despairing, ‘the poor King', who was a tremendous bore and whose troubles were so obviously of his own making. William of Orange of course was regarded at Versailles as a usurper, and his late wife and her sister as worse than Goneril and Regan.

Portland then spoke of the assassins who, he saw — to his horror and amazement he said — were quite at home at the Court. Assassins? The
King had no idea whom he meant. Portland did not beat about the bush; he ment the Duke of Berwick (James's illegitimate son by the sister of Marlborough), Lord Middleton, Sir George Barclay and others, who had all been privy to a plot to ambush King William on his way out hunting and murder him. (Whereas Charles II in exile had refused to hear of his supporters killing Cromwell, his brother James was all in favour of doing away with his own son-in-law. Whether Louis XIV knew of this plot is a moot point.) The King raised an eyebrow when Portland brought out the names of the conspirators. He said he thought the Duke of Berwick may have been to England on his father's business, but was certainly not involved in any such plot. As for the others, he seemed not to know them and vaguely said he had no idea where they might be. Portland saw that it was no good pursuing this subject. He thought most probably the gentlemen in question would be told to make themselves scarce when he was about, and that this would be as much as he could hope for. (However, the very next time he went to Versailles there they were as usual.) The Spanish question had not yet been raised.

Portland now describes Versailles, as the King his master desired that he would. Dutch, Protestant and therefore prejudiced against Louis and all his works, he gives a truthful account of houses and gardens, but has no talent for describing people, or is perhaps too discreet; he says he will do it
viva voce
when he sees King William. Versailles itself he does not like, or will not admit to liking, though it is certainly very grand, must have cost money to build and be expensive to keep up. But the smaller houses, Meudon, Marly and Saint-Cloud can be praised unreservedly — Meudon the best of all: ‘Your Majesty would love this place'. Most unluckily, since gardens are his greatest interest and he is Superintendent of King William's, the weather is abominable (and was to be so during his whole visit — a bitter winter followed by a cold, wet spring; it was freezing hard again on 4 May). The reservoirs are frozen and the fountains put out of order by the frosts. He has not seen any of the thousands of flowers one hears so much about; not so much as a snowdrop; everything seems completely dead. He has been shown the orange trees and only gives them a fairly good mark — they are nothing to those in King William's palaces in Holland. It was a great favour to be allowed to see Marly as no other envoy has ever been there. He often goes wolf-hunting with the Dauphin and Madame, who keeps up wonderfully, also with the Chevalier de Lorraine at Royaumont, but is never invited to go out with the King's hounds in case at the last minute King James should wish to do so. Once, indeed, he was pulling on his boots to go with the Dauphin when there was a message asking him to stay away as the ‘King of England' was going out that morning. Portland thinks it really rather foolish of King James not to want to see him.

He cannot obtain the fruit trees he requires — has had to send all the way to Orléans for them. He thinks he can persuade Le Nôtre to make
designs for Windsor. He is also looking out for a good huntsman. All this can be managed, but as to the beds and furniture King William has told him to get, he doesn't truly think they will do, they are so over-decorated, fringed and embroidered with gold and silver. Better get them made in England. Living, here, is expensive; horses are three times what they cost in Holland. Commerce, as far as one can see, is not very prosperous and the French public finances are far from sound, though the King has a huge sum of money in his coffers. May Lord Portland give permission to Major Packmore to go home and put his affairs in order? He is engaged to one of Madame's maids of honour.

So far Portland, not having as yet been able to make his state entry, had not found himself at grips with the ferocious etiquette of the French Court. When he did he was more than equal to coping with it, though several times in his letters he said he had never understood ceremonial. At last his coaches arrived and he prepared for his entry. The first trap that was laid for him was in the matter of the procession. He heard that the Duchesse de Verneuil's carriage would precede his own with those of the royal family. Now the Duchesse de Verneuil, a daughter of Chancelier Séguier, was the widow of a bastard son of Henri IV. She had never in her life counted as royal, and Portland discovered that the Venetian ambassador in the same circumstances had recently refused to allow her to precede him. It was said that Louis XIV's idea in suddenly putting her forward like this was to give more consequence to his own bastards. Portland was quite firm. He said he did not mind du Maine and Toulouse, who had been legitimized, going before him but there could be no question of Mme de Verneuil doing so. He won his point without difficulty and the state entry into Paris then took place. He was astounded by the vast crowds who had turned out to see him, not only poor people but the rich and important. Every window on the route was crammed and every roof covered with spectators. Portland was amused to hear some people on the Pont Neuf crying out ‘This is worth seeing — the solemn entry of a King (William III) we have been burning on this bridge for years.' All went well until he arrived at the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs, a large and beautiful house in the rue de Tournon, which was kept for these occasions and where an ambassador after his state entry was entertained to supper.

Here the King sent his own lord-in-waiting to call on Portland with his compliments. Of course this nobleman received the
Door
(greeted at it), the
Hand
, the
Armchair
and the
Coach
(taken to it, put in, and seen off), in fact the whole works. Then came the Marquis de Villacerf representing the little newly-married Duchesse de Bourgogne who, the Queen and the Dauphine being no more, was now the first lady in the land. M. de Boneuil, the
Introducteur des Ambassadeurs
(what is called now
Chef du Protocole
) wanted Portland to go halfway down the stairs to meet Villacerf. Portland refused to budge further than the antechamber. Boneuil flew into a temper and hit the banisters with his cane.
Portland took no notice. He and Villacerf then sent messengers to and fro. After a good long time Portland said he would go down two steps and no more. If this did not suit M. de Villacerf he had better withdraw. So up he came. However, there was more trouble when he left; Portland saw him downstairs (the
Door
) but did not wait to see him leave (the
Coach
). Boneuil, beside himself, seized Portland's coat-tails but Portland shook him off and went his way. ‘The
Introducteur
made great complaints to me.' Then Monsieur's representative arrived and the same difference arose; and again with Madame's. ‘Things may have been very different' he wrote to William ‘when the English King [Charles II] was ruled by the French; but this is no longer the case.' Boneuil, ‘confounded and irritated', left the house abruptly, though he was supposed to sup there with Portland. The next day Portland went to Versailles to inform Torcy of these incidents and to tell Monsieur and Madame how very sorry he was that they had occurred. However, Monsieur, ‘who knows about these things', said that he had been quite right. Boneuil was reproved; and after that, Portland never had any more reason to protest, all was plain sailing.