Chapter XV: Appendix: II

UNPUBLISHED FRAGMENTS OF THE _MÉMOIRES D'OUTRE-TOMBE_[459]

MAINTENON, _September_ 1836.

I resume my pen at the Château de Maintenon, through whose gardens I stroll by the autumnal light: _peregrinæ gentis amænum hospitium._

When passing in front of the coasts of Greece, I used to ask myself what had become of the four acres of the garden of Alcinous, shaded with pomegranate-trees, apple-trees, fig-trees and adorned with two fountains? Goodman Laertes' vegetable-garden in Ithaca no longer had its two and twenty pear-trees when I was sailing before that island, and they were not able to tell me if Zante was still the home of the hyacinth. The pleasure-ground of Academus, in Athens, offered a few stumps of olive-trees to my view, as did the Garden of Gethsemane at Jerusalem. I have not wandered in the gardens of Babylon, but Plutarch teaches us that they still existed in the time of Alexander. Carthage presented to me the aspect of a park strewn with the vestiges of Dido's palaces. At Granada, looking through the doorways of the Alhambra, I could not take my eyes from the groves in which the romance of Spain had placed the loves of the Zegris. From the top of David's house at Jerusalem, the King-Prophet saw Bethsabee bathing in Urias' gardens; I saw none pass there save a daughter of Eve, a poor Abigail, who will never inspire me with the magnificent Penitential Psalms.

During the Conclave of 1828, I strolled in the Gardens of the Vatican. An eagle, plucked of its feathers and imprisoned in a den, presented the emblem of Pagan Rome overthrown; an emaciated rabbit was delivered as a prey to the bird of the Capitol, which had devoured the world. Monks have shown me, at Tusculum and Tibur, the waste fruit-groves of Cicero and Horace. I have shot wild-duck in Pliny's Laurentinum; the waves came to die at the foot of the wall of the dining-room, where, through three windows, one descried as it were three seas: _quasi tria maria._

In Rome herself, as I lay among the wild anemones of Bel Respiro, between the pine-trees that formed a vault above my head, the Sabine Range opened to the view in the distance; Albano enchanted my eyes with its azure mountain, whose lofty denticulations were fringed with gold by the last rays of the sun: a sight that became more admirable still when I came to think that Virgil had contemplated it, as I was doing, and that I was seeing it again, from the midst of the ruins of the city of the Cæsars, across the vine-branch of the Tomb of the Scipios[460].

If, from these Gardens of the Hesperides of poetry and history, I descend to the gardens of our days, how many have I seen born and die? Without speaking of the woods of Sceaux, Marly, Choisy, now razed to the level of the corn-fields, without speaking of the thickets of Versailles, which they purpose to restore to their festal condition! I too have planted gardens; my little water-furrow, which served as a passage for the winter rains, was in my eyes equal to the ponds of the _Prædium rusticum._

Seen from the side of the park, the Château de Maintenon, surrounded by moats filled from the waters of the Eure, presents on the left a square tower of bluish stone, on the right a round tower of red brick. The square tower is connected, by a block of buildings, with the surbased archway which opens from the outer yard to the inner yard of the castle. Above this, archway rises a mass of turrets from which starts a building which is attached transversely to another block coming from the round tower. These three lines of buildings contain a space closed on three sides and open only on the park.

The seven or eight towers of different thickness, height and shape are capped with priests' bonnets, which mix with a church-window, placed outside, towards the village.

The façade of the castle on the village side is of the Renascence period. The fancifulness of this style of architecture gives the Château de Maintenon a special character, as who should say of a town of olden time or a fortified abbey, with its spires and steeples, grouped at hap-hazard.

To complete the medley of periods, there is a great aqueduct, the work of Louis XIV.; one would think it a labour of the Cæsars. One goes down from the drawing-room of the castle into the garden by a bridge, lately put up, which partakes of the architecture of the Rialto. Thus are Ancient Rome and the Italian Cinquecento associated with the French sixteenth century. Memories of Bianca Capello[461] and de' Medici, of the Duchesse d'Étampes[462] and Francis I. rise up through memories of Louis XIV. and Madame de Maintenon, while all this is swayed and completed by the recent catastrophe of Charles X.

The castle was rebuilt by Jean Cottereau[463] Treasurer to Louis XII. Marot, in his _Cimetière_, maintains that Cottereau was too honest a man for a financier. One of Cottereau's daughters brought the Maintenon domain into the d'Angennes family. In 1675, this domain was bought by Françoise d'Aubigné, who became Madame de Maintenon. Maintenon reverted to the Noailles family, in 1698, through the marriage of a niece[464] of the wife of Louis XIV. with Adrien Maurice Duc de Noailles[465].

The park has something of the calm and gravity of the Great King. Near the middle, the first tier of arcades of the aqueduct crosses the bed of the Eure and connects the two hills on opposite sides of the valley, so that at Maintenon a branch of the Eure would have flowed in the air above the Eure. "In the air" is the word: for the first arcades, as they exist, are eighty-four feet high and they were to have been surmounted by two other tiers of arcades.

The Roman aqueducts are nothing beside the aqueducts of Maintenon; they would all go under one of those arches. I know only the Aqueduct of Segovia, in Spain, which recalls the massiveness and solidity of this one; but it is shorter and lower[466]. If you picture to yourself some thirty triumphal arches linked laterally one with the other and more or less resembling the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile in height and width of opening, you will have an idea of the Maintenon Aqueduct; but even then you must remember that what you see is only a third of the perpendicular and of the perforation which would have been formed by the treble gallery destined for the passage of the waters.

The fallen fragments of this aqueduct are compact blocks of rocks; they are covered with trees around which hover crows fat as doves: they flit to and fro under the curves of the aqueduct like little black fairies performing fatidical dances under garlands.

At the sight of this monument, one is struck with the imposing character with which Louis XIV. imprinted all his works. It is for ever to be regretted that this gigantic conduit was not finished: the water carried to Versailles would have fed the fountains there and created a new marvel by making their waters play perpetually; from there it might have been brought to the suburbs. It is a pity, no doubt, that the camp formed for the works at Maintenon in 1686 caused the death of a large number of soldiers[467]; it is a pity that many millions should have been spent on an uncompleted undertaking. But, certainly, it is a still greater pity that Louis XIV., driven by necessity, astounded at the cries of economy which frustrate the loftiest schemes, should have lost patience: otherwise, the greatest monument on earth would to-day have belonged to France.

Say what we may, a nation's fame increases that nation's power, and that is no vain thing. As for the millions, their value would have been represented at high interest by an edifice as useful as it was wonderful; as for the soldiers, they would have fallen as the Roman legions fell in building their famous "roads," another kind of battle-field, no less glorious for the country.

It was in this alley of old willow-trees, where I was strolling a moment ago, that Racine, after the triumph of Pradon's[468] _Phèdre_, sighed his last songs[469].

Madame de Maintenon, having attained the summit of greatness, wrote to her brother[470]:

"I am done up, I would that I were dead."

She wrote to Madame de La Maisonfort:

"Do you not see that I am dying of melancholy.... I have been young
and pretty; I have tasted pleasure... and I protest to you that
every condition leaves a horrid void."

Madame de Maintenon exclaimed:

"What a torment to have to amuse a man who is no longer capable of amusement!"

It has been reckoned as a crime against the daughter of a simple nobleman[471], against the widow of Scarron[472], that she should speak in this way of Louis XIV., who had raised her to his bed; but I see in this the accent of a superior nature, which was above the exalted fortune to which she had attained. Only I would have preferred that Madame de Maintenon had not left the dying Louis XIV., especially after hearing these grave and tender words:

"I regret only you; I have not made you happy, but I have always had for you all the sentiments of esteem and friendship which you deserve: the only thing that vexes me is to leave you[473]."

The last years of that Monarch were an expiation offered to the first. Stripped of his prosperity and his family[474], he allowed his eyes to roam from this window over that garden. He no doubt fixed them on that water-conduit already abandoned since twenty years: great ruins that they were, an image of the ruins of the Great King, they seemed to foretell the exhaustion of his House and to await his great-grandson. The time in which Le Nôtre[475] designed the gardens of Versailles for Mademoiselle de La Vallière was past; the time was also past, more than a century earlier, of Olivier de Serres[476], who said to Henry IV., when planning gardens for Gabrielle:

"We can cultivate sugar-canes, so that, coupled with the orange-tree and its companions, the garden shall be perfectly ennobled and rendered most magnificent."

In the absorption of those dreams which sometimes confer second sight, Louis XIV. might have discerned his immediate successor hastening the fall of the arches in the Eure Valley to take from them the materials for the mean pavilions of his ignoble mistresses[477]. After Louis XV, he might have seen yet another shadow kneel down, bow its head and lay it silently on the pediment of the aqueduct, as though on a scaffold raised in the sky. Lastly, who knows if, in one of those presentiments attached to royal Houses, Louis XIV. might not, one night, in that Château de Maintenon, have heard a knock at his door:

"Who goes there?"

"Charles X., your descendant."

Louis XIV. did not wake up to see Madame de Maintenon's corpse dragged with a rope round its neck around Saint-Cyr.

MAINTENON, _September_ 1836.

My host[478] has described to me the half-a-night which Charles X., banished, spent at the Château de Maintenon. The Monarchy of the Capets ended in a castle-scene of the middle-ages; the Kings of the past had gone back into their centuries to die. As in the time of Cæsar, "the gods announce a great change and revolution in affairs[479]."

The manuscript of one of M. le Duc de Noailles's nieces[480], which he was good enough to show me, relates the incidents which that young lady witnessed. He has permitted me to make the following extracts:

"My uncle, anticipating that the King was going to come to ask him
for shelter, gave orders to have the castle made ready.... We got
up to receive the King and, while awaiting his arrival, I went to
a window in the turret which comes before the billiard-room, to
watch what was happening in the court-yard. The night was calm and
clear, the half-veiled moon made every object visible in a pale,
sad light, and the silence, as yet, was disturbed only by the hoofs
of the horses of two regiments of cavalry defiling across the
bridge; after them, over the same bridge, defiled the artillery of
the Guard, with matches lighted. The dull sound of the guns, the
appearance of the black ammunition-wagons, the sight of the torches
amid the shadows of the night oppressed my heart terribly and
presented the image--alas, too true!--of the funeral procession of
the Monarchy.

"Soon, the horses and the first carriages arrived; next, M. le
Dauphin and Madame la Dauphine, Madame la Duchesse de Berry, M.
le Duc de Bordeaux and Mademoiselle; lastly, the King and all his
suite. As the King alighted from his carriage, he seemed extremely
dejected: his head had fallen on his chest; his features were
drawn and his face distorted with sorrow. This almost sepulchral
march of four hours, at a foot's pace[481] and in the midst of the
darkness, had also helped to depress his spirits; and, besides,
did not the crown weigh heavily enough, at that moment, on his
brow? He had some difficulty in ascending the stair-case. My uncle
showed him to his apartment, which had been that of Madame de
Maintenon; he remained there a few moments alone with his family,
after which each of the Princes withdrew to his own room. My uncle
and aunt[482] then went in to the King. He spoke to them with his
ordinary kindness, told them how wretched he was at not having
succeeded in rendering France happy, that that had always been his
dearest wish:

"'My one despair is,' he added, 'to see the state in which I am
leaving her; what is going to happen? The Duc d'Orléans himself
is not sure that his head will be on his shoulders a fortnight
hence. All Paris is there, on the road, marching against me; the
commissaries have assured me so. I did not trust their report
entirely; I called Maison, when they had gone out, and said to him,
"I ask you on your honour to tell me, on your word as a soldier, is
what they have told me true?" He answered, "They have told you only
half the truth[483].'"

"After the King had retired, we all returned to our rooms in
succession. I would not go to bed, and I went back to the window to
watch the sight that lay before my eyes. A foot-guard was standing
sentry at the little door of the grand stair-case, a body-guard
was posted on the outer balcony which leads from the square tower
to the part where the King was sleeping. In the first rays of the
dawn, that warlike figure was outlined in a picturesque manner
on the walls darkened by time and his steps resounded on those
time-worn stones, as did, perhaps, in former days, those of the
steel-clad gallants who had trodden them....

"At half past seven, I went to dress in my aunt's room and, at
nine o'clock, I went down, with Madame de Rivera, to M. le Duc
de Bordeaux's, where Mademoiselle came soon after. M. le Duc de
Bordeaux was amusing himself, with my aunt's children, in throwing
bread to the fish and tumbling with the others on mattresses spread
out in the room. Nothing was so heart-rending as the sight of those
children thus laughing at the misfortunes that struck them. At ten
o'clock, the King went to Mass in the castle chapel. It was in
that little chapel that the unfortunate Monarch made his sacrifice
to God and laid at His feet that brilliant crown which had been
so grievously snatched from him, with that admirable, but useless
virtue of resignation which is an hereditary heroism in his unhappy
family.

"It was, in fact, at Maintenon that Charles X. really ceased to
reign; it was there that he disbanded the Royal Guard and the
Swiss, keeping only the body-guards for his escort. From that
moment, he gave no more orders and in some measure constituted
himself a prisoner: the commissaries settled his road to Cherbourg.

"After Mass, the King went back for a moment to his room, and then
the sinister procession started off again, at half-past ten. The
departure was heart-breaking: every misfortune and the noblest
resignation were depicted on the face of Madame la Dauphine, so
long accustomed to sorrow. She spoke a few words to me; then,
stepping towards the guards who were drawn up in the court-yard,
she held out her hand to them; they flung themselves upon it,
shedding tears; her own eyes were full, and she uttered these
words, in a firm voice:

"'It is not my fault, my friends, it is not my fault.'

"M. le Dauphin embraced M. de Diesbach, who commanded the guards,
and mounted his horse. M. le Duc de Bordeaux and Mademoiselle each
climbed into a separate carriage. The King went last; he spoke for
some time to my uncle, in a manner full of kindness, and thanked
him for the hospitality which he had shown him; then he went up to
the troops and took leave of them with that accent of the heart
which belongs to him:

"'I hope,' he said, 'that we shall soon meet again.'

"A rural gendarme threw himself at his feet and kissed his
hand sobbing; he gave it to several others and, turning to the
foot-guard who was on sentry and who presented arms to him:

"'Come,' he said, 'I thank you, you have done your duty well. I am
pleased with you; but you must be very tired.'

"'Ah, Sire,' answered the old soldier, while great tears trickled
down upon his white mustachios, 'it's nothing to be tired: if only
we had been able to save Your Majesty!'

"A grenadier, at that moment, made his way through the crowd and
came up and stood in front of the King:

"'What do you want?' asked His Majesty.

"'Sire,' answered the soldier, raising his hand to his bear-skin,
'I wanted to look at you once more.'

"The King, deeply moved, threw himself into his carriage, and the
whole scene disappeared."

MAINTENON, _September_ 1836.

Calamities extend their effect by the fate of him who describes them: this narrative is the work of Madame de Chalais-Périgord, _née_ Beauvilliers-Saint-Aignan. The Duc de Beauvilliers[484] was, under Louis XIV., the governor of the Prince who was the stock of the family outlawed to-day. The last daughter of Fénelon's friend came unexpectedly upon the Duc de Bordeaux on his road and hastened to go to tell her father that she had seen the last heir of the Duc de Bourgogne pass. In the young princess, beauty, rank and fortune were combined; she had first turned her thoughts to the world, in search of pleasure; her hope, like the dove after the Deluge, finding the earth soiled, flew back to the Ark of God.

When, in 1816, I passed this spot, on my way to write the eleventh book of the first part of these Memoirs at Montboissier[485], Maintenon Castle stood empty; Madame de Chalais was not yet born: since, she has spread out and reckoned her whole life over twenty-six years of mine. Thus have the shreds of my existence composed the spring-time of a number of women who have fallen after their month of May. Montboissier is now deserted and Maintenon inhabited: its new occupiers are my hosts.

M. le Duc de Noailles, who, if nothing stops him, will achieve a brilliant career, was not of an age to vote when I was in the House of Peers: I did not hear him deliver those speeches in which he has pleaded, with the authority of arguments and the power of words, the cause of France and of the royal misfortunes. His part in life began when mine had finished: he took the oath to misfortune in a more useful way than I.

Madame la Duchesse de Noailles is a niece of M. le Marquis de Mortemart, my old colonel in the Navarre Regiment; she bears a sad and gentle likeness to my sister Julie[486].

The rivalries of Madame de Maintenon and Madame de Montespan have been resolved by the marriage of M. le Duc de Noailles and Mademoiselle de Mortemart[487]. At this present time, who troubles his brain about a sovereign's heart? That heart has been chilled these hundred and twenty years; and, in the decrial and vilification of monarchies, are the attachments of a king, even though it were Louis XIV., events? What can one measure by the huge scale of our modern revolutions that does not contract to an imperceptible point? Do the new generations care about the intrigues of Versailles, which is no longer anything but a crypt? What matters to our transformed society the end of the enmities of blood of some women once destined, in bowers or palaces, to lie on beds of flowers or down?

And yet, around the general interests of history, would there not be historical curiosities? If some Aulus Gellius, some Macrobius, some Strabo, some Suidas, some Athenasus of the fifth or sixth century, after describing to me the sack of Rome by Alaric, were, by chance, to tell me what became of Berenice after Titus had repudiated her; if he were to show me Antiochus returning to that Cæsarea, the "charming spot where his heart" ...had adored her who loved another; if he were to take me to a castle in the Lebanon inhabited by a descendant of the Queen of Palestine, in spite of the destruction of the Eternal City and the invasion of the Barbarians, it would still please me to come across the memory of Berenice in the "desert East."