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Title: The Story of Versailles

Author: Francis Loring Payne

Release Date: February 1, 2005 [EBook #14857]

Language: English

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[Frontispiece: Statue of Louis XIV, the Builder of Versailles.]






The Story of Versailles

BY

FRANCIS LORING PAYNE









NEW YORK

MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY

1919




COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY

MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY.







Press of

J.J. Little & Ives Co.

New York




CONTENTS


INTRODUCTION

Chapter

    I.  THE BEGINNING OF VERSAILLES

   II.  THE MAKING OF VERSAILLES.  THE LUXURIOUS CHATEAU
        AND PARKLAND OF LOUIS XIV

  III.  THE LUXURY OF VERSAILLES

   IV.  THE GARDENS, THE FOUNTAINS AND THE GRAND TRIANON

    V.  A DAY WITH THE SUN KING

   VI.  GOLDEN DAYS AND RED LETTER NIGHTS

  VII.  THE WOMEN OF VERSAILLES

 VIII.  THE VERSAILLES OF LOUIS XV

   IX.  THE TWILIGHT OF THE BOURBON KINGS

    X.  THE SHRINE OF ROYAL MEMORIES, THE
        SCENE OF WORLD ADJUSTMENTS




FOREWORD


THE HALL OF MIRRORS

  I

  If you could speak what tales your tongues could tell,
    You voiceless mirrors of the storied past!
  Do you remember when the curtain fell
    On him who learned he was not God at last?


  II

  Do you still see the shadows of the great?
    On powdered wigs and velvets, silks and lace;
  Or dream at night a feted queen, in state,
    Accepts men's homage with a haughty face?


  III

  A thousand names come tumbling to the mind.
    Of dead who gazed upon themselves through you.
  And went their way, each one his end to find
    In paths that glory or red terror knew.


  IV

  Voltaire and Rousseau and Ben Franklin here,
    You've seen hobnobbing with the highly-born;
  Seen Genius smile, while, with a hint of fear,
    It gave to Birth not homage but its scorn.


  V

  Do you remember that Teutonic jaw
    Of him who crowned an emperor, that you
  Might know that Bismarck was above all law
    And free to do what victor vandals do?


  VI

  Oh, Hall of Visions, now shall come anon
    A grander sight than you have ever seen;
  You've mirrored kings, but you shall look upon
    The mighty men whose edicts freedom mean


  VII

  To races and to peoples sore oppressed;
    The men who mould the future for a race
  That breathes a wind that's blowing from the West--
    And you'll forget the Bourbon's evil face!

        --EDWARD S. VAN ZILE.
          _N. Y. Eve. Sun., Nov. 25_




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


The Builder of Versailles . . . Frontispiece

Versailles

The Hall of Mirrors

The Fountain at Versailles




INTRODUCTION


A TRAVELER'S REFLECTIONS ON VERSAILLES

From the low heights of Satory we get a complete view of the plains of
Versailles--the woods, the town and the sumptuous chateau.  The palace
on its dais rules the scene.  The village and ornamental environment
have been constructed to augment its majesty.  Even the soil has been
"molded into new forms" at a monarch's caprice.  Versailles is the
expression of monarchy, as conceived by Louis XIV.  It is the only epic
produced in his reign--a reign so fertile in the other forms of poetry,
and in talent of all kinds.  What epic ever chronicled the destiny of
an epoch in a manner more brilliant and complete?  In this poem of
stone the manners of heroic and familiar life mingle at every step.
Besides the halls and galleries, the theaters of royal estate, there
are mysterious passages and sequestered nooks that whisper a thousand
secret histories.  The palace has two voices, one grave and one gay and
trifling.  It is full of truths and fictions, tears and smiles.  The
personages of its drama are as various as life itself; kings, poets,
ministers, courtiers, confessors, courtesans, queens without power, and
queens with too much power; ambassadors, generals, little abbés and
great ladies; nobles, clergy, even the people.  For two centuries did
this crowd continue to pass and re-pass over these marble floors and
under these gilded vaults; and every day its flood became more
impetuous, every day it gave way more and more to the whims and
passions.  And the palace heard all, saw all, spied all--and has
retained all, each action in its acted hour, each word in its place.
During the two centuries of absolute monarchy, nothing took place that
Versailles did not either originate or answer.  Every shot that was
fired in Flanders, Germany and Spain awakened here an echo.  Richelieu
was here, the first statesman of the monarchy, and Necker, the last.
French literary history is inscribed on its walls, which received
within them the great writers of France from Molière to Beaumarchais.
Art erected especially for Versailles the schools and systems whose
influence has been felt through the succeeding centuries.  For
Versailles, Lebrun became a painter, Coysevox a sculptor, and Mansard
an architect.  But it was not France alone that depended on Versailles.
Foreign nations sent their representatives to this famous center; the
choice spirits of Europe came to visit it.

The history of Versailles was for two centuries the history of
civilization.  From Versailles may be seen the movement of manners,
wars, diplomacy, literature, arts and energies that agitated Europe.

On entering Versailles by the Paris avenue, we see the palace on the
summit of the horizon.  The houses, scattered here and there and
concealed among the trees, appear less to form a town than to accompany
the monument raised beyond and above them.  Approaching the Place
d'Armes, we distinguish the different parts of which the imposing mass
of buildings is composed.  In the center is a singular bit of
architecture.  In vain the neighboring masses extend their circle
around it: their great arms are unable to stifle it; but it possesses a
seriousness of character that attracts the eye more strongly than their
high white walls.  This is the remains of the château built by Louis
XIII at Versailles.  Louis XIV did not wish to bury his father's
dwelling.




THE STORY OF VERSAILLES


CHAPTER I

THE BEGINNINGS OF VERSAILLES

A dreary expanse of low-lying marsh-land, dismal, gloomy and full of
quicksands, where the only objects that relieved the eye were the
crumbling walls of old farm buildings, and a lonely windmill, standing
on a roll of higher ground and stretching its gaunt arms toward the sky
as if in mute appeal against its desolate surroundings--such was
Versailles in 1624.  This uninviting spot was situated eleven miles
southwest of Paris, the capital city of France, the royal city, the
seat, during a century before, of the splendid court of the brilliant
Francis I and of the stout-hearted Henry II, the scene of the masterful
rule of Catherine de Medici, of the career of the engaging and
beautiful Marguerite de Valois and of the exploits of the gallant Henry
of Navarre.

The desolate stretch of marshland, with its lonely windmill, meant
nothing then to the court nor to the busy fortune-hunting and
pleasure-seeking inhabitants of Paris.  No one had reason to go to
Versailles, except perhaps the poor farmers and the owner of the
isolated mill--least of all the nobility and fashionable folk of the
glittering capital.  No exercise of the imagination could then have
conjured up the picture of the splendor in store for the barren waste
of Versailles.  The mention of the name in 1600 would have brought
nothing more from the lips of royalty and nobility than an indifferent
inquiry: "And what, pray, is Versailles and where may it be?"  You, my
lord, who raise your eyebrows interrogatingly, and you, my lady, who
flick your fan so carelessly, will some day behold your grandchildren
paying humble and obsequious court to the reigning favorites at
Versailles--yes, out there on this very moorland where you see nothing
but marshy hollows and ruined walls, there will your lord and master,
your glorious Sun King, the Grand Monarch, Louis the Fourteenth, build
a palace home that Belshazzar might justly have envied: there will he
hold high court and set the whole world agape at his prodigal outlay
and magnificent festivities.  And well may we inquire to-day: how came
this dreary waste to be the wondrous Versailles, the seat and scene of
so much in the making and the making-over of the world?

Ancient records of France indicate that in 1065 the priory of St.
Julien was established on the estates of the house of Versaliïs--a
grant under royal protection.  A poor farm community grew up about the
ecclesiastical retreat.  Here, also, on the estates of the barony of
Versailles, was a repair of lepers, destroyed in the sixteenth century.

The origin of the name is said by some to be derived from the fact that
the plains thereabouts were exposed to such high winds that the grain
in the poor land was frequently overturned (_versés_).  The lord of
these acres first named in history is Hugues (Hugo) de Versaliïs, who
lived early in the eleventh century and was a contemporary of the first
kings of the Capet dynasty.  A long line of nobles of this family
succeeded him.  In 1561 Martial de Léomenie, Secretary of Finance under
Charles IX, became master of Versailles.  The farming village being on
the route between Paris and Brittany, he obtained from the king
permission to establish here four annual fairs and a weekly market on
Thursdays.  Martial perished in the Massacre of St. Bartholomew in
1572.  Henry IV, as a prince, when hunting the stag with Martial often
swept across the low plains of Versailles.  The rights to the lands of
the barony were acquired by Maréchal de Retz from the children of
Martial de Léomenie, and inherited from the noble duke by his son,
Jean-François de Gondi, first archbishop of France.  It was this
prelate that sold to Louis XIII in 1632, for 66,000 pounds (about
$27,400), the land and barony of Versailles, consisting, in the phrase
of the original deed, "of an old house in ruins and a farm with several
buildings."

In 1624, Louis XIII, who had hunted in the vicinity of Versailles since
childhood and in later life had sought relief there from ennui and
melancholy, often slept in a low inn or in the hill-top windmill after
long hunts in the forest of St. Leger.  It occurred to him that it
would be convenient for him to have a pavilion or hunting-lodge in this
unattractive place, and accordingly he ordered one erected at
Versailles, on the road that led to the forest of St. Leger.  In 1627,
concluding that in no other domain of its limited acreage could he find
so great variety of land over which to hunt on foot and horse-back, he
bought a small piece of property at Versailles.  Immediately
afterwards  he caused to be erected what Saint-Simon called "a little
house of cards" on the isolated hill that rolled up in the heart of the
valley, where the windmill had stood.

Louis' architect was Philbert Le Roy, and the new villa was about two
hundred feet from the lodge first constructed.  Its form was a complete
square, each corner being terminated by a tower.  The building was of
brick, ornamented with columns and gilded balustrades; it was
surrounded by a park adorned with statues sculptured after designs by
the artist Poussin.  Ambitious addition!  A villa on the old mill site,
decorated by the favorite court artist of the day, Nicolas Poussin!
The court resented the enterprise, the nobility despised it.  It was
the King's fancy; nothing else excused it.  A noble of the court,
Bassompierre, exclaimed that "it was a wretched château in the
construction of which no private gentleman could be vain."

Scarcely was his new chateau finished (1630) when the King took up his
residence there for the hunt.  In this place were terminated in
November, 1630, the autocratic services of Cardinal Richelieu to the
King--the first of many significant historical events to take place
there.

The King's sojourns at Versailles during the hunting season, however,
had their effect.  Many of the royal intimates were influenced to build
on land given to them by the sovereign.  So before Louis XIII died his
chateau was surrounded by many charming country houses.  On April 8,
1632, Louis came into possession of the feudal dwelling of
Jean-François de Gondi and its lands.  Versailles then began to acquire
distinction.  It was the King's resort.  Could any one afford to
question its character, or location, or the standing of those that, at
the King's behest, took up their residence there?  Not we surely, who
can now view Versailles in the light of history.  All aside from its
splendid court life and its magnificent festivities, we know it as the
scene of three epoch-making events in the world's history.  During and
shortly after the American Revolution, Versailles was the scene of
treaty negotiations in which France, England and America were the
active parties.  About a century later, in 1871, the treaty was
consummated there that ended the Franco-Prussian War, by which France
lost Alsace and Lorraine and was forced to pay to Germany
$1,000,000,000.  And now, in our day, the most superb irony of history
has brought about a treaty in the same Hall of Mirrors by which Germany
repays, and the map of Europe undergoes radical changes.




CHAPTER II

THE MAKING OF VERSAILLES

The Luxurious Château and Parkland of Louis XIV

At the death of Louis XIII, in 1643, the little château of Versailles was
abandoned as a dwelling.  Then followed a fall in values at Versailles
and a great flutter of uncertainty among those that had followed the King
there.  This feeling of doubt lasted for seven years.  The faces of the
court favorites were turned back toward Paris, and individual fortunes
were speculatively weighed in the balance with the possibilities of the
new King's whims and fancies.  But when the twelve-year-old Louis XIV
came to hunt in the vicinity of Versailles for the first time, he found
the suburban dwelling of his father attractive from the start.  The
Gazette noted this visit, in 1651, and described the supper that the
royal boy shared with the officials of the chateau.  Two months later the
King supped again at Versailles, and was so delighted with the estate and
the hunting to be had thereabouts that, thereafter, he made it a yearly
custom to visit Versailles once or twice in the hunting season, sometimes
with his brother, sometimes with his prime minister, Cardinal Mazarin.

Returning in 1652 from an interview at Corbeil with Charles II of
England, then seeking refuge in France, Louis XIV dined at Versailles
with his mother, Anne of Austria.  In October, 1660, four months after
his marriage to Maria Theresa of Spain, he brought his young queen there.
The future of Versailles was assured.  The King had decided to set his
star and make his palace home where his father had established a hunting
lodge.

The year 1661 was one of the most important in the history of the
monarch.  On March fifteenth, eight days after the death of Mazarin, the
great Colbert was named Superintendent of Finances.  It was he who was to
give to the reign of Louis XIV its definite direction; his name was to be
lastingly associated with the founding of the greater Versailles, and
with the construction of the Louvre, the Tuileries, Fontainebleau and
Saint-Germain.  But Colbert's task in the enlargement of Versailles was
no easy one, nor did he approve of it.  He opposed the young King's
purpose obstinately and expressed himself on the subject without reserve.
"Your majesty knows," he wrote to the King, "that, apart from brilliant
actions in war, nothing marks better the grandeur and genius of princes
than their buildings, and that posterity measures them by the standard of
the superb edifices that they erect during their lives.  Oh, what a pity
that the greatest king, and the most virtuous, should be measured by the
standard of Versailles!  And there is always this misfortune to fear."

But the King, like many another great monarch, had dreamed a dream.  He
was not satisfied with Paris as a residence.  So he told Colbert to make
his dream of Versailles come true--and Colbert had to find some way to
pay the cost.

An irritating cause of the King's purpose lay in the fact that he was
incited by the splendors of the chateau of Vaux-le-Vicomte, built by his
ill-fated minister, Fouquet.  Louis determined to surpass that mansion by
one so much more elaborate as to crush it into insignificance.  Nicholas
Fouquet had employed the most renowned masters of this period--among them
Louis Le Vau, the architect, André Le Nôtre, the landscape gardener, and
Charles Lebrun, the decorator.  These were the men the King summoned to
transform the modest hunting villa of his father.  At the truly gorgeous
chateau of his minister, he had witnessed the full measure of their
genius.  On August 17, 1661, Fouquet gave an elaborate fête to celebrate
the completion of the chateau, which the King attended.  Within three
weeks the host was a prisoner of State, accused of peculation in office.
Acting immediately upon his resolution to out-do the glories of
Vaux-le-Vicomte, Louis engaged Le Nôtre to plan gardens and Le Vau to
submit proposals for the enlargement and decoration of the chateau.  One
of the first apartments completed was the chamber of the infant
Dauphin--heir to the throne, who was born in November, 1661.  Colbert
reported in September, 1663, that in two years he had spent 1,500,000
pounds, and a good part of this sum was for the construction of the
gardens.  Builders and decorators suggested one elaborate project after
another, without regard to the cost, despite the protest of Colbert to
the King that they were exceeding all estimates and provisions.  It was a
paradise period for profiteers.

Versailles became a favorite retreat of the extravagant young sovereign.
He frequently drove out from Paris, and on sundry occasions gave splendid
balls and dinners.

For periods of increasing frequency the King was in residence at
Versailles.  He urged on the builders who had in hand the construction of
the living-rooms, kitchens, stables; he supervised the placing of
pictures and other decorative works in various parts of the expanded
chateau; impatiently he chided the superintendents for delay and
feverishly they strove to meet his demands for greater haste.  And though
every hour of haste cost the King of France a substantial sum, he cared
for nothing but the fulfillment of his luxurious plans.  Hundreds of
laborers were engaged in laying out the orangery, the grand terrace, the
fruit and vegetable gardens.  The original entrance court was greatly
enlarged.  Long wings terminated by pavilions bordered it.  On the right
were the kitchens, with quarters for the domestics; on the left, the
stables, where there were stalls for fifty-four horses.  At the main
entrance to the court were pavilions used by the musketeers as
guard-houses.  Those were bustling times at Versailles, and every day
disclosed a new development and opened the way to new miracles of
construction.

And the miracles were wrought, one after another--all by order of the
King.  On the site of the park a great terrace was bordered by a parterre
in the shape of a half-moon, where a waterfall was later installed.  A
long promenade, now called the Allée Royale, extended to a vast basin
named the Lake of Apollo.  Streamlets were diverted to feed fountains.
Twelve hundred and fifty orange trees were transported from the fallen
estate of Vaux to fill the long arcades of the orangery.

In the midst of the activities of masons, carpenters, gardeners, the King
was dominant, directing minute details--the laying of floors, the hanging
of draperies, the installation of art works in the chapel.  The restive
master of the estate was impatient to enjoy his creation, and to invite
his Court there to celebrate its completion with fêtes both brilliant and
costly.  Colbert wrote in a letter dated September, 1663, of the beauty
of the chateau's adornments--its Chinese filigree of gold and silver.

"Never," he swore, "had China itself seen so many examples of this work
together--nor had all Italy seen so many flowers."  Colbert suffered, but
the King found royal satisfaction.  The splendid scene of the Sun King
must be set--the people had to pay.  It was Colbert's affair to finance
it.

The King commanded a series of fêtes to be arranged.  For eight days
every diversion appropriate to the autumn season was enjoyed by the royal
family and all the Court.  Every day there were balls, ballets, comedies,
concerts, promenades, hunts.  Molière and his troupe were commanded to
appear in a new piece called "_Impromptu de Versailles_."

Colbert regretted the absorption of his sovereign in Versailles, "to the
neglect of the Louvre--assuredly the most superb palace in the world."
Louis tolerantly gave ear and inspected the Louvre, but to the building
of Versailles he devoted all his enthusiasm.

The appearance of the villa erected by Louis XIII had been vastly altered
as to its roofs, chimneys, facades.  In 1665 the court was ornamented by
the placing of the pedestals and busts that still surround it.  In
addition to the main edifice, the King gave orders for the building of
small dwellings to be occupied by favorites of his entourage, and by
musicians, actors and cooks.  Three broad tree-lined avenues were laid
out and the highway to Paris--the Cours-la-Reine--commenced.  Already
Versailles took on a more imposing aspect than ancient Fontainebleau.
Workmen were constantly busy with the building of reservoirs, the laying
of sod, the planting of labyrinths, hedges, secret paths and bosky
retreats, with the setting out of hundreds of trees brought from
Normandy, and the seeding of flower gardens of surpassing beauty.  Ponds,
fountains, grottoes, waterfalls and straying brooks came into being at
the command of the ambitious young ruler.  At some distance from the
chateau courts and cages were constructed to shelter rare birds and
animals.  It was designed that this should be "the most splendid palace
of animals in the world."  The King decided the details of building and
decoration and supervised the installation of the furred and feathered
tenants of the palatial menagerie.  This was the enclosure so greatly
admired by La Fontaine, Racine and Boileau, during a visit to Versailles
in 1668.

The first epoch of the construction of Louis XIV coincided with the first
sculptural decoration of Versailles.  A great number of works of art were
ordered for the adornment of the walks and gardens.  Many statues and
busts of mythological subjects that were made at Rome to the order of
Fouquet, after models by Nicolas Poussin, were removed from Vaux to
Versailles.  That was a thriving period for sculptors of France and
adjacent countries.  Records faithfully kept by Colbert detail
expenditures of thousands of pounds of the nation's money for bronze
vases, stone figures of nymphs and dryads and dancing fauns that were
placed among the trees and fountains of Versailles.  Much of the
ornamental sculpture ordered at this time disappeared from the royal
domain, as Louis XIV constantly demanded the work of the newest artists
and all the novelties of the moment.

By the year 1668 Versailles apparently approached completion.  It had
then been seven years in building.  But in 1669 the general character of
the chateau was again changed.  In the embellishments proposed by Le Vau,
the architect, the royal domain became the scene of renewed activity,
engendered by the King, then just turned thirty years of age, and eager
to achieve still greater improvements at Versailles to mark the
increasing prosperity of his reign.  Half-finished buildings were
demolished and begun anew.  Immense structures arose, and once again
artists flocked to Versailles.  Inside the palace and in the park they
wrought an elaborate scheme of decoration that made this the most
sumptuous dwelling of the monarchy.  In the words of Madame Scudery, an
annalist of that epoch, Versailles, under the new orders of the King,
became "incomparably more beautiful."  Another Versailles was born; at
the same time there was created a town on the vast acres purchased by the
King, in the midst of which three great avenues were built, converging
toward the chateau.  In addition to the enlargement and improvement of
the palace, the King ordered the erection of houses for the use of
Colbert, now superintendent of the royal buildings, and for the officers
of the Chancellery.  From this time he interested himself particularly in
the advancement of the infant town; he bought the village of "Old
Versailles" and made liberal grants of land to individuals who agreed to
build houses there.  Opposite the chateau arose the mansions of
illustrious nobles of the Court.

As the King remained obstinate in his determination that the "little
chateau" of his father should not be removed to make room for a structure
more in harmony with the surrounding ostentation, Le Vau covered over the
moats and built around the lodge of Louis XIII with imposing effect.  The
new buildings containing the state apartments of the King and Queen and
public salons were separated by great courts from the insignificant
beginning of all this mounting splendor.  Le Vau did not live to see the
completion of the palace.  He died in 1670.  The work of reconstruction,
in which the King maintained a lively interest whether at home or abroad,
was continued by the architect's pupils at a cost of thousands of pounds.
Eagerly Louis read plans and listened to reports.  With still greater
interest he attended the proposals of the great Mansard--nephew of the
designer and builder who in 1650 revived the use of the "Mansard roof."
When he succeeded as "first architect," Jules Mansard (or Mansart) first
undertook the erection of quarters for the Bourbon princes.  In the same
year (1679) that he began the immense south wing for their use, he gave
instructions for the building of the now historic Hall of Mirrors between
two pavilions named--most appropriately in the light of after events--the
Salon of Peace and the Salon of War.  From the high arched windows of
this glittering Grand Gallery great personages of past and present epochs
have surveyed the gardens, fountains and broad walks that are the
crowning glory of Versailles.

In the time of the Grand Monarque more than a thousand jets of water cast
their silver spray against the greenery of hedge and grove.  "Nothing is
more surprising," said a chronicler of Louis the Fourteenth's reign,
"than the immense quantity of water thrown up by the fountains when they
all play together at the promenades of the King.  These jets are capable
of using up a river."  A writer of our day bids us pause for a moment at
the viewpoint in the gardens most admired by the King--at the end of the
Allée of Latona.  "To the east, beyond the brilliant parterre of Latona,
with its fountains, its flowers, and its orange-trees, rise the
vine-covered walls of the terraces, with their spacious flights of steps
and their vividly green clipped yews.  Turn to the west and survey the
Royal Allée, the Basin of Apollo, and the Grand Canal, or look to the
north to the Allée of Ceres, or to the south to that of Bacchus, and you
realize the harmony that existed between Mansard and Le Nôtre in the
decoration of the chateau and in the plan of the gardens."  Beyond the
palace and the surrounding gardens lay the park in which the Grand
Trianon was built, of marble, near the bank of the Grand Canal.  Madame
de Maintenon, who became the King's second wife, was housed within these
sumptuous walls, which were completed in 1688.

And so the construction of this miracle work of the Great Monarch went
on.  In Versailles, Louis was bent on realizing himself, and nothing but
himself.  The Pharaoh of Egypt built his pyramids with as little
consideration of what it meant in tribute from his subjects.  Each year
took its toll in money and men to make this home of Louis the
Magnificent.  "The King," wrote Madame de Sévigné on the twelfth of
October, 1678, "wishes to go on Saturday to Versailles, but it seems that
God does not wish it, by the impossibility of putting the buildings in a
state to receive him, and by the great mortality among the workmen."  But
the work had continued, as the King commanded, and when he finally
entered into possession of his new palace in 1682 with all his Court,
thirty-six thousand men and six thousand horses were still engaged in
making matters comfortable and satisfactory for His Glorious Majesty.
"The State," exclaimed the Sun King, "it is I!" and in the same mood he
might have added, "Versailles--it is the State!"




CHAPTER III

THE LUXURY OF VERSAILLES

The Splendors of the Château--its Apartments and Gardens, the Hall of
Mirrors

In planning the interior decorations at Versailles, the numerous
company of artists employed by the sovereign devised a scheme of
ornamentation inspired by the arts of ancient Rome.  Mythological and
historical subjects were utilized for the glorification of the Grand
Monarch.  A _Description_ of the château, officially printed in 1674,
gives us the key to the interpretation of the allegories.  "As the Sun
is the device of the King, and poets represent the Sun and Apollo as
one, nothing exists in this superb dwelling that does not bear relation
to the Sun divinity."

The emblem of Apollo was in evidence everywhere; signs of the month
ornamented facades and walls; and inside the palace and out were
symbols of the seasons and the hours of the day.  The King's apartment
bore on its ceiling and walls paintings depicting deeds of seven heroes
of Antiquity, supported by Louis' planet emblem.  All the interior
decoration was Italian in style--marble wainscoting in window
embrasures, floors of marble, panels of marble, doors of repoussé
bronze.  The apartments of Anne of Austria and the Gallery of Apollo at
the Louvre offered the first examples in France of this decorative
style, and guided the artists at Versailles in making their plans.

Upon the Grand Apartments of the King and Queen alone, a dozen painters
were engaged between the years 1671 and 1680.  Charles Lebrun directed
the artists, most of whom, be it said, were poor colorists.  He himself
worked on the vault above the Stairway of the Ambassadors and in the
Hall of Mirrors.  To imitate Italian works of art was at that time the
avowed ideal of French decorators.  At Rome the King's purse paid the
expenses of a group of young artists who were allotted the task of
copying designs that were later evolved at Versailles.  To some was
assigned the copying of ornaments made of metal, mosaic and inlay.
Others specialized on bronze and wood-carving designs.  There were
painters who made only sketches of battle scenes and sieges.  There
were sculptors on the King's staff of copyists, and goldsmiths, and
enamel workers.  Flemish, Dutch, French, but principally Italian,
craftsmen were recruited from the art centers of Europe, "for the glory
of the King."  At the Gobelin Tapestry Factory--a royal
establishment--the workers were directed by Charles Lebrun, who for
many years had been head of the "Royal Manufactory of Crown Furniture."

It was in the year 1677 that Louis XIV formally proclaimed Versailles
his residence and the seat of Government.  It was for the purpose of
providing quarters for the Court and its attendants that Mansard was
commanded to enlarge the château.  Versailles now became, in truth, the
temple of royalty.  The newly appointed architect gave to the chateau
its final aspect; the stamp of his genius rests upon the exterior
design and interior embellishment of the most remarkable dwelling in
the history of French architecture.

[Illustration: Versailles]

When the Court came to live at Versailles in May, 1682, Mansard and his
builders were still feverishly occupied in the work of construction and
reconstruction.  The year 1684 saw the end of the ornamentation of the
interior in the completion of the Hall of Mirrors.  Mansard's style is
particularly impressed upon the Marble Stairway, and the adjacent Hall
of the Queen's Guards, and, above all, on the Grand Gallery of the
Mirrors and the Salons (Peace and War) that flank it--works truly
impressive in their proportions, adornment and arrangement.

Disposed about three sides of the main court, the red château was set
low on a slight rise of land.  The main entrance was flanked by the
North Wing and the South Wing, interrupted throughout their length by
lesser courts.  The domed chapel upreared to the right of the gate was
the fourth one to serve the palace.  After a period of building lasting
ten years it was consecrated in the year 1710.  The exquisite white
stone edifice is still regarded as an architectural gem.  Its interior
embellishments were carried out by some of the best artists of the Sun
King's epoch.  Here during the last years of his long and spectacular
reign, Louis the Great worshiped.  Here Marie Antoinette was married to
the Sixteenth Louis.

Arrivals at the palace were admitted from the Place d'Armes to the
court designated for their reception.  Only the King and his family
might enter by the central gate.  Nobles passed through the gates at
the side.  Privileged persons were permitted to alight in the Royal
Court; those of inferior prestige in the Court of the Ministers, which
gave entrance to the offices and living quarters of the palace
executives and the hundreds of minions composing the King's retinue.
On the left of the enclosure called the Marble Court was the vestibule
to the Marble Stairway; opposite was the doorway leading to the
renowned Stairway of the Ambassadors, later removed by command of Louis
XV.  The royal suites, except those of the Dauphin and his attendants,
were on the second floor.  These rooms beneath the ornate Mansard attic
were the scene of all the potent events and ceremonies that have
distinguished Versailles above the palaces of the world.

Grouped above the Marble Court at the far end of the main court of the
château, were the State Apartments of the King.  Though, in later
times, the sequence of some of these salons was changed, in the years
when the Sun King occupied them they comprised the Salon of Venus,
opening upon the Ambassadors' Staircase, the Salon of Diana, the Salon
of Mars, and the Salon of Mercury.  These halls formed a magnificent
prelude to the still greater magnificence of the Salon of Apollo,--the
Throne Room where guests came into the presence of the King himself.
The Salon of Venus was most admired for its marble mosaics and its
ceiling painting representing Venus subduing all the other deities.  In
Louis' day, as now, the royal master of all this grandeur was here
portrayed in white marble, garbed in the robes of a Roman emperor.
Diana and her nymphs were depicted on the ceiling of the salon named
for the Goddess of the Hunt.  Here under candles glimmering in sconces
of silver and crystal the courtiers engaged in games of billiards,
while their ladies disposed themselves gracefully upon tapestried
seats.  And there were orange trees in silver tubs to add brilliance to
the scene.  In the Salon of Mars dancing parties and concerts were
given.  Silver punchbowls set on silver tables offered refreshment to
the gay throng that coquetted and danced and applauded beneath the
triumphant picture of Mars limned upon the ceiling.  This room was
a-glitter with silver, cut glass and gold embroidered draperies.  In
the crimson-hung Salon of Mercury was the King's bed of state, before
which was a balustrade of silver.  In all the Grand Apartments were
hangings and furniture of extraordinary richness.  There were tables of
gilded wood and mosaic, Florentine marbles, pedestals of porphyry for
vases of precious metal, ebony cabinets inlaid with copper, columns of
jasper, agate and lapis lazuli, silver chandeliers, branched
candle-sticks, baskets, vessels for liqueurs, silver perfuming pans.
Windows were draped with silver brocade worked in gold thread, with
Venetian silks and satins, or embroideries from the Gobelin studios.
On the floors, originally of marble, were spread carpets woven in
designs symbolical of kingly power.

The Throne Room known as the Salon of Apollo--the seat of the Sun
King--was of the utmost richness.  The throne itself was of silver and
stood eight feet high.  Tapestries represented scenes of splendor in
the life of Louis the Great and on the walls were masterpieces by
Italian artists of the first rank, which were later deemed worthy of a
place in the Louvre.  Much of the treasure vanished in the years
1689-1690 when the King was constrained to raise money for his depleted
treasury.  In December, 1682, the _Mercure Galant_, desirous of
pleasing its readers, always avid of details about everything that
concerned their King, published a long description of the furnishings
of the State Apartments--the velvet hangings, the marble walls enriched
with gold relief, the chimney-pieces bossed with silver.

Yet the glory of these apartments was outdone by the later achievements
of architect and decorators in the Salons of War and Peace and the Hall
of Mirrors that joins them.  In the cupola of the Salon of War the
great Lebrun painted an allegorical picture of France hurling
thunderbolts and carrying a shield blazoned with the portrait of King
Louis, while Bellona, Spain, Holland and Germany are shown crouching in
awe.  The colored marbles of the walls contrasted brilliantly with
gilded copper bas-reliefs.  Six portraits of Roman emperors contributed
to the impressiveness of the Salon, and on the wall was a stucco relief
of the King of France on horseback, clad like a Roman.  The Salon of
Peace was also decorated by Lebrun's adept brush.  A ceiling piece
portrays France and her conquered enemies rejoicing in the fruits of
Peace.  And, again, there are portraits of the ever-present Louis and
the Caesars of Rome.  Both these splendid halls remain to-day much as
they were in the time of their creator.

Most lavish is the decoration of the Grand Hall of Mirrors--"the
epitome of absolutism and divine right and the grandeur of the House of
Bourbon."  For two hundred and forty feet it extends along the terrace
that surveys the gardens where Louis XIV and his successors delighted
to ordain fêtes of unimaginable gayety.  Gorgeously costumed courtiers,
women that dictated the fate of dynasties, diplomats of our day bent
upon the solution of world-rocking problems, all have gazed from this
resplendent gallery upon the fountains and allées that beautify the
scene below.  Seventeen lofty windows are matched by as many Venetian
framed mirrors.  Between each window and each mirror are pilasters
designed by Coyzevox, Tubi and Caffieri--reigning masters of their
time.  Walls are of marble embellished with bronze-gilt trophies; large
niches contain statues in the antique style.  The gilded cornice is by
Coyzevox, the ceiling by Lebrun.  The conception of the latter
comprises more than a score of paintings representing events that had
to do with wars waged by Louis the Great against Holland, Germany and
Spain.  In the period when Versailles was the residence of kings--not a
museum, alone, and the assembly-place of international Councils--the
tables in the Grand Gallery, the benches between the windows, the
many-branched candelabra, the tubs in which orange trees grew, were all
of heavy silver.  Thousands of wax candles lighted the salon, some of
them set in immense chandeliers, others in lusters of silver and
crystal.  But Louis the Fourteenth's reign was not yet over when he was
compelled to send many hundred pieces of his precious furniture to the
mint, and the superb appointments of the Hall of Mirrors were partially
substituted by furnishings of wood and damask.

[Illustration: The Hall of Mirrors]

Visitors to Versailles view the private or "little" apartments of King
Louis the Great, Louis XV and Louis XVI.  The superb bedchamber of
Louis XIV contains the bed in which the French Monarch died on
September 1, 1715.  In an ante-chamber, later called the Bull's Eye by
reason of its unique oval window, courtiers were wont to gossip and
intrigue while they awaited the King's rising.  A quaint painting by a
French artist presents Louis XIV and his family in the character of
pagan deities.  Next to the Bull's Eye was the room in which the King
dined on occasion.  The Hall of the King's Guards was near of approach
to the Marble Staircase and to the ample and ornate apartments of
Madame de Maintenon.  The wonders of this Hall are also departed.  In a
group of small rooms were rich stores of objects of art, medals,
cameos, onyx, bronzes, and gems of great value.

The State Apartments of the Queens of France were entirely altered in
their decoration as one queen succeeded another.  Marie Thérèse was the
first to occupy them.  We are told that before her bed there stood a
railing of silver, that later gave way, for economical reasons, to one
carved in wood.  In the Grand Cabinet the wife of Louis the Great
received in audience those that the King commanded.  Here, at the end
of a short and insignificant period as mistress of Versailles, Marie
Thérèse died, July 30, 1683.

One of the few apartments that still retains the aspect it bore in King
Louis the Fourteenth's reign is the Hall of the Queen's Guards, which
had a door on the landing of the marble stair, also called the Queen's
Staircase.  This was the flight of steps most used in the time of
Louis, since it led to the apartments of the sovereign, the Queen
Madame de Maintenon.

The Ambassadors' Staircase, across the court, was of the richest
possible decoration, but like the glory of the Kings of France, it has
passed into oblivion.  Louis commanded that it be paved and walled in
marble from the choicest quarries, vaulted with bronze, graced by
fountains.  Amazing frescoes representing a brilliant assemblage of
people of all nations adorned the walls.  Of this staircase a reporter
of the epoch wrote, "When full of light it vies in magnificence with
the richest apartments of the most beautiful palace in the world."
Which palace was, of course, Versailles.

The Grand Hall of the Guards, the apartments of the Children of France
and their governess, the ten rooms that composed the suite of the
Dauphin, the Grand Hall of Battles--each had its special decoration.
"At the house of Monseigneur," wrote an old chronicler of the Court,
"one sees in the cabinets an exquisite collection of all that is most
rare and precious, not only in respect to the necessary furniture,
tables, porcelains, mirrors, chandeliers, but also paintings by the
most famous masters, bronzes, vases of agate, jewels and cameos."  For
one dazzling table of carved silver in the apartment of the King's son,
the silversmith that fashioned it was paid thirty thousand dollars.

Beneath the state apartments of the King was the Hall of the Baths
lined with marble and adorned with beautiful paintings.  Upon the
marble tubs, the tessellated floors, the gilded columns and mirrors of
this apartment a great sum was expended.

      *      *      *      *      *

Versailles at last was finished--and what a spectacle and monument to
selfish exaltation it was!  "There is an intimate relation between the
King and his château," wrote Imbert de Saint-Amand.  "The idol is
worthy of the temple, the temple of the idol.  There is always
something immaterial, something moral so to speak, in monuments, and
they derive their poesy from the thought connected with them.  For a
cathedral, it is the idea of God.  For Versailles, it is the idea of
the King.  Its mythology is but a magnificent allegory of which Louis
XIV is the reality.  It is he always and everywhere.  Fabulous heroes
and divinities impart their attributes to him or mingle with his
courtiers.  In honor of him, Neptune sheds broadcast the waters that
cross in air in sparkling arches.  Apollo, his favorite symbol,
presides over this enchanted world as the god of light, the inspirer of
the muses; the sun of the god seems to pale before that of the great
King.  Nature and art combine to celebrate the glory of the sovereign
by a perpetual hosannah.  All that generations of kings have amassed in
pictures, statues and precious movables is distributed as mere
furniture in the glittering apartments of the chateau.  The
intoxicating perfumes of luxury and power throw one into a sort of
ecstasy that makes comprehensible the exaltation of this monarch,
enthusiastic over himself, who, in chanting the hymns composed in his
praise, shed tears of admiration."




CHAPTER IV

THE GARDENS, THE FOUNTAINS AND THE GRAND TRIANON

The first gardens of Versailles--those
that gave a modest setting to the villa
constructed for Louis XIII, comprised a few
parterres of flowers and shrubs bounded by
well trimmed box hedges, and two groves
planted on each side of the _Allée Royale_.
To Jacques Boyceau is accredited the first
plan of the gardens of Versailles, but Andre
Le Nôtre greatly amplified and improved
the original scheme.  Le Nôtre's
achievements at Versailles gave him rank as the
most distinguished landscape gardener of
his time, and of all time.

Besides the luxurious and symmetrical
gardens at Versailles, he originated the
designs of those at the royal houses at Trianon,
Saint-Cloud, Merly, Clagny, Chantilly and
the Tuileries.  The Parterre of the Tiber
at Fontainebleau also added to his high
reputation.  For a long period the style of
garden perfected by Le Nôtre was taken as a
model and imitated throughout Europe.  In
1678 he went to Italy on a mission for the
King, who desired him to make researches
there.  While at Rome the eminent artist
from France was commissioned to plan the
gardens of the Quirinal, the Vatican and
the villas Ludovisi and Albani.  The
Elector of Brandenburg summoned him to
design the garden at Oranienburg; Kensington
Park in London is still another example of
Le Nôtre's skill.  In his genius were
reflected the qualities that distinguished the
art of his century: regularity of design,
harmony, dignity and richness of materials.
Louis XIV had an enduring admiration for
the work and character of the Chief
Gardener--a man at all times honest, retiring,
and inspired by enthusiasm for his calling.

We are told by a French chronicler that
"when Le Nôtre had traced out his ideas, he
brought Louis XIV to the spot to judge the
distribution of the principal parts of their
ornamentation.  He began with two grand
basins which are on the terrace in front
of the chateau, with their magnificent
decorations.  He explained next his idea of
the double flight of stairs, which is opposite
the center of the palace, adorned with
yew-trees and with statues, and gave in detail
all the pieces that were to enrich the space
that it included.  He passed then to the
_Allée du Tapis Vert_, and to that grand place
where we see the head of the canal, of which
he described the size and shape, and at the
extremities of whose arms he placed the
Trianon and the Menagerie.  At each of
the grand pieces whose position Le Nôtre
marked, and whose future beauties he
described, Louis XIV interrupted him, saying,
'Le Nôtre, I give you twenty thousand
francs.'  This magnificent approbation was
so frequently repeated that it annoyed Le
Nôtre, whose soul was as noble and
disinterested as that of his master was
generous.  At the fourth interruption he stopped,
and said brusquely to the King, 'Sire, Your
Majesty shall hear no more.  I shall ruin you.'"

In 1695 the King ennobled Le Nôtre and
bestowed upon him the Order of St. Michael.
Later, Le Nôtre presented to his sovereign
his collection of pictures and bronzes, for
which he had previously received an offer
of 80,000 francs, or about $16,000.  This
collection was placed in one of the King's
intimate rooms among the rarest objects in
his possession.  On occasion, when about to
make a tour of the gardens, Louis liked to
command a rolling chair similar to his own
for the aged Le Nôtre.  Discussing new
projects, appraising those that were finished,
they made the promenade together.

One of the first garden decorations
undertaken was the Grotto of Thetis, a green
alcove beautified by exquisite marbles and a
fountain that stirred the muse of La
Fontaine to sing.  This graceful conceit,
dominated by Apollo seated among the nymphs
of Venus, was destroyed when Mansard
built the north wing of the palace; the
groups were removed to adorn other sites.
While the vast pleasure-house was in course
of construction, each year marked the
creation of new fountains and woods.  In 1664,
the _Parterre du Nord_ was laid out below the
windows of the north wing; in 1667 and
1668 the _Théâtre d'Eau_, the Maze, the Star,
the Grand Canal, the Avenue of Waters,
the Cascade of Diana and the Pyramid on
the North Parterre, and the Green Carpet
(_Tapis-Vert_) spread out in view of the
windows of the rear facade of the palace.  In
1670 and the three succeeding years the
low-lying _Marais_ (fen) was constructed next to
the Parterre of the Fountain of Latona, to
meet the wishes of the King's favorite,
Madame de Montespan.  While she was in
power "people spoke of the _Marais_ as one
of the marvels of the gardens, but it was
undoubtedly considered less wonderful after
her fall," a writer comments.  "In the
center stood a large oak surounded by an
artificial marsh, bordered with reeds and grasses,
and containing plants and a number of white
swans.  From the swans, from the reeds and
grasses, and from the leaves and branches of
the oak, thousands of little jets of water
leaped forth, falling like fine rain upon the
masses of natural vegetation that flourished
amid the artificial.  At the sides of the
bosquet there were two tables of marble, on
which a collation was served when the
marquise came to her grove to see the waters
play.  In 1704 the King ordered Mansard
to destroy the _Marais_ and transform the
bosquet into the Baths of Apollo."

In 1674 the Royal Isle came into being;
and the next year the Arch of Triumph and
the Three Fountains, between the Avenue
of Waters and the château.  In the thicket
of the Three Fountains were "an immense
number of small jets of water, leaping from
basins at the sides and forming an arch of
water overhead, beneath which one could
walk without being wet. . . .  The Arch of
Triumph filled the end of the bosquet; it
was placed on an estrade with marble steps,
and was preceded by four lofty obelisks of
gilded iron in which the water leaped and
fell in sheets of crystal.  The fountain
itself was composed of three porticos of gilded
iron, with large jets in the center of each,
while seven jets leaped up from the basins
above the porticos, and all the waters rushed
down over the steps of marble.  In addition,
twenty-two vases at the sides of the bosquet
threw jets into the air.  'Without having
seen it,' says Blondel, 'it is impossible to
imagine the wonderful effect produced by this
decoration.'"

The Orangery was the chief work begun
in 1678, and in the following year the superb
Basin of Neptune and the Lake of the Swiss
Guards were commenced.  In the years
1680-1685 workmen were busy digging, laying
pipes, planting and decorating the _Salle de
Bal_, or outdoor salon of festivities, the
Parterre of Fountains, and the Colonnade,
where amid marble columns and balustrades
the Court often came to sup and make merry.

In all, fourteen hundred gushing fountain
jets animated the gardens.  Le Nôtre, the
author of these amazing water-works, died
in the year 1700, when almost ninety years
of age.  Saint-Simon declared him justly
renowned in that he had given to France
gardens of so unique and ravishing a design
that they completely outran in beauty the
famous gardens of Italy.  European
landscape decorators counted it part of their
education to journey to France for the
purpose of studying the handiwork of the supreme craftsman.

An illustrated guide, printed at
Amsterdam in 1682, contains the following quaint
description of the Labyrinth, or Maze:
"Courteous Reader," it begins, "it is
sufficiently known how eminently France and
especially the Royal Court doth excel above
other places with all manner of delights.
The admirable faire Buildings and Gardens
with all imaginable ornaments and
delightful spectacles represent to the eye of the
beholder such abundant and rich objects as
verily to ravish the spectator.  Amongst all
these works there is nothing more admirable
and praiseworthy than the Royal Garden at
Versailles, and, in it, the Labyrinth.  Other
representations are commonly esteemed
because they please the eye, but this because it
not only delights the ear and eye, but also
instructs and edifies.  This Labyrinth is
situated in a wood so pleasant that Daedalus
himself would have stood amazed to behold
it.  The Turnings and Windings, edged on
both sides with green cropt hedges, are not
at all tedious, by reason that at every hand
there are figures and water-works
representing the mysterious and instructive fables
of Aesop, with an explanation of what Fable
each Fountain representeth carved on each
in black marble.  Among all the Groves in
the Park at Versailles the Labyrinth is the
most to be recommended, as well for the
novelty of the design as the number and
diversity of the fountains that with
ingenuity and _naïveté_ express the philosophies, of
the sage Aesop.  The animals of colored
bronze are so modeled that they seem truly
to be in action.  And the streams of water
that come from their mouths may be
imagined as bearing the words of the fable they
represent.  There are a great number of
fountains, forty in all, each different in
subject, and of a style of decoration that blends
with the surrounding verdure.  At the
entrance to the Maze is a bronze statue of
Aesop himself--the famous Mythologist of Phrygia."

[Illustration:  The Fountain of Versailles]

To appreciate the engineering skill of the
directors of fountain construction at
Versailles it must be remembered that it was
from an arid plateau that hundreds of
streams were made to spring from the earth.
Thousands of laborers were employed to lay
beneath the surface of the ground a net-work
of canals and aqueducts to receive the tribute
of water-courses directed hither from distant
sources.  The waters were finally pumped
into immense reservoirs adroitly dissembled
on the roofs of buildings overlooking the
park.  From these tanks a maze of pipes
carried the water to thickets, grottoes,
basins, fountains and canals.  Nothing could
surpass the ingenuity with which all this was
contrived.  The play of water directed to
the Basin of the Mirrors reappeared later
in the Baths of Apollo and the Fountain of
the Dragon.  Flowing in turn among
successive pools and ornamental groups--branching
hither and yon in the gardens, the
stream attained its full display in the most
majestic effect of all, the Basin of Neptune.

"Here again is the hand of Le Nôtre,"
remarks James Farmer, author of
"Versailles and the Court Under Louis XIV."  "The
basin of Neptune, called at first the
Grand Cascades, was constructed from 1679
to 1684, in accordance with his designs.  This
immense basin, surrounded on the side
toward the chateau by a handsome wall of
stone, and on the other by an amphitheater
of turf and trees,--a vast half-circle, in the
center of which stands a marble statue of
Renown, is simple in conception and imposing
from its size.  The richly carved lead vases
which adorn the wall were gilded under the
Grand Monarch, and each throws a jet of
water to a great height.  Dangeau tells us
that His Majesty saw the waters play here
for the first time on the 17th of May, 1685,
and that he was quite content.  However,
Neptune had not then appeared in the basin
that now bears his name; for the large
groups of Neptune, the Ocean, and the
Tritons, which ornament the base of the wall at
present, were not put in place until 1739, in
the reign of Louis XV.  This majestic basin
at the foot of the _Allée d'Eau_ is a striking
contrast to Perrault's ugly Pyramid at the
head of it.  Le Nôtre knew what was fitting
for the gardens of a Sun King."

A vast avenue, interrupted by many fair
reaches of water, stretched its level length
before the windows of the Grand Gallery.
It was prolonged to the outer bounds of the
gardens by the Grand Canal, on whose
gleaming surface the sky was mirrored in
the dusk of dawn, the golden glow of noon,
or the sunset of declining day.  This has ever
been the supreme view from the palace of
Versailles.  Standing at one of the great
windows of the Hall of Mirrors, the _Galerie
des Glaces_, it often pleased the ruler of
France to admire the Fountain of Latona,
casting its fifty jets of water from the
circular pool below the twin terraces.  Beyond,
the Green Carpet glowed in its emerald
beauty among the clear waters of Versailles.
The furthest fountain that met the eye was
the Basin of Apollo, with its plunging
bronze horses.  In the outer park, that held
the Trianon and the Menagerie, the royal
gaze beheld the cross-shaped Canal which so
often, in the revels that marked the first part
of this reign, bore gay Venetian barges
between the scintillating lights and fireworks
that illumined the shore.  At the right side,
still looking from the rear of the chateau, the
King's beauty-loving eyes dwelt upon the
North Terrace, with its rich growth of
greenery, on the graceful Fountains of the
Pyramid and the Dragon, and above all on
the magnificently soaring fountains of
Neptune's Basin.  At his left were the Terrace
of Flowers, the two stairways that flanked
the Orangery, chief work of Mansard and
especial pride of Louis, and the lake in the
small park named for the Swiss Guards.
Nowhere, it is safe to say, could a place be
found that embraced so many beautiful
garden views at one time.

Bordering the avenue that Le Nôtre
opened through the primitive groves where
Louis XIII once came to hunt--on either
side the broad lane of trees and leaping
waters--groves were laid out, varied in
design and decoration--delectable retreats
where lovers, traitors, diplomats might vow
and plot, beneath the discreet ears of marble
nymphs and goddesses.

Many of the groups and marble figures
that beautified the walks and bowers of
Versailles were conceived by the gifted
Lebrun.  Among his designs were the Four
Seasons, the Four Quarters of the Globe,
the Four Kinds of Poetry (Heroic, Satiric,
Lyric and Pastoral), the Four Periods of
the Day  (Morning, Noon, Twilight,
Night), the Four Elements (Earth, Air,
Fire, Water), the Four Temperaments
(Phlegmatic, Melancholy, Coleric and
Sanguine).  Mythological figures, vases
ornamented with bas-reliefs of Louis XIV and
great men of his reign, fountain groups
representing the chief rivers of France,
water nymphs, sportive babies, beasts in
combat--sculpture massive, graceful,
grotesque--all added their individual lure to
the dells, the walks and the terraces of the
magic palace.

Tile-workers from Flanders, marble-cutters
from the Pyrenees, Italy and Greece,
masons, sculptors, castmen, metal-workers,
bronze colorists--innumerable artisans
trained to meet the exacting tastes of that
Silver Age of Art--lent their skill to the
construction of fountains whose ingenuity and
variety have set a standard for all time for
the makers of kingly estates.  A hundred
sculptors of highest reputation were engaged
to model groups, statues, busts and low
reliefs for the Versailles park, under the
supervision of Lebrun and Mignard.

Ladies of the Court sometimes claimed
the ear of the compliant André Le Nôtre
to suggest fancies that he graciously evolved
with greenery and marbles, with tinkling
streams and bright-winged birds.

The new Orangery, begun by Mansard
on plans submitted by Le Nôtre, consumed
nearly ten years in building, from 1678 to
1687.  Twin stairways, one hundred and
three steps high, united the South Parterre
with the Parterre of the Orangery.  The
shelter erected for the protection of
hundreds of orange trees, which often
blossomed and came to fruit, contained a main
gallery and two lateral galleries, lighted by
twelve large windows.  In the center stood
a huge statue of Louis the Great.  During
warm weather the tubs containing the
orange trees were set out on the Orange
Parterre between the lofty stone stairways.
The Orangery was one of the favorite
retreats of the King.  Besides the royal family,
only those were permitted to stroll among
the fragrant trees that had been granted
special permission to do so.

It was in 1688, after more than a quarter
of a century's labor, the sacrifice of hundreds
of lives, and the expenditure of over fifty
million francs, that the splendid parks and
gardens with their buildings and fountains
were finally achieved.  Le Nôtre's
successors rearranged some of the fountains and
groves; others were renamed.  In
1739-1740 there were placed near the Basin of
Neptune three groups that still lend
adornment to this spot.  This was the final
attempt to decorate the gardens during
the reign of the House of the Bourbons.
Strangers from every clime marveled at the
beauty of the fountains.  The ambassadors
from the Court of Siam were astounded
"that so much of bronze, marble and gilded
metal could find place in a single garden."  A
member of the train of the Ambassador
from England described the park, in 1698,
as "a whole province traced by avenues,
paths, canals, and ornamented in all ways
possible by masterpieces of ancient and
modern art."

The avenues were of white sand, with
grassy by-ways on either side bordered by
elms and iron railings six or seven feet
high.  Beyond these were thickets and
niches where statues, sculptured urns and
benches of white carved stone were placed.
Occasional archways of green led down dim
arbors to new enchantments.  Here and
there were round or star-shaped retreats
whose carpets of grass were sprayed by
murmuring fountains.  In each recess were
marble pedestals, busts, a long bench that
invited repose.

Trees of mature growth were brought in
great numbers from distant parts of France
and Flanders.  Despite difficulties of
transportation, twenty-five thousand trees were
carried on wagons from Artois alone.  The
forests of Normandy were denuded of
yew-trees; from the mountains of _Dauphiné_ the
King's emissaries brought _epicea_ trees, and
India sent chestnut trees for the adornment
of Versailles.

Among these groves Louis delighted to
promenade in the evening, sometimes, in the
_belle saison_, until midnight.  Often he went
on foot, but oftener in a light carriage drawn
by a team of small black horses that had
been given him by the Duke of Tuscany.


THE GRAND TRIANON

This palace decorated with pilasters of
pink marble was not the first building chosen
by the Grand Monarch to occupy the site
at the end of the north arm of the canal of
Versailles.  Ambitious to extend his domain,
the King had purchased and razed a shabby
little village named Trianon, and on its
somewhat dreary site erected for Madame
de Montespan a villa so unpretentious as to
arouse the comment of courtiers accustomed
to the ruler's profligacy at Versailles.  The
vases of faïence that shone among the figures
of gilded lead, the walk ornamented with
Dutch tiles, the cornices of blue and white
stucco, in the Chinese fashion, gave the little
house the name, the Porcelain Trianon.
Poets called it the Palace of Flora because
of the wondrous gardens where rare flowers
perfumed the pleasaunce in summer.  Built
in 1670, probably on designs of Francois
Le Vau, the Porcelain Trianon was
demolished toward the end of the year 1686.

There remains to-day nothing to remind
us of the Villa of Flowers but the gardens
and a fountain for horses near the canal,
where a terrace planted with beautiful trees
overlooks it.  Here Louis XIV often came
in a gondola on summer evenings, when the
Marble Trianon had replaced the Trianon
of Porcelain.  The latter's demolition was
inspired, no doubt, by the urging of the new
favorite, Madame de Maintenon, who found
distasteful this reminder of another's
supremacy in the King's affections.

Moreover, this site continued to please
the King for he recognized its convenience
to the palace, and its accessibility by barge
or carriage.  He determined to build in the
midst of these enchanting woods and blooms
a dwelling less formal than the one at
Versailles, smaller even than the one at Marly,
but more habitable than the porcelain
_maisonette_--a retreat, in short, where, without
wearisome ceremony, he could retire with
certain favored ones of his Court and while
the summer hours away.

The accounts of the King's treasurer
show that the building of the edifice and the
gardens proceeded rapidly during the year
1687.  By the end of November the royal
master found his new residence "well
advanced and very beautiful."  Soon after the
New Year he heard the opera "Roland"
performed here, and was pleased to dine for
the first time within the new walls.  He gave
orders on recurring visits for the embellishment
of the summer palace.  The Trianon
of marble and porphyry, "the most graceful
production of Mansard," was finally
completed in the autumn of 1688.  But the work
of decoration went on under the hands of a
horde of artists almost until the end of the
monarch's reign.

Says an English author of a century ago:
"In the midst of all the austerities imposed
upon him by the ambition of Madame de
Maintenon, the King went to Trianon to
inhale the breath of the flowers which he had
planted there, of the rarest and most
odoriferous kind.  On the infrequent occasions
when the Court was permitted to accompany
him thither to share in his evening collation,
it was a beautiful spectacle to see so many
charming women wandering in the midst of
the flowers on the terrace rising from the
banks of the canal.  The air was so rich
with the mingled perfume of violets, orange
flowers, jessamines, tuberoses, hyacinths
and narcissuses that the King and his
visitors were sometimes obliged to fly from the
overpowering sweets.  The flowers in the
parterres were arranged in a thousand
different figures, which were constantly
changed, so that one might have supposed
it to be the work of some fairy, who, passing
over the gardens, threw upon them each time
a new robe aglow with color."

In the salons and copses where Louis the
Great basked in the somewhat chary smiles
of his latest (and last) favorite, his
grandson, the fifteenth of his name, was to install
the fascinating Madame de Pompadour.
The very apartments once dedicated to the
use of Madame de Maintenon, and later to
Queen Marie Leczinska, became the living-rooms
of the reigning mistress of the heart
of Louis XV.

The Revolution spared the Grand Trianon.
But under pretext of restoring it and
rendering it, according to their tastes, more
habitable, Napoleon First and Louis
Philippe spared it less.  The last king of France
commanded in 1836 the architectural changes
necessary to convert the Trianon into the
royal residence, in place of the chateau of
Versailles.  He stayed here for the last time
in the winter of 1848, before departing for
Dreux.  But, despite changes and mutilations,
the facade and the interior of the
rose-colored palace retain the stamp of the
Great King who sponsored the Gallery of
Mirrors, the Antechamber of the Bull's Eye,
and the Chapel at Versailles.




CHAPTER V

A DAY WITH THE SUN KING

Louis the Magnificent, we must agree with that profuse and sharp-witted
chronicler, the Duke of Saint-Simon, was made for a brilliant Court.  "In
the midst of other men, his figure, his courage, his grace, his beauty,
his grand mien, even the tone of his voice and the majestic and natural
charm of all his person, distinguished him till his death as the King
Bee, and showed that if he had been born only a simple private gentleman,
he would have excelled in fetes, pleasures and gallantry. .  . .  He
liked splendor, magnificence and profusion in everything.  Nobody ever
approached his magnificence."

With sumptuous detail the King's day progressed at Versailles, from the
formal "rising" to the hour when, with equal pomp, the monarch went to
bed.  Before eight o'clock in the morning the waiting-room next the
King's bedchamber was the gathering-place of princes, nobles and officers
of the Court, each fresh from his own laving and be-wigging.  While they
passed the time in low converse, the formal ceremony of the King's
awakening took place behind the gold and white doors of the royal
sleeping-room.  "The Chamber," one of the eleven offices in the service
of the King, comprised four first gentlemen of the Chamber, twenty-four
gentlemen of the Chamber, twenty-four pages of the Chamber, four first
valets of the Chamber, sixteen ushers, thirty-two valets of the Chamber,
two cloak-bearers, two gun-bearers, eight barbers, three watch-makers,
one dentist, and many minor attendants--all under the direction of the
Grand Chamberlain.

A few minutes before eight o'clock it was the duty of the chief _valet de
chambre_ to see that a fire was laid in the King's chamber (if the
weather required one), that blinds were drawn, and candles snuffed.  As
the clock chimed the hour of eight, he approached the embroidered red
velvet curtains of the royal bed with the announcement, "Sire, it is the
hour."

When the curtains were drawn and the royal eyelids lifted upon a new day,
the children of the King were admitted to make their morning obeisance.
The chief physician and surgeon and the King's old nurse then entered to
greet the waking monarch.  While they performed certain offices allotted
them, the Grand Chamberlain was summoned.  The first _valet de chambre_
took his place by the bed and, holding a silver basin beneath the King's
hands, poured on them spirits of wine from a flagon.  The Grand
Chamberlain next presented the vase of Holy Water to the King, who
accepted it and made the Sign of the Cross.  Opportunity was given at
this moment for the princes, or any one having the _grande entrée_, to
speak to the King, after which the Grand Chamberlain offered to His
Majesty a prayer-book, and all present passed from the room except those
privileged to stay for the brief religious service that followed.

Surrounded by princes, nobles and high officers attached to his person,
the King chose his wig for the day, put on the slippers and dressing-gown
presented by the appointed attendant, and stepped outside the massive
balustrade that surrounded his bed.  Now the doors opened to admit those
that had the right to be present while the King donned his silk stockings
and diamond-buckled garters and shoes--acts that he performed "with
address and grace."  On alternate days, when his night-cap had been
removed, the nobles and courtiers were privileged to see the King shave
himself, while a mirror, and, if the morning was dull, lighted candles
were held before his face by the first _valet de chambre_.  Occasionally
His Majesty briefly addressed some one in the room.  The assemblage was,
by this time, augmented by the admission of secretaries and officers
attached to the palace, whose position entitled them to the "first
_entrée_."  When his wig was in place and the dressing of the royal
person had proceeded at the hands of officers of the Wardrobe (there
were, in all, sixty persons attached to this service), the King spoke the
word that opened the ante-chamber doors to the cardinals, ambassadors and
government officials that awaited the ceremony of the _grand lever_, or
"grand rising," so-called in distinction to the more intimate _petit
lever_.  Altogether, no less than one hundred and fifty persons were
present while the King went through the daily ceremony of the rising and
the toilet.

When the Sovereign of France had breakfasted on a service of porcelain
and gold, had permitted his sword and his jeweled orders to be fastened
on, and, from proffered baskets of cravats and handkerchiefs, had made
his choice; when he had prayed by his bedside with cardinals and clergy
in attendance; had granted brief informal interviews, and had attended
mass in the chapel of Versailles, it was his custom to ask for the
Council.  Thrice a week there was a council of State, and twice a week a
finance council.  Thus the mornings passed, with the exception of
Thursday morning, when His Majesty gave "back-stair" audiences known to
but a few, and Friday morning, which was spent with his confessor.

Louis was always a busy man of affairs and never shirked his kingly
duties.  It was a principle of his life to place duty first and pleasure
after.  He told his son in his memoirs that an idle king showed
ingratitude toward God and injustice toward man.  "The requirements and
demands of royalty," he wrote, "which may, at times, appear hard and
irksome, you should find easy and agreeable in high places.  Nothing will
exhaust you more than idleness.  If you tire of great affairs, and give
up to pleasures, you will soon be disgusted with your own idleness.  To
take in the whole world with intelligent eyes, to be learning constantly
what is going on in the provinces and among other nations--the court
secrets, the habits, the weaknesses of princes and foreign ministers, to
see clearly what all people are trying, to their utmost, to conceal, to
fathom the most deep-seated thoughts and convictions of those that attend
us in our own court--what greater pleasure and satisfaction could there
be, if we were simply prompted by curiosity?"

Ordinarily, when at Versailles, the King dined alone at one o'clock,
seated by the middle window of his chamber, overlooking the courtyards,
the Place d'Armes, and the long avenue that led to Paris.  More than
three hundred persons,--stewards, chefs, butlers, gentlemen servants,
carvers, cup-bearers, table-setters, cellarers, gardeners,--were charged
with the care of the kitchens, pantries, cellars, fruit-lofts,
store-rooms, linen closets, and treasuries of gold and silver plate
belonging to the King's immediate household--the _Maison du Roi_.  The
Officers of the Goblet were present when the King was served, having
first, with attendant ceremonies, "made the trial" of napkins and table
implements as a safeguard from evil designs against his life.  Even the
simplest repast served to the King comprised many dishes, for the Grand
Monarch ate heartily, though with discriminating appetite.

Unless the Sovereign dined in the privacy of his bed-chamber, he was
surrounded by princes and courtiers.  At "public dinners" a procession of
well-dressed persons continually passed through the room to observe the
King at his dining.

It was ordained that the King's meat should be brought to the table from
the kitchens in the Grand Commune after this manner: "Two of His
Majesty's guards will march first, followed by the usher of the hall, the
_maître d'hôtel_ with his baton, the gentleman servant of the pantry, the
controller-general, the controller clerk of the Office, and others who
carry the Meat, the equerry of the kitchen and the guard of the plates
and dishes, and behind them two other guards of His Majesty, who are to
allow no one to approach the Meat.

"In the Office called the _Bouche_, the equerry of the Kitchen arranges
the dishes upon a table, and presents two trials of bread to the _maître
d'hôtel_, who makes the trial of the first course, and who, having placed
the meats for the trial upon these two trials of bread, gives one to the
equerry of the Kitchen, who eats it, while the other is eaten by the
_maître d'hôtel_.  Afterward the gentleman servant takes the first dish,
the second is taken by the controller, and the other officers of the
Kitchen take the rest.  They advance in this order: the _maître d'hôtel_,
having his baton, marches at the head, preceded some steps by the usher
of the hall, carrying his wand, which is the sign of his office, and in
the evening bearing a torch as well.  When the Meat, accompanied by three
of the body-guards with carbines on their shoulders, has arrived (that
is, in the first antechamber, where the King is to dine), the _maître
d'hôtel_ makes a reverence to the _nef_.  The gentleman servant, holding
the first dish, places it upon the table where the _nef_ is, and having
received a trial portion from the gentleman servant in charge of the
trial table, he makes the trial himself and places his dish upon the
trial table.  The gentleman servant having charge of this table takes the
other dishes from the hands of those who carry them, and places them also
on the trial table.  After the trial of them has been made they are
carried by the other gentlemen servants to the table of the King.

"The first course being on the table, the _maître d'hôtel_ with his
baton, preceded by the usher of the hall with his wand, goes to inform
the King; and when His Majesty has arrived at table the _maître d'hôtel_
presents a wet napkin to him, of which trial has been made in the
presence of the officer of the Goblet, and takes it again from the King's
hands.  During the dinner the gentleman servant in charge of the trial
table continues to make trial in the presence of the officers of the
Goblet and of the Kitchen of all that they bring for each course.

"When His Majesty desires to drink, the cup-hearer cries at once in a
loud tone, 'The drink for the King!' makes a reverence to the King, and
goes to the sideboard to take from the hands of the chief of the
Wine-cellars the salver and cup of gold, and the two crystal decanters of
wine and water.  He returns, preceded by the chiefs of the Goblet and the
Wine-cellars, and the three, having reached the King's table, make a
reverence to His Majesty.  The chief of the Goblet, standing near the
King, holds a little trial cup of silver-gilt, into which a gentleman
servant pours a small quantity of wine and water from the decanters.  A
portion of this the chief of the Goblet pours into a second trial cup
which is presented by his assistant, who, in turn, hands it to the
gentleman servant.  The chief and the gentleman servant make the trial,
and when the latter has handed his cup to the chief, that officer returns
both cups to his assistant.  When the trial has been made in this manner
in the King's sight, the gentleman servant, making a reverence to the
King, presents to His Majesty the cup of gold and the golden salver on
which are the decanters.  The King pours out the wine and water, and
having drunk, replaces the cup upon the salver.  The gentleman servant
makes another reverence to the King, and returns the salver and all upon
it to the chief of the Wine-cellars, who carried it to the side-board."

The ceremony of tasting the King's wine was most impressive, and it was
regarded as a necessary and effective safeguard against poisonous attacks
or deleterious effects on His Majesty's august health.  The thought is
suggested, however, that the test could have been effective only in case
of immediate or quick-working poison.  A slow and insidious drug--and
there were experts in such concoctions in those days--would surely have
passed the taster's test and affected the King in time.  The test was but
a mere formality, however, for Louis was the Most Adored Monarch.  As one
chronicler has observed, "He was not only majestic, he was amiable.
Those that surrounded him, the members of his family, his ministers, his
domestics, loved him."  Poison played no part in his career.  That subtle
method of attack was reserved for Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, on both
of whom it was attempted more than once.

The carver, having taken his place before the table of the King,
presented and uncovered all the dishes, and when His Majesty told him to
do so, or made him a sign, he removed them, handing them to the
plate-changer or to his assistants.  He changed the King's plate and
napkin from time to time, and cut the meats when the King did not cut
them himself.

On rare occasions, when the King was in residence at Versailles, his
brother dined with him.  But large, formal dinners were rare, and women
were seldom at the King's table except on grand occasions.

Upon leaving the table, Saint-Simon tells us, "the King immediately
entered his cabinet.  That was the time for distinguished people to speak
to him.  He stopped at the door a moment to listen, then entered; very
rarely did any one follow him, never without asking permission to do so;
and for this few had the courage. . . .  The King amused himself by
feeding his dogs, and remained with them more or less time, then asked
for his wardrobe, changed before the very few distinguished people it
pleased the first gentleman of the Chamber to admit there, and
immediately went out by the back stairs into the court of marble to get
the air. . . .  He went out for three objects: stag-hunting, once or more
each week; shooting in his parks (and no man handled a gun with more
grace or skill), once or twice each week; and walking in his gardens, and
to see his workmen."

The King was fond of hunting and the chase held an important part in the
service of the royal household.  The conditions of the sport were
determined with a formality in keeping with the other affairs of
Versailles.  There were two divisions of the chase--the hunting and the
shooting.  The first had to do with the chase of the stag, deer, wild
boar, wolf, fox and the hare.  The shooting had to do with smaller game.
Here was also falconry, though in this Louis was not particularly
interested.  The chase was conducted by the Grand Huntsman of France, and
his duties were enormous and varied.  Under him the Captain General of
the Toils kept the woods of Versailles well stocked with stag, deer,
boars, and other animals caught in the forests of France.  Some idea of
the pomp and ceremony of the hunt may be obtained from the following
account which was printed in the _Mercure Galant_ in 1707:

"The toils were placed in the glades of Bombon.  In the inclosure there
were a large number of stags, wild boars, roebucks, and foxes.  The court
arrived there.  The King, the Queen of England (the wife of James II,
then in exile), her son, Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, and Madame (the
Duchesse d'Orleans, wife of Monsieur) were in the same carriage, and all
the princesses and the ladies followed in the carriages and _calèches_ of
the king.  A very large number of noblemen on horseback accompanied the
carriages.  Within the inclosure there were platforms, arranged with
seats covered with tapestry for the ladies, and many riding-horses for
the nobles who wished to attack the game with swords or darts.  They
killed sixteen of the largest beasts, and some foxes.  Mgr. le Duc de
Berry slew several.  This chase gave much pleasure on account of the
brilliancy of the spectacle, and the large number of nobles who
surrounded the toils.  A multitude of people had climbed into the trees,
and by their diversity they formed an admirable background."

Stag hunting was even more impressive in ceremonial details.  After the
chase the "quarry" was usually held by torchlight at Versailles, in one
of the inner courts, and the ceremony of the quarry was as follows: "When
His Majesty had made known his intentions on the subject, all the
huntsmen with their horns and in hunting-dress came to the place where
the quarry was to be made.  On the arrival of the King, who was also in
hunting-dress, the grand huntsman, who had received two wands of office,
gave one to the King, and retained the other.  The dogs were held under
the whip about the carcass of the stag until the grand huntsman, having
received the order from the King, gave the sign with his wand that they
should be set at liberty.  The horns sounded, and the huntsmen, who while
the hounds were held under the whip had cried, 'Back, dogs!  Back!'
shouted now, 'Hallali, valets!  Hallali!'  When the quarry had been made,
that is to say, when the flesh had been torn from the bones, a valet took
the _forhu_ (the belly of the stag, washed and placed on the end of a
forked stick), and called the dogs, crying, '_Tayaut, tayaut_!' and threw
the _forhu_ into the midst of the pack, where it was devoured at once.
At this instant the fanfares redoubled, and finished by sounding the
retreat.  The King returned the wand to the grand huntsman, who at the
head of all the huntsmen followed His Majesty."

In his promenades at Versailles and Trianon any courtiers that chose to
do so were permitted to follow the King.  On his return from out-door
recreation His Majesty, after again changing his costume, remained in his
cabinet resting or working.  Frequently he passed some time in the
apartments of Madame de Maintenon.

At ten o'clock the captain of the guard announced supper in the chamber
between the Hall of the King's Guards and the antechamber called "Bull's
Eye."  This meal was always on a pretentious scale, and was attended at
table by the royal children and numerous courtiers and ladies.  When the
last course had been served the King retired to his bedchamber and there
for a few moments received all his Court, before passing into his
Cabinet, where he spent something less than an hour in the company of his
immediate household, his brother seated in an arm-chair, the princesses
upon stools, and the Dauphin and all the other princes standing.

When the King had bid the company goodnight he entered his sleeping-room,
where were already the courtiers privileged to attend the ceremony of the
_coucher_, or going-to-bed.  At the _grand coucher_ the King, being
formally divested of his hat, gloves, cane and sword, knelt by the
balustrade about his bed, while an almoner murmured a prayer as he held a
lighted candle above the royal head.  When the King had risen from his
knees he gave to the first _valet de chambre_ his watch and the holy
relics he was accustomed to wear, and proceeded through the assemblage to
his chair.  This was the moment when, with regal mien, the Sun King
bestowed the candle upon whomever he wished to honor--a ceremony brief,
trifling, but significant of the Monarch of Monarchs in its gracious
portent.

To the Master of the Wardrobe fell the task of removing the King's coat
and vest; the diamond buckles of the right and left garters were
unfastened respectively by the first _valet de chambre_ and the first
valet of the wardrobe, and the valets of the Chamber withdrew with the
kingly shoes and breeches while the pages of the Chamber presented
slippers and dressing-gown.   The latter was held as a screen while the
shirt was removed, and the night-dress was accepted from the hands of a
royal prince, or the Grand Chamberlain.

Having put on the dressing-gown, the King, with an inclination of the
head, dismissed the courtiers, to whom the ushers cried, "Gentlemen, pass
on!"

All those that were entitled to remain for the _petit coucher_--princes,
clergymen, officers, chosen intimates--then disposed themselves about the
bedchamber while the King submitted to the hands of his coiffeur and
received from the Grand Master of the Wardrobe the night-cap and
handkerchiefs.  After bathing his face and hands in a silver basin held
by a royal prince or grand master, the _petit coucher_ was at an end.
The bathing apartments of Versailles were numerous and luxuriously
appointed, but, though the most trivial details in the daily life of His
Majesty were attended with imposing circumstance, there is no record of a
Ceremony of the King's Bath, nor do we know of any noble order at the
Grand Monarch's court that held the title of Knights of the Bath.

When the assemblage that witnessed the _petit coucher_ in the royal
apartment had dwindled one by one, according to precedent, the Master of
Versailles was, at last, free to do as he chose,--to play with his dogs
in an adjoining cabinet, or take his ease in pleasing solitude.  Then, in
the familiar words of Samuel Pepys' immortal diary, "Home, and to bed."
Outside the gilded balustrade the first _valet de chambre_ slept on a
folding cot.  "Beyond that balustrade, by the faint candle-light, there
loomed among the shadows a white-plumed canopy and crimson curtains.  The
Grand Monarch slept."




CHAPTER VI

GOLDEN DAYS AND RED LETTER NIGHTS

_The Gayety and Fashion of Versailles Life.  The Prodigal Frivolities
and Diversions of the Court._

The ceremonious routine of the days at Versailles was enlivened at
certain times of the year by festivities of astounding brilliance, and,
on occasion, by gorgeous receptions offered to visiting rulers and
ambassadors, It has already been related that the arrival of Louis XIV
and his family at Versailles in the fall of 1663 was celebrated by a
fete at which a troupe headed by Molière was heard in a piece by the
great dramatist called Impromptu de Versailles, In the month of May,
1664, Louis commanded a performance of "Pleasures of the Enchanted
Isle," in which his favorite actor and playwright furnished the comedy,
Lully the music and the ballets, and an Italian mechanician the
decorations and illuminations.  On the first day there was tilting at
the ring, in which pastime Louis XIV played a part, wearing a
diamond-embroidered costume.  The next day, on an outdoor stage,
Molière and his company played the "_Princesse d'Élide_."  There
followed ballets, races, tourneys and a lottery, "in which the prizes
were pieces of furniture, silverware and precious stones."

In September, 1665, a hunt was organized in the woods of Versailles, at
which the royal ladies wore Amazonian habits.  A mid-winter day in the
year 1667 was chosen for a tournament "that over-passed the limits of
magnificence."  The Queen herself led a cortege of Court beauties on a
white horse that was set off by brocaded and gem-sewn trappings.  The
_Gazette_ of 1667 described the appearance of the youthful Master of
Versailles at this tournament, he being "not less easily recognized by
the lofty mien peculiar to him than by his rich Hungarian habit covered
with gold and precious stones, his helmet with waving plumes, his horse
that was arrayed in magnificent accouterments and a jeweled
saddle-cloth."

Again in the summers of 1668 and 1672 Molière and Lully entertained the
guests at the King's chateau, while in the gardens there were statues,
vases and chandeliers so lighted as to give the impression that they
glowed with interior names.

In the summer of 1674, Molière "was no longer alive to arrange dramatic
performances among the green and flowery coppices of Versailles.  But
there was no lack of entertainment at the splendid fêtes that marked
that year.  We have the recital of Félebien, a fastidious chronicler of
Court doings, referring to this period of merry-making, which lasted
during most of the summer and fall.

"The King," says Félebien, "ordained as soon as he arrived at
Versailles that festivities be arranged at once, and that, at
intervals, new diversions should be prepared for the pleasure of the
Court.  The things most noticeable at such times as these were the
promptitude, minute pains and silent ease with which the King's orders
were invariably executed.  Like a miracle--all in a moment--theaters
rose, wooded places were made gay with fountains, collations were
spread, and a thousand other things were accomplished that one would
have supposed would require a long time and a vast bustle of workers."

The "Grand Fêtes" occupied six days of the months of July and August.
The celebrations of the fourth of July began with a feast laid on the
verdant site later usurped by the basin called the Baths of Apollo.
Here the beauty of nature was enhanced by an infinity of ornate vases
filled with garlands of flowers.  Fruits of every clime were served on
platters of porcelain, in silver baskets and in bowls of priceless
glass.  In the evening the Court attended a production of
_"Alceste_"--an opera by Quinault and Lully, executed by artists from
the Royal Academy of Music.  The stage was set in the Marble Court.
The windows facing the court were ablaze with two rows of candles.  The
walls of the chateau were screened with orange trees, festooned with
flowers, illumined by candelabra made of silver and crystal.  The
marble fountain in the center of the court was surrounded by tall
candlesticks and blossoming urns.  The spraying waters escaped through
vases of flowers, that their falling should not interrupt the voices of
those on the stage.  Artificial waters, silver-sconced tapers, bowers
of fragrant shrubs united to create the richest of settings for this
outdoor theater.

It was the King's wish that the grounds of the little "porcelain house"
at Trianon be chosen as the scene of the second fête, which took place
a week later.  In an open-air enclosure, decorated by "a prodigious
quantity of flowers," the guests listened to the "_Êglogue de
Versailles_," composed for the occasion by Lully, leader of the
_Petits-Violons_, Louis' favorite Court orchestra.  Afterwards all the
nobles and their fair companions returned to sup at Versailles in a
wood where the Basin of the Obelisk now is.

Seven days later, at the third fete of the series, the King gave a
banquet to ladies in the pavilion at the Menagerie.  The guests were
conveyed in superbly decorated gondolas down the Grand Canal.  In a
large boat were violinists and hautboy-players that made sweet music.
Finally, in a theater arranged this time before the Grotto, all the
ladies were regaled with a performance of "_La Malade Imaginaire_," the
last of Molière's comedies.

For the fourth festal day, the twenty-eighth of July, the King
commanded a fête of surpassing beauty.  The feast was laid in the
center of the _Théâtre-d'Eau_.  The steps forming the amphitheater
served as tables for the arrangement of the viands.  Orange trees heavy
with blossoms and golden fruit, apple trees, apricot trees, trees laden
with peaches, and tall oleanders--all set out in ornamental tubs; three
hundred vessels of fine porcelain filled with fruit; one hundred and
twenty baskets of dried preserves; four hundred crystal cups containing
ices, an uncounted number of carafes sparkling with rare liqueurs--all
created a picture of colorful luxury, which, we are assured, struck
those that looked upon it as "most agreeable."  Threading their musical
murmurings through all the laughter and badinage, the tossing jets of
the pyramidal fountains fell away to pools and green-bordered streams.

Lully's opera, "_Cadmus et Hermione_" Was sung in a theater arranged at
the end of the Allée of the Dragon.  At its close every one made a tour
of the park in open vehicles, lighted by torches carried by lackeys,
and all assisted at an exhibition of fire-works on the canal.  The
evening ended with a supper in the Marble Court.  Here an illuminated
column was placed on an immense pedestal, while around it was disposed
a table with seats for fifty persons.

The fifth gala day was marked by the presentation to the King of one
hundred and seven flags and standards that Condé, the illustrious
general, had taken at the battle of Senef.  In the evening the company
toured the park of Versailles, occupying thirty six-horse carriages.
After a supper served in a forest retreat the invited ones witnessed a
performance of "Iphigénie," a new tragedy by Racine, which was most
admirably played by the royal troupe, and much applauded by the Court.
There followed a grand illumination of the great fountain at the head
of the canal--a display whose beauty and ingenuity "surprised every
one"--even the luxury-surfeited guests of Versailles.  Besides an
encircling balustrade six feet in height and ornamented with _fleurs de
lys_ and the arms of the King (all of which glowed with a golden light
most lovely to look upon), there were high pedestals that appeared to
be of transparent marble, with ornaments representing Apollo and the
Sun, whose device Louis, instigator of all the splendor of Versailles,
had adopted as his own insignia.  These decorations were made after
designs by Lebrun.

On the night of the thirty-first of August, the sixth and last day of
the fêtes, the Court witnessed what seemed to be indeed a magic
spectacle.  "His Majesty," it is recorded, "coming out of the château
at one o'clock in the morning, beneath a starless sky, suddenly beheld
about him a miraculous rain of lights.  Ail the parterres glittered.
The grand terrace in front of the château was bordered by a double row
of lights.  The steps and railings of the horseshoe, all the walls, all
the fountains, all the reservoirs, shone with myriad flames.  The
borders of the Grand Canal were adorned with statues and architectural
decorations, behind which lights had been placed to make them
transparent.  The King, the Queen, and all the Court took their seats
in richly ornamented gondolas.  Boats filled with musicians followed
them, and Echo repeated the sounds of an enchanted harmony."

Thus ended the fêtes of 1674--the last of their kind that were given by
Louis XIV.

The Versailles calendar of events was divided into three periods: the
season of the winter carnival, the pious observances of Easter, and the
summer-time festivities.  Ordinarily, in the winter months, there was a
hunt on foot or horseback almost every day.  In the warm season the
Court often took part in a promenade by boat on the Grand Canal,
followed by a concert and a feast for the ladies at Trianon or at the
Menagerie.  Ladies were always invited in great numbers to such
parties.  Sometimes they walked among the orange trees or made a tour
of the gardens in light carriages, or repaired to the stables to watch
the trainers putting the royal mounts through their paces.  And always
there were games of chance, for gambling was the ruling passion of the
Court.

From the record of Dangeau we read a description of a gay tournament
that took place in the riding-school of the Great Stables of Versailles
on two successive June days:

"The King and Mme. la Dauphine (wife of the heir to the throne) dined
at an early hour, and on leaving table, the King and Monseigneur
entered a carriage.  Mme. la Dauphine and many ladies followed in other
carriages.  In the court of the ministers, they found all the cavaliers
of the tournament drawn up in two lines; the pages and lackeys were
there also.  Monseigneur mounted a horse at the head of one company; M.
le Duc de Bourbon was at the head of the other.  The King took his seat
in the place prepared for him.

"The cavaliers first rode round the courtyard of the chateau, passing
under the windows of the young Duc de Bourgogne (grandson of the King)
who was on the balcony.  Then they rode out of the gate and down the
Avenue de Paris, and entered the riding-school of the Great Stables by
a gate made near the Kennels.  After riding in procession before the
raised seats of the court, they took their posts, twenty cavaliers in
each corner, with their pages and grooms behind them; the drums and
trumpets at the barrier.  The subject of the tournament was the Wars of
Granada, and the cavaliers represented the Spaniards and the Moors.
Monseigneur rode a tilt with the Due de Bourbon, and Messieurs de
Vendôme and de Brionne rode at the same time to make the figure. . . .
There were three courses run for the prize, which was won by the Prince
de Lorraine.  It was a sword ornamented with diamonds, and he received
it from the hand of the King.  After the tournament all the cavaliers
conducted the King to the courtyard of the château, lance in hand, and
the heads of the companies saluted him with their swords.

"On the fifth, a second tournament was held, and, in spite of the bad
weather, the King found it more beautiful than the first.  Many ladies
were present.  The Russian envoys, who had not seen the previous fête,
occupied seats at the King's right.  During a shower, the spectators
retired quickly, but as soon as it had passed, all the seats were
filled again.  The Marquis de Plumartin won the prize.  It was a sword
adorned with diamonds, but more costly than that won by the Prince de
Lorraine."

The Fête of Kings celebrated each year was a brilliant affair at
Versailles.  Then the Hall of Mirrors and Salons of War and Peace were
illumined by hundreds upon hundreds of twinkling tapers, while over the
floor glided a throng of slippered feet to the beat of strings and
hautboys.  At the suppers, which preceded and followed the dancing,
seventy-two Swiss guards served the guests, each one distinguished by a
ribbon corresponding with the color of the table to whose service he
was assigned.  It was the King's custom to retire from the revel with
regal formalities at one hour after midnight.  But the feasting and
dancing continued many times until rosy dawn stole in the windows and
paled the candle-light.  Besides balls, concerts, plays, games of
chance, masquerades, all the Court was invited every week--between
October and Easter--to take part in the _appartements_ or receptions
given by the King.  These soirées began at seven o'clock and lasted
till ten.  The chief diversion was card-playing.  The King, the Queen
and all the princes so far unbent as to play with their guests at the
same tables, and move about without ceremony, conversing, listening to
the music of Lully's band, watching a minuet or a gavotte, eating and
drinking, or bestowing special favors upon courtiers that engaged their
momentary fancy.

Sometimes the losses of the players at the tables were enormous; again,
nobles counted their gains by the hundred thousands.  The youthful
granddaughter of the King, the Duchess of Bourgogne, lost at one time a
sum equaling 600,000 francs, which her doting grandfather paid, as he
also paid debts of the Duke of Bourgogne.  During one night's play the
King himself lost a sum totaling "many millions."  On occasion the
courtiers were entertained at festivities arranged for the heir to the
throne, or by the cardinal that was in residence at the chateau.
During masked balls held in the carnival season dancers sometimes
changed their costumes two or three times in an evening--one worn under
another being revealed by pulling a silken cord.  Often well-tempered
confusion was caused by gay subterfuges--an exchange of masks, or the
imposing of one mask on another.  The costumes were sumptuous beyond
words.  "It is impossible to witness at one time more jewelry," naïvely
recited the _Mercure_ in setting forth the richness of a _cercle_ at
which the Court was present in 1707.

Let us read further from the _Mercure_ of the diversions that drove
dull care away at a Court carnival: "There have been this winter five
balls in five different apartments at Versailles, all so grand and so
beautiful that no other royal house in the world can show the like.
Entrance was given to masks only, and no persons presented themselves
without being disguised, unless they were of very high rank. . . .
People invent grotesque disguises, they revive old fashions, they
choose the most ridiculous things, and seek to make them as amusing as
possible. . . .  Mgr. le Dauphin changed his disguise eight or ten
times each evening.  M. Bérain had need of all his wit to furnish these
disguises, and of all his ingenuity to get them made up, since there
was so little time between one ball and another.  The prince did not
wish to be recognized, and all sorts of extraordinary disguises were
invented for him; frequently under the figures that concealed him, one
could not have told whether the person thus masked was tall or short,
fat or thin.  Sometimes he had double masks, and under the first a mask
of wax so well made that, when he took off his first mask, people
fancied they saw the natural face, and he deceived everybody.   Nothing
can equal the enjoyment which Mgr. le Dauphin takes in all these
diversions, nor the rapidity with which he changes his disguises.  He
leaves all his officers without being fatigued, although he works
harder at dressing and undressing himself than they do, and he danced
much.  This prince shows in the least things, in his horsemanship, and
in the ardor with which he follows the chase, what pleasure he will
take some day in commanding armies.  But could one expect less from the
son of Louis the Great!

"The first of the five balls," continues the correspondent, "was given
by M. le Grand, in his apartments in the new wing of Versailles.  The
ball commenced with a masquerade.  They danced a minuet and a jig; but
only Mlle. de Nantes danced in the latter.  Mlle. de Nantes was
especially admired when she danced, and made so great an impression
that people stood on chairs to see her better, Mgr. le Dauphin came to
the masquerade with M. le Prince de la Roche-sur-Yon and many other
notables.  He was in a sedan-chair, accompanied by a number of
merry-andrews and dwarfs.  He changed his disguise four or five times
during the ball, which lasted until four o'clock in the morning. . . .
The second ball was given by Mgr. le Dauphin in the hall of his Guards,
which forms the entrance to his apartments.  M. le Duc gave the third,
which was magnificent.  Some days after it was the turn of the Cardinal
de Bouillon to receive the court."

"From just before Candlemas day to Easter of the year 1700," wrote
Saint-Simon, "nothing was heard of but balls and pleasures of the
Court.  The King gave at Versailles and Marly several masquerades, by
which he was much amused under pretext of amusing the Duchesse de
Bourgogne.

"No evening passed on which there was not a ball.  The chancellor's
wife gave one--which was a fête the most gallant and the most
magnificent possible.  There were different rooms for the fancy-dress
ball, for the masqueraders, for a superb collation, for shops of all
countries, Chinese, Japanese, etc., where many singular and beautiful
things were sold, but no money taken; there were presents for the
Duchesse de Bourgogne and the ladies.  Everybody was especially
diverted at this entertainment, which did not finish until eight
o'clock in the morning.  Madame de Saint-Simon and I passed the last
three weeks of this time without ever seeing the day.  Certain dancers
were allowed to leave off dancing only at the same time as the Duchesse
de Bourgogne.  One morning, when I wished to escape too early, the
duchesse caused me to be forbidden to pass the doors of the salon;
several of us had the same fate.  I was delighted when Ash Wednesday
arrived, and I remained a day or two dead-beat."

The _Mercure_ describes the fête given by the wife of the Chancellor of
France at her mansion beyond the palace grounds:

"Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne, learning that Mme. la Chancelière
wished to give her a ball, received the proposition with much joy.
Although there were but eight days in which to prepare for it, Mme. la
Chancelière resolved to give the princess in one evening all the
diversions that people usually take during all the carnival
period--namely, comedy, fair, and ball.  When the evening came,
detachments of Swiss were posted in the street and in the courtyard,
with many servants of Mme. la Chancelière, so that there was no
confusion at the gates or in the court, which was brightly lighted with
torches. . . .  The ball-room was lighted by ten chandeliers and by
magnificent gilded candelabra.  At one end, on raised seats, were the
musicians, hautboys and violins, in fancy dress with plumed caps.  In
front of the velvet-covered benches for the courtiers were three
arm-chairs, one for Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne, and the others for
Monsieur and the Madame.  Beyond the ball-room, across the landing of
the staircase, was another hall, brilliantly lighted, in which were
hautboys and violins, and this hall was for the masks, who came in such
numbers that the ball-room could not have contained them all.

". . . After remaining about an hour at the ball, Mme. la Chancelière
and the Comte de Pontchartrain conducted Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne
into another hall, filled with lights and mirrors, where a theater had
been erected to furnish the diversion of a comedy.  Only about one
hundred people were allowed to enter the hall of comedy, and the
princes and princesses of the blood, being masked, took no rank there.
Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne and Madame had arm-chairs in the center
of the hall.  The Duchesse de Bourgogne was surprised to see a splendid
theater, adorned with her arms and monogram. . . .  As soon as the
princess was seated, Bari, the famous mountebank of Paris, came forward
and asked her protection against the doctors, and having extolled the
excellence of his remedies, and the marvels of his secrets, he offered
to the princess as a little diversion a comedy such as they sometimes
played at Paris.  There was given then a little comedy which Mme. le
Chancelière had got M. Dancourt to write expressly for that fête.  All
the actors were from the company of the comedians of the king.  They
played to perfection, and received much praise. . . .  At the end of
the comedy, Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne was conducted into another
hall, where a superb collation had been prepared in an ingenious
manner.  At one end of the hall, in a half-circle, were five booths, in
which were merchants, clad in the costumes of different countries; a
French pastry-cook, a seller of oranges and lemons, an Italian
lemonade-seller, a seller of sweetmeats, a vendor of coffee, tea and
chocolate.  They were from the king's musicians, and sung their wares,
accompanied by music, at the sides of the booths, and had pages to
serve the guests.   The booths were splendidly painted and gilded,
adorned with lusters and flowers, and bore the arms and cipher of Mme.
la Duchesse de Bourgogne.  At the back of each booth a large mirror
reflected the whole. . . .  The Duchesse de Bourgogne left this hall,
after the collation, delighted with all that she had seen and heard.
Since the ball-room was so crowded with masks, the princess returned to
the hall of comedy, where they held a smaller court ball until two
o'clock, when she went to the grand ball to see the masks.  She was
much amused there until four in the morning.  When Mme. la Chancelière
and the Comte de Pontchartrain conducted her to the foot of the
staircase, she thanked them much for the pleasure they had given her.
This fete brought many congratulations to Mme. la Chancelière."

La Palatine, Duchess of Orleans, has left among her letters a
description of her costume on a day of august ceremonies.  "The crowd
was so great," she wrote, "that we had to wait a quarter of an hour at
the door of each salon before entering, and I was wearing a robe and an
overskirt so intolerably heavy that I could scarcely stand erect.  My
costume was of gold woven with black chenille flowers, and my jewels
were pearls and diamonds.  Monsieur had on a coat of black velour
embroidered with gold, and wore all his great diamonds.  The coat of my
son was embroidered with gold and a variety of other colors and it was
covered with gems.  The robe my daughter wore was made of green velour
threaded with gold and garnished with rubies and diamonds.  In her hair
was an ornament designed in brilliants and sprays of rubies."

For these extraordinary functions the King and his entourage bedecked
themselves with priceless ornaments.  When in 1714 the Sun King
received the ambassador of Siam, he chose a habit of black and gold
bordered with diamonds, valued at 12,500,000 _livres_, or about
$2,500,000.  The weight was so great that he was compelled to change it
soon after dinner.  Besides the jewelry he wore on his own person, the
royal host loaned for this event a garniture of diamonds and pearls to
the Duke of Maine and another garniture of colored stones to the Count
of Toulouse.

When the King of France received foreign ambassadors, or celebrated,
with pomp befitting his tastes, marriages and births in the royal
family, the Court, weightily, stiffly, sumptuously appareled, thronged
through the Hall of Mirrors--the Grand Gallery--in spectacular defile.

These brilliant tableaux, the most brilliant of all Europe, had their
source in the King's love of splendor and profusion.  It was to please
him that his courtiers and favorites staked fortunes at the gaming
tables, outran each other in devising costly dresses, contrived novel
equipages and unique dwellings.  In his superb Court he found all the
elements required to satisfy his pride, and glorify his reign.  The Sun
King was the most profligate host in all history.  Determined to outdo
the fabulous luxury of the feasts of Lucullus in early Roman times, and
to outshine the storied splendor of Oriental princes, he entertained
his Court and guests with lavish liberality, superbly indifferent to
the cost of his boundless extravagance and considering not at all the
day of reckoning that must come later for the Bourbon dynasty in
France.  To glow with commanding brilliance, like the Sun, in the
center of his royal firmament, to overwhelm his subjects with his
grandeur, and to dazzle the eyes of other nations--that was the
ambition that Louis cherished and achieved.




CHAPTER VII

THE WOMEN OF VERSAILLES

We have pictured the Sun King and his imposing Court.  We have told the
story of the founding and construction of his luxurious palace, and
described the spectacles and entertainments that made Versailles the
most brilliant spot in Europe.  We have said nothing of the women of
Versailles and the part they played in the life of the Court and the
influence they exerted in the affairs of France.  Some of these women,
though occupying the Queen's apartments and sharing the crown, lived an
existence of bitter disappointment and thwarted affection--Queens in
name only, and serving only as mothers of princes and future monarchs.
Such were Marie Thérèse, the heart-sick wife of Louis XIV, and Marie
Leczinska, the sad consort of Louis XV.  About them were many brilliant
women that graced the palace with their beauty and charm and made
romantic court history that the chroniclers of the time fed on eagerly,
and that the world has devoured eagerly ever since.  Rich were those
years in intrigue and adventure, and many and rapid were the changing
fortunes of favorites.  No one could tell what a day might bring forth.
The woman of one hour might go the next.  Self-interest stimulated the
ambitious seekers of favors to constant endeavor.  Grim, determined
strugglers for social preference frequented the salons with smiling
faces that sometimes glowed with pride and satisfaction, but more often
veiled rankling disappointment and carking care.

Even the great Madame de Maintenon, who successfully weathered the
storms of the social struggle for so many years, once exclaimed: "I can
hold out no longer.  I wish that I were dead."  And a short time before
her demise, she observed bitterly, "One atones in full for youthful
joys and gratification.  I can see, as I review my life, that since I
was twenty-two years of age--when my good fortune began--I have not
been free from suffering for a moment; and through my life my
sufferings increased."

If Madame de Maintenon confessed so much in her last days, what must
the other favorites of Versailles have experienced and felt?  Each wore
the mask of Comedy, with Tragedy gnawing beneath.  These brilliant
women, who seemed at times to be so happy, were little more than
slaves, and we find them disclosed in the memoirs of the time as
"penitents who make their apologies to history and lay bare to future
generations their miseries, vexations and the remorse of their souls."
The demands of Court life were constant and relentlessly exacting.  The
favorites, each one striving to outdo the others, knew not, from day to
day, what way their destinies were leading them.

"If," exclaimed Saint-Amand, "among these favorites of the King, there
were a single one that had enjoyed her shameful triumphs in peace, that
could have recalled herself happy in the midst of her luxury and
splendor, one might have concluded that, from a merely human point of
view, it is possible to find happiness in vice.  But no; there was not
even one.  The Duchesse de Châteauroux and Marquise de Pompadour were
no happier than the Duchesse de la Vallière and the Marquise de
Montespan."

The Sun King built Versailles and established his Court there.  It was
the women that made the life of Versailles--and gave their lives to it.
The Court was a dazzling spider's web, and many a beautiful favorite
became fatally entangled in its glittering meshes.

Louis XIV, when twenty-two years of age, married Marie Thérèse,
daughter of Philip IV of Spain.  If he had been a simple, respectable
young man of France, he might then have settled down and finished the
story by "living happily ever after."  But he was not.  He was the King
of France; so he pursued the royal road that his antecedents had blazed
before him; and the way was made easy and pleasant for him.  In
treading the "primrose path of dalliance" he allowed no grass to grow
under his feet.

Louis made Marie Thérèse his Queen and consort in 1660, and it was only
a year later when his fancy was caught by the dainty and attractive
little Françoise Louise La Vallière.  She was scarcely more than
seventeen years of age when she became the favorite of the King.  She
was a delicate little creature, slightly lame, but most feminine in her
appeal, and she caught the King by her very girlishness, as she played
like a child with him in the parks of the palace.  She was a simple
maid of honor to Queen Marie Thérèse when she first attracted the
notice of the King.  A few years afterward she was created a duchess
and, as such, retained the royal favor for a time.  Then remorse seized
upon La Vallière; she took the veil, and, as Sister Louise of Mercy,
entered a convent, and gave her life in religious solitude to expiate
the grief that she had caused the good Queen.  The atonement was only
just, for Louise de Vallière had made Marie Thérèse suffer bitterly the
tortures of jealousy and offended conjugal affection.  The Queen was
not a woman of unusual intelligence, but she was sensible, tactful, and
had a certain native dignity that compelled respect.  She was,
moreover, devoutly religious and devotedly attached to her children.
She shared her royal Husband's conviction as to the divine right of
kings, and what he did she considered could not be wrong.  Of all the
women that were associated with Louis, no one more truly admired him
nor was more ardently devoted to him than his Queen.  When they were
first married, Louis treated Marie Thérèse with kindly consideration.
He shed tears of sympathy and anguish while she suffered in giving
birth to her first child.  During the following dozen years, Marie
Thérèse bore six sons and daughters, but all were lost except the
Dauphin, and he died before ascending the throne.  These bereavements
sank deep into her heart and left a wound there that never healed.
Added to this was the spectacle that she was called on repeatedly to
witness of the King's infidelities with a succession of favorites.  She
was compelled to take these women into her household and make
companions of them, knowing the while that they were really her rivals
and persecutors.  She was often heard to cry out concerning one or
other of the favorites, "That woman will be the death of me."  La
Vallière she could afford to forgive, for the first mistress paid for
the brief royal favor that she enjoyed by thirty-six years of rigid and
austere penitence.  Other favorites, however, pursued a path of pride,
lowering their heads only under the "bludgeonings of Fate."  Yet most
of them, while Marie Thérèse lived, respected and honored her and felt
a certain sense of shame in her presence.  The brilliant and beautiful
Madame de Montespan said, some time before her scandalous relations
with the King had fairly begun, "God preserve me from being the King's
mistress.  If I were so I should feel ashamed to face the Queen."  And
yet Madame de Montespan, within a short time, assumed the role of
favorite, and carried it out with great pride and arrogant assurance.
The conviction is forced upon us, however, by the evidence of those
that witnessed her ascendancy, that Montespan frequently felt the
stings of self-reproach when she met the Queen, and that her haughty
bearing concealed a genuine sense of shame.  In the midst of luxury,
power and brilliant success she seemed at times a small and mean
character in the presence of the pious Marie Thérèse.  As Louis'
infidelities increased in number, his sense of guilt toward his consort
was stamped deeper on his consciousness.  He endeavored to make amends
by paying her marked respect and treating her at times with
distinguished tenderness and consideration.  But Versailles was the
high seat of elaborate and elegant insincerity, and no one was deceived
by the formal courtesies paid by the Sun King to his unhappy wife.  The
deference that he displayed toward her in public appeared to the eyes
of the world to be simply a cloak for essential neglect.  And she, poor
creature, with all the prestige of the Queen of France, was but a
pitiful thing in the presence of the King.  She tried to do her best to
please him.  The thought of offense to the Monarch beset her with fear.
The Princess Palatine wrote of her once: "When the King came to her she
was so gay that people remarked it.  She would laugh and twinkle and
rub her little hands.  She had such a love for the King that she tried
to catch in his eyes every hint of the things that would give him
pleasure.  If he ever looked at her kindly, that day was bright."
Madame De Caylus tells us that the Queen had such a dread of her royal
husband and such an inborn timidity that she hardly dared speak to him.
Madame de Maintenon relates that the King, having once sent for the
Queen, asked Madame to accompany Her Majesty so that she might not have
to appear alone in the presence of her royal husband, and that when
Madame de Maintenon conducted the Queen to the door of the King's room,
and there took the liberty of pushing her ahead so as to force her to
enter, she observed that Marie Therese fell into such a great tremble
that her very hands shook with fright.  And why should not the Queen
tremble with unhappy apprehension when even the greatest favorite of
all, Madame de Maintenon, found nothing in the life of the Court but
bitter striving and heart misery?  In the very midst of her splendor
she exclaimed to a friend, "If I could only make clear to you the
hideous _ennui_ that devours all of us, the troubles that fill our
days!  Do you not see that I am dying of sadness in the midst of a
fortune that passes all imagination?  I have had youth and beauty, I
have sated myself with pleasure, I have had my hours of intellectual
satisfaction, I have enjoyed royal favor, and yet I protest to you, my
good friend, that all these conditions leave only a dreadful void."

Marie Thérèse took up her abode at Versailles only when the palace was
pronounced complete.  She entered her apartments there in 1682, and
breathed her last in July of the following year.  The Queen's bedroom
is filled with historic memories.  The walls could whisper many tragic
secrets and the halls might assemble by invocation innumerable ghostly
figures of fair women that once stood close to the throne, wore royal
robes, and nursed breaking hearts.  In the Queen's bed chamber died
Marie Therese and, later, Marie Leczinska, the Queen of Louis XV.
There also the Dauphiness of Bavaria and the Duchess of Burgundy passed
away; and, in that chamber, nineteen princes and princesses of the
royal blood were born, among whom were King Philip V of Spain and Louis
XV of France.  The chamber was occupied first by the pious and devoted
Marie Therese; after that by the Bavarian Dauphiness, who died in 1690
at the early age of twenty-nine; then by the Duchess of Burgundy, the
mother of Louis XV.  She died in 1712 at the age of twenty-six.  Then
Mary Anne Victoire, the Infanta of Spain, occupied the apartment for a
brief time; after that, in 1725, came Marie Leczinska, the wife of
Louis XV, who lived there for forty-three years, during which she gave
birth to ten children.  And, finally, the most appealing figure of all
entered that fateful apartment--she who has been characterized as "the
most poetic of women, who combined in herself all majesties and all
sorrows, all triumphs and all humiliations, all feminine joys and
tears, she whose very name inspires the emotion, tenderness and respect
of the world"--Marie Antoinette.

During the hundred years that followed the entrance of Marie Thérèse on
the scene at Versailles, many extraordinary women came, shone and
passed away.  The Hall of Mirrors, had it the power to reflect the
past, would afford a gallery of brilliant portraits.  There would be,
first, the devout Queen herself, virtuous, kind, considerate, loved by
all her people and gently resigned to her fate.  Then would follow a
glittering train of proud and brilliant mistresses, some compelling by
their beauty and gayety, others by their wit and sense.  Sweet Madame
de La Vallière had scarcely passed into obscurity when the haughty and
imperious Marquise de Montespan assumed supremacy and became "the
center of pleasures, of fortune, of hope and of terror to all that were
dependent on the Court."  No one could rightly claim to be an intimate
of Montespan except the King, and at times he did not understand her.
While apparently frank and free in her enjoyment of life and in her
dealings with associates in the Court, Montespan always withheld enough
to keep her best friends guessing.  No one knew all her romance.  She
had experienced both extremes of fortune and when she gained favor with
Louis she had acquired a confidence and a command of herself that
influenced the King to a degree that even he would not have
acknowledged.  But the Court knew well the influence of Montespan and
also the ministers, generals of the army and foreign ambassadors.
Montespan succeeded Madame de La Vallière in favor about 1667 and she
held her supremacy for ten years.  Then came the turn of her fortunes,
for Madame de Maintenon, fascinating in all that makes feminine charm
and with an extraordinary mind in addition, supplanted Montespan and
became the companion of the King until his dying day.  Montespan, who
had eight children by the King, left the Court in bitterness and
humiliation and, like La Vallière, ended her life in a convent.

Madame de Maintenon was the most distinguished woman in the history of
Versailles.  As a girl, in abject poverty, she married in 1652 the good
old poet Scarron.  There was no love lost there.  She merely took the
gentle-hearted man because he offered either to pay for her entrance
into a convent or to make her his wife, and she found the latter
alternative more acceptable.  During the nine years she lived with
Scarron, she maintained a brilliant salon, in which gathered the great
intelluctual figures of the time.  In 1669 Madame de Montespan gave
Madame de Maintenon the charge of one of her sons.  In that manner
Montespan brought her governess in touch with her King, and, in so
doing, sealed her own fate.

Madame de Maintenon was a very wise woman.  She did not entertain any
sincere affection for the King, and, during all the years of his
devotion to her, she never really loved him.  She found a monarch much
sated with the luxurious pleasures of the Court, and beginning to tire
of his latest mistress, and she saw in the situation an opportunity
that appealed to her ambition.  With shrewd judgment she measured the
character of Madame de Montespan, and she forecast in her mind the
inevitable downfall of the proud and arrogant favorite.  She was the
very opposite in nature of Madame de Montespan.  Her self-possession,
poise, skill and tact, virtue and piety made an irresistible appeal to
the tired King.  That her piety was scarcely more than a cloak is
betrayed by many of her own utterances.  "Nothing is more clever than
irreproachable behavior," she said at one time to close friends.  Her
behavior was both irreproachable and clever, and it obtained for her
the satisfaction of her highest ambitions.  She fascinated and lured
the King, playing the coquette to him, but evading him with a baffling
assumption of virtue, yielding just enough to draw the Monarch on; then
playing the part of a prude, until, finally, she became in the eyes of
the fascinated Louis the most desired of women.  It was not long before
Madame de Maintenon was so advanced in the King's favor that the affair
was the gossip of the Court, and Madame de Montespan was compelled to
stand by, a silent and bitter witness of her own defeat.  It was a
humiliating blow to Madame de Montespan to see the King with eyes only
for Madame de Maintenon, saying witty and agreeable things to her, and
ignoring his former favorite completely.  It was not long before Madame
de Montespan received her dismissal and, trembling with rage, descended
the great staircase of Versailles never again to mount it.  Madame de
Maintenon was installed in special apartments at the head of the Marble
Staircase, opposite the Hall of the King's Guards, and a new spirit
dominated the halls of the palace.  Under Madame de Montespan a
"haughtiness in everything that reached to the clouds" had held the
Court and attendants in fear, made the lives of all uneasy, and kept
the atmosphere of the palace astir.  With the entrance of Madame de
Maintenon into favor a quieter tone pervaded Versailles.  Madame was a
woman of great intelligence and wit, and made all feel the gracious
influence of her fine companionship.  There was nothing ascetic in her
piety, but, on the other hand, frivolity, immorality, and unworthy
intrigue had no place in her circle.  And all those that attended her
held her in esteem and profound respect.  With all her incomparable
grace, she was in mind and spirit more truly the queen than mistress.
She was older than the King and her influence was stronger on that
account.  She had comprehended the situation at Versailles with
characteristic shrewdness.  The King needed her.  The Court of France
needed her--and she needed both the King and the Court for the
fulfillment of her supreme ambitions.  As one writer has ironically put
it, "With her gracious bearing and her calm, even temper, she must have
seemed to a king of forty-six, who had buried his queen and cast off
his mistress, the ideal wife for his old age.  Then, too, she was pious
and devout, she wished to withdraw the King from the world and give him
to God; she had no ambitions (!), she desired to meddle in nothing, she
was grateful when her husband took her into his confidence, but she
longed only to save his soul.  It seemed almost too wonderful to be
true.  It was not true."

Madame de Maintenon was determined to be Queen of France, and she
became so in soul as well as in fact.  During her latter years she
ruled, and the King was content to follow her advice and do her will.
When the King was dying and she could gain no more at his hands, Madame
de Maintenon effected a most satisfactory settlement for herself at St.
Cyr, where she ended her days in piety and serene repose.

Saint-Amand has observed truly that the women of Versailles were
interesting not only from the moral point of view and as subjects of
study, but on account of what he called the "symbolical importance of
their relations to the history of France."  Each seemed to be the
living expression of the spirit of her day.  Madame de Montespan was
just such a superb, luxurious and magnificent beauty as Versailles
needed to display to all the ambassadors that came to bask in the
glitter of the Sun King's Court.  She was the dazzling mistress that
ruled imperiously over the gay and brilliant life of the palace, the
very incarnation of haughty and triumphant France at the culminating
point of the reign of Louis XIV.

Then came Madame de Maintenon who, with her discreet and temperate
nature, restored order, and was, for years, the living symbol of a
changed condition in the Court in which piety and religious observance
displaced licentious and voluptuous pleasure.  And, along with this
"wisdom of a repentant age," as Saint-Amand observes, "this reaction of
austerity against pleasure, there was still the contrast of youth."  It
was the Duchess of Burgundy who was the living embodiment of this
protest of joy against sadness, of springtime against cold winter, of
licentiousness against the exacting restrictions of etiquette.  Affairs
in the Court had reached a turning point, and it was the logical mind
of Madame de Maintenon that saw it.  When Madame de Montespan was in
the ascendancy, the Court had reached a condition of voluptuous
indulgence that could not continue long.  The Princess Palatine, wife
of the brother of Louis XIV, wrote: "I hear and see every day so many
villainous things that it disgusts me with life.  You have good reason
to say that the good Queen is now happier than we are, and if any one
would do me, as to her and her mother, the service of sending me in
twenty-four hours from this world to the other, I would certainly bear
him no ill will."

However we may question the soul sincerity of Madame de Maintenon, to
her at least we must give credit for checking the corrupt tendencies of
the Court and, with correcting finger, pointing the way toward better
things.  After Louis XIV, as Saint-Amand points out, the conditions of
the Court of France were reflected even more vividly in the characters
of the women of Versailles.  "With compression and reserve," he
observes, "there followed scandal.  During the regency and the reign of
Louis XV the morals of the Court fast deteriorated.  A new epoch
opened--troublous, lewd, dissolute.  And was not the Duchess of Berry
eccentric, capricious, passionate, the very image of the time?  The
favorites of Louis XV indicate to us in their own sad history the
conditions of debasing humiliation and moral decadence of monarchical
power.  At first Louis XV chose his favorites from among ladies of
quality--after that, from the middle classes, and, finally, from the
common women of the people."  He did not stop at the low-born shop girl
or the frequenter of evil resorts.

Louis began with the Duchesse de Châteauroux, the exquisite, who
lasted, as we might say, but a day.  From that he turned to the
Marquise de Pompadour, a descent sufficiently significant, but it was
only the beginning of decadence.  The King's feeling for the Marquise
was wholly unworthy, and it soon wore itself out.  Her death caused him
no regret.  On the day of her funeral, during a heavy rainstorm, the
King, standing at one of the windows of Versailles, watched the
carriage bearing the body of his former favorite to Paris, and observed
carelessly: "The Marquise will not have fine weather for her journey."
Louis soon turned to Madame Dubarry--and a lower step was taken.  The
prestige and dignity of the Court suffered.  "Vice," as Saint-Amand
observes, "threw off all semblance of disguise" and yet, while the King
slowly submerged his nature in a slough of corruption, and his
associates made of the Court a carnival of immorality, there was still
one figure in whom the traditional morals and manners were
maintained--the Queen Marie Leczinska.  She was the one pure and
virtuous figure in the Court life.  "Her domestic hearth," writes
Saint-Amand, "was near the boudoir of the favorites, but it was she
that preserved for the Court the traditions of decency and decorum.

"Last of all of the women of Versailles, came Marie Antoinette, the
woman who, in the most striking and tragic of all destinies, represents
not solely the majesty and the griefs of royalty, but all the graces
and all the agonies, all the joys and all the sufferings, of her sex."




CHAPTER VIII

THE VERSAILLES OF LOUIS XV

Louis the Great, in commanding immense and costly edifices to rise out
of the earth, was moved, at least in part, by a desire to assure the
monarchy and its established ceremonial a worthy background.  Louis XV,
in the numerous graceful additions to the chateau made by him, sought
only to satisfy his own caprice and convenience.

When the Court returned from Vincennes to Versailles in 1722, seven
years after the death of Louis XIV, one of the new King's first
undertakings was the construction of the Salon of Hercules, adjoining
the chapel court.  This splendid hall, which to-day serves as the
entrance to the _grand appartements_, owed its design to Robert de
Cotte.  As in the time of Louis XIV and Mansard, marble was chosen as
the main decorative medium.  All the sculptural ornaments are in bronze
and marble.  The bases of the pilasters are of gilded bronze.  Carvings
in wood and stucco were contributed by a Flemish artist named
Verberckt, to whom Louis XV assigned most of the sculptural work done
at the chateau during his reign.  It was he that modeled the two doors
placed on either side the bronze and marble chimney-piece, and the
sculptures of the cornice.  The painting on the ceiling--the Apotheosis
of Hercules--was first seen by His Majesty as he passed through the
room on his way to mass on a day in September, 1736.  He examined it
with much attention (some one has taken the trouble to record), and
demonstrated his satisfaction by forthwith naming Sire Le Moine, the
creator of the work, his chief painter.  And thereon hangs a tragic
tale.  So great was Le Moine's pride in the honor thus done him that he
determined to bring his work to still higher perfection.  He resolved
to finish each detail with the same exactitude as though he were
painting a canvas that was to be observed at close range.  But the more
he applied his brush to bring out intricate effects, the less the
design pleased him.  In a sudden revulsion for the completed work, he
effaced it and began the entire painting anew.  This time he was better
satisfied, though critics attached to the Court esteemed the second
canvas not so good as the one destroyed.  Upon the completion of the
decorative scheme, the Sovereign bestowed upon Le Moine 5,000 _livres_
for the _Salon d'Hercule_.  Then, to his chagrin, the over-careful
artist discovered that he was out of pocket 24,000 _livres_ by the
transaction.  The loss turned his head; seized by grief and
disappointment he committed suicide.

This salon served during the reign of Louis XV as a ball-room, and here
in March, 1749, the Monarch was formally presented with two young
ostriches, brought from Egypt and destined for the Menagerie.

In contrast to the passion for ostentation exhibited by Louis XIV, his
great-grandson and successor was chiefly occupied in finding ways to
evade his gilded prison.  When the demand of the Court necessitated his
presence at Versailles, he sought diversion in changing the apartments,
making them over, demolishing here, reconstructing there--expending
vast sums at all times.  In 1738, finding the chamber of Louis XIV cold
and inconvenient, he ordered another suite to be arranged for him on
the second floor of the chateau above the Marble Court, and here he
lived at his ease, untrammeled by etiquette and far from the curious
gaze of courtiers.  Small living rooms, kitchens, grills and bakeries
were built on the Court of the Stags, and above the private apartments
of Louis XIV rooms were added for the favorites of the King.

The storied Staircase of the Ambassadors, by which ceremonious visitors
were admitted to the presence of the Sun King, was leveled by the whim
of Louis XV.  Little mattered it to him that this superb entrance
filled an essential role in the life of the royal residence.  Forgetful
of the scenes that had been enacted on the triumphal stair, the
great-grandson of the builder of Versailles commanded the destruction
of one of the noblest architectural works of the time.  Its
bas-reliefs, its incomparable marbles, its paintings on which Lebrun
had exercised all the resources of his decorative genius--all
disappeared at the nod of the ambitious Madame de Pompadour, who
desired a theater to be erected on this site.  In later years the
theater disappeared to make room for the apartments of the King's fair
daughter, Madame Adelaïde.

The project to build another flight of steps ending in the Salon of
Hercules was never carried out.  Future guests were therefore admitted
to the reception rooms by a dark, narrow entrance, or they made a long
roundabout tour by way of the Queen's staircase across the Marble
Court.   The demolition of the stairway of honor was an irreparable
loss.  No other piece of wantonness equaled it in the tumultuous
history of Versailles.

However, there remain in the château a number of memorials to the
judgment and good taste of the third master of the chateau, among them,
the exquisitely decorated rooms of the King, re-made on the site of
those dedicated to Louis XIV; the seven rooms of Madame Adelaide, and
the suites set apart for the mistresses that succeeded one another in
the favor of Louis the Fifteenth.  These apartments, evolved out of the
confusion of orders and counter-orders, remain to-day as examples of
the pure and elegant decorative styles of the eighteenth century.
Especially admired is the Council Room.  Richly adorned, but always in
charming taste, it represents the transition period between the more
severe ornamental art peculiar to the reign of Louis XIV and the warmer
effects beloved by Louis XV.  Behind the Council Room were installed,
on the west side of the Court of the Stags, a _cabinet de bains_
(bath-room) and a little room called the Salon of the Wigs.  By these
rooms access was gained to the Salon of Apollo.

The billiard-room, where King Louis XIV was wont to play with his
hounds before retiring, became the bed-room of his heir.  After the
year 1738, Louis XV occupied this chamber, and here he died thirty-six
years later.  It then became the sleeping-room of the ill-starred Louis
XVI--who died in no bed.  Locks, door-knobs, chimney ornaments--each
detail in gilded bronze reflected rare taste and workmanship.  The bed
stood in an alcove enclosed between two columns, railed in by a
balustrade of elaborate design, and curtained by wonderful tapestries.
Ordinarily the King slept in this room; when he wakened in the morning
he put on a robe and passed through the Council Room to the salon where
the "rising" was celebrated with traditional pomp.

If Louis XV indulged in an orgy of building and repair, it was because
he pined with an _ennui_ that was only relieved by constant diversion.
If at the cost of unnumbered thousands of francs, Madame de Pompadour
urged on her royal lover and contrived new outlets for his craze for
building, it was because she was adroit enough to enliven by this means
an existence that often palled upon him.  If, throughout the long
series of decisions and contradictions regarding changes in the
chateau, the Monarch commanded one day that a library and marble bath
be added to the apartments of his daughter, and on another that useful
halls, staircases and offices be removed; if he ordered the
construction of a great Opera House with a facade like a temple, and,
in another mood, made away with insignificant rooms that consumed no
more space than would have filled a remote corner of this great hall of
the theater--the motive was ever the same: to banish for the time-being
the hovering specter of boredom and melancholy.  "Louis XV," comments
the author of "France Under Louis XV," "was not a man that sought
relief from ceremony and adulation in any useful work; but, on the
other hand, this dull grandeur was not dear to his heart; he did not
derive from it the majestic satisfaction that it furnished to his
predecessor.  From youth to age the King was bored; he wearied of his
throne, his court, himself; he was indifferent to all things, and
unconcerned as to the weal or the woe of his people."

One of the Salons on which he lavished all the art of his epoch was the
reception-room of the royal Adelaïde.  Here all was carved and gilded
in a manner exquisite beyond words--chimney, doors, ceiling, window
embrasures, mirror frames.  Musical instruments were employed as
sculpture _motifs_, for in this room the princess liked to sit and play
her violoncello.  In the dining-room, the decorative designs were
delicately carved rosettes, arabesques, garlands of fruits and flowers,
crowns and medallions.

The supreme ruler of Louis XV's affections--the amazing Madame
Dubarry--was lodged "in a suite of delectable boudoirs" facing the
Marble Court, above the private apartments of the King.  Everywhere
appeared the initial _L_ linked with the torches of Love.  One of the
objects most admired in the drawing-room was an English piano-forte,
with a case adorned with rosewood medallions, blue and white mosaics
and gilded metal.  In this room there were chests of drawers of antique
lacquer and ebony, statues of marble, and garnishings of sculptured
bronze.  At night all was ablaze with the lights of the great luster of
rock-crystal that hung from the center of the ceiling, and had cost, it
was said, a sum equaling three thousand American dollars.  In varying
form, but with equal richness, all the apartments of Dubarry were
beautified at the King's behest.

In January, 1747, the "theater of the little apartments" of the King
was inaugurated by a representation of "_Tartuffe_" with Madame de
Pompadour in the cast.  The King frequently permitted himself to be
distracted with music and the play in this hall in the Little Gallery.
Here was an orchestra of twenty-eight musicians, a ballet, and a chorus
of twenty-six, under the direction of Monsieur de Bury, Lully's
successor as master of the Court music.  Actors, singers, dancers, all
were supplied with gorgeous costumes, and given the services of Sire
Notrelle, the most celebrated wig-maker in Paris, who had in his day a
prodigious vogue.  One of his advertisements announced his ability to
imitate the coiffures of "gods, demons, heroes and shepherds, tritons,
cyclops, naiads and furies."  Astounding were the head-dresses of the
actors and actresses that graced the stage of Versailles.

Invitations to a dramatic performance were given by the King himself,
and, for many years, to men guests only.  Sometimes the Pompadour
played the comedies of Voltaire, whom she favored against the will of
all the royal family.  Occasionally, performances were of necessity
postponed out of respect to a member of the Court that had been slain
in a duel; but not for long did the King and his train pause in their
restless pursuit of pleasure.

A new theater was installed, with more room for auditors, troupe and
musicians.  Finally, in 1753, the Opera House was begun according to
designs submitted by Gabriel, first architect to the King.  After long
delays the edifice was completed in time for the marriage fêtes of the
Dauphin (Louis XVI) and Marie Antoinette, Archduchess of Austria.  The
hall of the Opera was so surpassingly fine in its dress of fine
woodwork, green marble and gilding that a writer of the period,
addressing a friend in Paris, where all were discontented with the
Opera House just built in the capital, bade him "come with the crowd of
curious folk to Versailles and admire the magnificent building of the
Court Opera.  Besides the beautiful outer view it presents," said he,
"and the splendor of its ensemble, the mechanism of the interior is
amazing."  In this imposing auditorium the Court of Louis XVI heard the
operas of Lully and Rameau, the tragedies of Racine and Voltaire.  Here
at a banquet in October, 1789, Louis XVI called on his supporters at
Versailles to oppose the Revolution.  And a short time later, the hall
of the Opera served as a meeting-place for the insurrectionists.

In 1837, Louis Phillipe, last of the Bourbon kings, restored the
building and redecorated it in red marble.  In memory of Louis XIV, the
reigning King commanded his troupe to perform a comedy by Molière.
Extracts from Meyerbeer's opera, _Robert le Diable_, and a piece
written by Auber concluded the fête organized by this monarch to recall
the golden days of Louis the Superb.

When, in the summer of 1855, Napoleon III entertained Queen Victoria at
Versailles, the supper that terminated a day of brilliant celebrations
was laid in the banquet hall of the Opera.  The last theatrical
performance given in this worthy memorial to the building enterprise of
Louis XV was witnessed by Napoleon III, Empress Eugénie, and the King
of Spain.




CHAPTER IX

THE TWILIGHT OF THE BOURBON KINGS

It was on a May morning in the year 1770 that the child-bride of the
Dauphin of France arrived at Versailles--the graceful, winsome,
golden-haired Marie Antoinette, daughter of Maria Theresa, Empress of
Austria.  The future Queen of France was then not fifteen years of age,
and her affianced husband was but a few months older.

A letter in her own hand, dated at Versailles on the 24th of May, 1770,
describes the incidents of her ceremonious journey from Austria, and her
reception by Louis XV and his heir.  Other letters to her family give us
glimpses of the wedding in the chapel of Versailles, of the fêtes, the
balls at the palace, the function of distributing bread and wine to the
people, the hunts in nearby forests, the dances, musicales and informal
assemblages of the royal family in the intimate apartments of the chateau.

"Our life here is perpetual movement," wrote the Dauphine to her sister;
and to her mother she sent this quaint epistle a few weeks after her
arrival in France: "You wish to know how I spend my time habitually.  I
will say, therefore, that I rise at ten o'clock or nine, or half-past
nine, and after dressing I say my prayers; then I breakfast, after which
I go to my aunts' (Madame Adelaïde, Victoire and Sophie), where I usually
meet the King.  At eleven I go to have my hair dressed.  At noon the
Chambre is called, and any one of sufficient rank may come in.  I put on
my rouge and wash my hands before everybody; then the gentlemen go out;
the ladies stay, and I dress before them.  At twelve is mass; when the
King is at Versailles I go to mass with him and my husband and my aunts.
After mass we dine together before everybody, but it is over by half-past
one, as we both eat quickly.  (Marie Antoinette always found the custom
of eating in public most distasteful.)  I then go to Monsieur the
Dauphin; if he is busy I return to my own apartments, where I read, I
write, or I work, for I am embroidering a vest for the King, which does
not get on quickly, but I trust that, with God's help, it will be
finished in a few years!  At three I go to my aunts', where the King
usually comes at that time.  At four the Abbé (her literary mentor) comes
to me; at five the master for the harpsichord, or the singing-master,
till six.  At half-past six I generally go to my aunts' when I do not go
out.  You must know that my husband almost always comes with me to my
aunts'.  At seven, card-playing till nine.  When the weather is fine I go
out; then the card-playing takes place in my aunts' apartments instead of
mine.  At nine, supper; when the King is absent my aunts come to take
supper with us; if the King is there, we go to them after supper, and we
wait for the King, who comes usually at a quarter before eleven; but I
lie on a large sofa and sleep till his arrival; when he is not expected
we go to bed at eleven.  Such is my day.

"I entreat you, my very dear mother, to, forgive me if my letter is too
long.  I ask pardon also for the blotted letter, but I have had to write
two days running at my toilet, having no other time at my disposal."

In the winter the Court made merry with sleighing, skating and dancing
parties, and formal affairs in honor of foreign princes.  "There is too
much etiquette here to live the family life," lamented the child to her
mother.  "Altogether, the Court at Versailles is a little dull, the
formalities are so fatiguing.  But I am happy, for Monsieur the Dauphin
is very polite to me and always attentive."  In another letter she
recounted the triumph attending the first presentation of the opera
_Iphigénie_, by Gluck.  "The Dauphin applauded everything and Gluck
showed himself very well pleased. . . .  He has written me some pieces
that I sing to the harpsichord."

Several times a week, the awkward, bashful boy who was to become Louis
XVI of France pleased his light-hearted wife by taking dancing lessons
with her.  Hours were spent with him in the park at Versailles, skipping
about, laughing, playing pranks like the little girl she was.  Sometimes
there were charades, and plays by amateurs and professionals behind the
"closed doors" of their own rooms.

In 1774, four years after the marriage of Marie Antoinette to the
Dauphin, Louis XV was taken ill of smallpox during a sojourn at the
Little Trianon, and was removed to Versailles.  Within a fortnight he was
dead, and a scandalous reign was ended.  "The rush of the courtiers, with
a noise like thunder, as they hastened to pay homage to the new
sovereign," says a narrator of the Queen's story, "was the first
announcement of the great event to the young heir and his wife."  The new
King had not yet reached his twentieth year.  "God help and protect us!"
they both cried on their knees.  "We are too young to reign!"

As Queen of France, Marie Antoinette occupied a series of superbly
appointed rooms in the left wing of the palace.  Beyond a dark passageway
were her husband's apartments.  Her bed-chamber was the scene of the
formal toilet, a ceremony always irksome to the youthful sovereign.  In
this sumptuous room, where queens had borne kings-to-be, and had closed
their eyes forever upon a melancholy existence, she gave birth to four
children.  The royal bed was raised on steps and surrounded by a gilt
balustrade; nearby was a gorgeously fitted dressing-table.  There were
also armchairs, we are told, with down cushions, "tables for writing, and
two chests of drawers of elaborate workmanship.  The curtains and
hangings were of rich but plain blue silk.  The stools for those that had
the privilege of being seated in the royal presence, with a sofa for the
Queen's use, were placed against the walls, according to the formal
custom of the time.  The canopy of the bed was adorned with Cupids
playing with garlands and holding gilt lilies, the royal flower."

Other rooms prepared for the Queen faced an inner court, and here with
music, small talk and embroidery she spent contented moments, remote from
the demands of her high estate.

Usually the mistress of Versailles was wakened at eight o'clock by a lady
of the bedchamber, whose first duty it was to proffer a ponderous volume
containing samples of the dresses that were in the royal wardrobe.  Marie
Antoinette marked with pins, taken from an embroidered cushion, the
costumes she wished to put on for the various events of the day--the
brocaded and hooped Court dress for the morning mass, the negligee to be
worn during leisure hours in her own living rooms, and the gown to be
donned for evening festivities.  These vital matters determined, the
Queen proceeded with her bath and her breakfast of chocolate and rolls.
She was accustomed then to return to bed, and, with her tapestry-work in
hand, receive various persons attached to her service.  Physicians,
reader, secretary, came to ask her wishes and do her bidding.  At noon
followed the "rising," and the stately progress of the Queen and her
attendants through the Salon of Peace to the dazzling Hall of Mirrors,
where the King awaited her on his way to chapel.  Often at this hour
there were admitted to the Grand Gallery of Mirrors respectful groups of
commoners, who gathered to watch the passing of the gracious Marie
Antoinette beside the husband whose uncouth gait and features were ever
in forbidding contrast to her own comely bearing.

Amid all the follies and splendors of life at Versailles appeared the
sturdy American figure of Dr. Benjamin Franklin.  In the year 1767 he was
presented at Court on the occasion of his first visit to Paris.

"You see," said he, in a letter to Miss Stevenson, daughter of his
landlady in London, "I speak of the Queen as if I had seen her; and so I
have, for you must know I have been at Court.  We went to Versailles last
Sunday, and had the honor of being presented to the King, Louis XV.  In
the evening we were at the _Grand Convert_, where the family sup in
public.  The table was half a hollow square, the service of gold. . . .
An officer of the Court brought us up through the crowd of spectators,
and placed Sir John (Pringle) so as to stand between the Queen and Madame
Victoire.  The King talked a good deal to Sir John, and did me, too, the
honor of taking some notice of me.

"Versailles has had infinite sums laid out in building it and supplying
it with water.  Some say the expenses exceeded eighty millions sterling
($400,000,000).  The range of buildings is immense; the garden-front most
magnificent, all of hewn stone; the number of statues, figures, urns,
etc., in marble and bronze of exquisite workmanship, is beyond
conception.  But the water-works are out of repair, and so is a great
part of the front next the town, looking, with its shabby, half-brick
walls, and broken windows, not much better than the houses in Durham
Yard.  There is, in short, both at Versailles and Paris, a prodigious
mixture of magnificence and negligence with every kind of elegance except
that of cleanliness, and what we call tidiness."

Franklin next appeared at the Court of Versailles upon the momentous
occasion of the ratification of the alliance signed in 1778 by France and
America.  Dressed in a black velvet suit with ruffles of snowy white,
white silk stockings and silver buckles, the emissary of the United
States appeared in a gorgeous coach at the portals of Versailles.  It is
related that the chamberlain hesitated a moment to admit him, for he was
without the wig and sword Court etiquette demanded, "but it was only for
a moment; and all the Court were captivated at the democratic effrontery
of his conduct."  Franklin and the four envoys that accompanied him were
conducted to the dressing-room of Louis XVI, who, without ceremony,
assured them of his friendship for the new-born country they represented.
In the evening the Americans were invited to watch the play of the royal
family at the gaming-table, and Dr. Franklin, so Madame Campan relates,
"was honored by the particular notice of the Queen, who courteously
desired him to stand near to her, and as often as the game did not
require her immediate attention, she took occasion to speak to him in
very obliging terms."

The _New York Journal_, under date of July 6, 1778, recounted another
picturesque detail of this presentation of the American envoys at
Versailles.  When they entered the inner part of the palace, so the
dispatch ran, "they were received by _les Cents Suisses_ (Swiss Guards),
the major of which announced, '_Les Ambassadeurs des treize provinces
unies,' i.e., The Ambassadors from the Thirteen United Provinces."

During the Revolution in America the newspapers made much of Marie
Antoinette's liking for Benjamin Franklin.  Among others, the _New
Hampshire Gazette_ printed this story, which went the rounds of the
States.  "Franklin being lately in the gardens of Versailles, showing the
Queen some electrical experiment, she asked him in a fit of raillery if
he did not dread the fate of Prometheus, who was so severely served for
stealing fire from Heaven.  'Yes, please your Majesty' (replied old
Franklin, with infinite gallantry), 'if I did not behold a pair of eyes
pass unpunished which have stolen infinitely more fire from Jove than I
ever did, though they do more mischief in a week than I have done in all
my experiments.'"

On January 20, 1783, at the office of the Count de Vergennes at
Versailles, in the presence of Dr. Franklin and Mr. Adams, the
representatives of England, France and Spain affixed their signatures to
the preliminary documents declaring war at an end between America and
England.  A little over seven months later, on September 3, 1783, at the
Hotel de York in Paris, the final treaty between Great Britain and the
United States was signed.  Later on the same day, the definitive treaty
between England and France was concluded at Versailles.  When Franklin
was about to take leave of France and return to Philadelphia, Louis XVI
presented to him the royal portrait, framed by 408 diamonds, the value of
which was estimated at $10,000.

No less than his predecessor had the new Monarch of Versailles and his
gay, ease-loving, oft-times imprudent young wife disregarded the
traditions and dignity of the Sun King's palace.  If Louis XV demolished
the Staircase of the Ambassadors and mutilated the _grands appartements_,
Marie Antoinette imitated his desecrations in the royal dwelling by
commanding any change that pleased her fancy, by reducing rooms of state
to mere private chambers, and shutting herself off from the irritating
claims of Court life.  Many of the trees in the park died that had been
set out at the proud command of Louis XIV.  The gardens became neglected
and desolate.  The famous Labyrinth of Aesop's fountains disappeared.

A grove planted on the place formerly beautified by the Grotto of Thetis
(or Tethys) gave sanctuary to the impious scheming of that Madame de
Lamotte, whose intrigue and evil ambition brought upon the Queen in 1785
the scandal of the Diamond Necklace, with the subsequent dramatic arrest
of Cardinal de Rohan in the fateful Hall of Mirrors, and the humiliating
trial of Marie Antoinette.

Bored by incessant publicity, finding no pleasure in the formal
promenades of the palace park, the Queen pleaded for "a house of her
own," where she could find recreation after her own tastes, unobserved by
the curious and the critical.  Louis XV had built near the Grand Trianon
a small villa for Madame de Pompadour.  On the modest estate were several
small outbuildings, to which were added a pavilion for open-air pastimes
and a "French garden."  It was Gabriel, architect of the Opera House,
that drew the plans for the little chateau, begun in 1762.  But Madame de
Pompadour died before the villa of her fancy was completed.  Dubarry
succeeded her as chatelaine, and richly embellished the interior of the
delectable retreat.

When Marie Antoinette desired to possess a _maison de plaisance_ of which
she should be sole mistress, the King, always eager to satisfy her whims,
bade her accept for her own use both the Grand and the Petit Trianon.
Said he, graciously, "These charming houses have always been the repair
of favorites of the reigning king--consequently they should now be
yours."  The Queen was much pleased with the gift and with her husband's
gallantry.  She responded, laughingly, that she would accept the Little
Trianon on condition that he would not come there except when invited!

During the tenancy of Marie Antoinette, some of the rooms of the Petit
Trianon were altered according to the elaborate style that received the
name of Louis XVI.  Sculptures, wood-work, gilded chimneys, staircases,
were fashioned by the hands of master artists.  No sooner was she
possessor of her new domain than the Queen desired a garden after the
pastoral English style that was then coming in favor.  A lake, a stream
with ornamental bridges, clusters of trees, supplanted the symmetrical
design of a botanical garden that had been much admired.  A gallant
attached to the Court wrote an _Elégie_ in praise of the Petit Trianon,
its flowers, tulip trees and fragrant walks.  At one end of the lake a
hamlet was created, with a picture-mill and a dairy, fitted with marble
tables and cream jugs of rare porcelain.  There was also a farm where the
Queen pastured a splendid herd of Swiss cattle.  Among these bucolic
surroundings the King of France, forgetful of his people and their
growing anguish, played shepherd to his shepherdess Queen.  In the Temple
of Love they basked on summer days among rosy vines, while the music of
Court players wafted through the trees from a nearby pavilion.  Every
Sunday during the summer season there was a ball in the park, where any
one might dance whose clothes and behavior were respectable.  The Queen,
sensing the need to propitiate a disgruntled populace, shared in the
afternoon's revelries, petted the children that flocked about her knees,
chatted with their nurses and parents.  Often, Marie Antoinette resided
for weeks at a time at her favorite dwelling, fishing in the lake,
tending her herd, picking berries in her garden patch.  The King and the
princes came every day for supper, and were received by a Queen dressed
in white with a fichu of net--sometimes in a "rumpled gown of cotton."  A
score of favorites composed the Court of the Little Trianon.  All others
were excluded.  Heavy silks and towering head-dresses were forgotten in
the simple life of the Petit Trianon.  Tiresome etiquette was banished,
together with thoughts of international matters of portent and impending
calamity.  Occasionally, comedies were given, or groves and canal were
illuminated in honor of a visitor of high degree--the Emperor Joseph of
Austria (brother of the Queen), the King of Sweden, ambassadors, princes,
archduchesses.

Surrounded by the persons and the objects she most loved--free to go and
come unattended by a train of attendants--those were the least unhappy
days in the life of Marie Antoinette at Versailles.

At the Little Trianon, Madame Vigée Lebrun made, in 1787, the painting of
Marie Antoinette with her children, which the Queen's intimates counted
the truest likeness among all her portraits.  Two years later, on the
fifth day of October, the Queen was at Trianon when news came of the
approach of the mob of starving, angry women that stormed the road from
Paris, swept across the Place d'Armes, and surged about the doors of the
despised palace.  On that day, Marie Antoinette left her "little house,"
never to see it again.

For many months the clouds had been gathering on the horizon of the
Bourbon King, whose extravagance and weak will were matched by the
childish indiscretions of his Austrian consort.

In November, 1787, the Notables assembled at Versailles in the grand hall
of the palace guards.  In May, 1789, the Salon of Hercules witnessed the
presentation of the twelve hundred deputies elected by the people in all
parts of France to the States-General.  The Assembly, "the true era of
the birth of the French people," opened on May fifth in the immense
_Salle des Menus_, on the Paris Avenue, outside the gates of the palace.
During the thirty days that the deputies sat inactive under the oratory
of the King, of Necker, Mirabeau and Robespierre, work ceased throughout
the kingdom.  "He who had but his hands, his daily labor, to supply the
day, went to look for work, found none, begged, got nothing, robbed.
Starving gangs over-ran the country; wherever they found any resistance,
they became furious, killed, and burned.  Horror spread far and near;
communications ceased, and famine went on increasing."  At last the
Assembly was founded, but the nation remained in tumult, the King
vacillating, the Queen in retirement, mourning the death of the little
Dauphin.  On June twentieth, the people's representatives gathered, in
spite of the King, in the bare tennis-court, without the walls of the
chateau, and made oath as citizens of France never to adjourn until they
had given their country a constitution.  On the same day Marie Antoinette
inscribed a letter from Versailles whose import was in piteous contrast
to the prattling epistles of her girlhood.  "The Chambre Nationale is
declared," she wrote.  "They are deliberating, but I am in despair to see
nothing come of their deliberations; every one is greatly alarmed.  The
nobility may be wiped out forever.  But the kingdom will be calm; if not,
one cannot estimate the evils by which we shall be menaced. . . .  Not
far away civil war exists, and, besides, bread is lacking.  God give us
courage!"  Three days later the King read to the deputies an arbitrary
declaration that had been composed by interested advisers.  He commanded
the assembly to disperse, and met a calm and silent resistance.  Workmen
entered to demolish the amphitheater, but laid down their tools on the
declaration of Mirabeau that "whoever laid hands on a deputy was a
traitor, infamous and worthy of death."  At last the King, wearied and
confused, commanded, "Let them alone."

The parterres, the courts, even the salons of the palace swarmed with
ruffians that had marched out from Paris to menace Versailles.  By June
25th there was open revolt in the capital.  "A stormy, heavy, gloomy
time, like a feverish, painful dream," prefaced the furious deeds of the
14th of July.  Every day witnessed some new outbreak.  July was a month
of insurrections and murders.  The Bastille was assailed by rioters.
News came to the King that the ancient fortress had fallen.  "Sire,"
announced the Duke of Orleans to the sleepy Monarch in his bedchamber,
"it is a Revolution!"

Lafayette, back from the war across the sea, became the unwilling leader
of the National Guard.  On the evening of the first of October occurred
the fatal banquet of the King's guard, held, not in the Orangery or in
some other informal hall, but in the palace theater, where no fête had
been given since the visit of the Emperor Joseph II of Austria.  A French
writer describes the scene.  "The doors open.  Behold the King and the
Queen!  The King has been prevailed on to visit them on his return from
the chase.  The Queen walks round to every table, looking beautiful, and
adorned with the child she bears in her arms.

"So beautiful and yet so unfortunate!  As she was departing with the
King, the band played the affecting air: 'O Richard, O my King, abandoned
by the whole world!'  Every heart melted at that appeal.  Several tore
off their cockades, and took that of the Queen, the black Austrian
cockade, devoting themselves to her service. . . .

"On the 3rd of October, another dinner; they grow more daring, their
tongues are untied, and the counter-revolution showed itself boldly.  In
the long gallery, and in the apartments, the ladies no longer allow the
tricolor cockade to circulate.  With their handkerchiefs and ribands they
make white cockades, and tie them themselves."

Stories of royalist revels and open insults to the cockade of the
Revolutionists still further inflamed starving Paris.  On the fifth of
October there were thousands of inhabitants that had tasted no food for
thirty hours.  And then the ravenous women of Paris arose--mothers,
shop-girls, courtesans--and, gathering recruits as they swept through the
restless city streets, they rolled like an angry flood out the
eleven-mile road to Versailles.  The King was hunting at Meudon; a
courier was sent for him.  The Queen Consort was in her retreat at
Trianon.  The messenger found her, sad and contemplative, seated in her
grotto.  Hastily she was brought back to the palace.  Later, she and the
King would have fled the anger of the crowd whose shouts of "Bread!
Bread!" echoed across the Marble Court to the windows of the royal
apartments.  But their decision, put off from moment to moment, came too
late.  The gates were closed.  They were prisoners within the walls of
Versailles.

"It was a rainy night," relates a French historian of the Revolution.
"The crowd took shelter where they could; some burst open the gates of
the great stables, where the regiment of Flanders was stationed, and
mixed pell-mell with the soldiers.  Others, about four thousand in
number, had remained in the Assembly.  The men were quiet enough, but the
women were impatient at that state of inaction; they talked, shouted, and
made an uproar.

"The King's heart was beginning to fail him; he perceived that the Queen
was in peril.  However agonizing it was to his conscience to consecrate
the legislative work of philosophy, at ten o'clock in the evening he
signed the Declaration of Rights.

"Mounier was at last able to depart.  He hastened to resume his place as
president before the arrival of that vast army from Paris, whose projects
were not yet known.  He reentered the hall; but there was no longer any
Assembly; it had broken up; the crowd, ever growing more clamorous and
exacting, had demanded that the prices of bread and meat should be
lowered.  Mounier found in his place, in the president's chair, a tall,
fine, well-behaved woman, holding the bell in her hand, who left the
chair with reluctance.  He gave orders that they were to try to collect
the deputies again; meanwhile, he announced to the people that the King
had just accepted the constitutional article.  The women, crowding about
him, then entreated him to give them copies of them; others said: 'But,
Monsieur President, will this be very advantageous?  Will this give bread
to the poor people of Paris?' Others exclaimed: 'We are very hungry.  We
have eaten nothing to-day.'  Mounier ordered bread to be fetched from the
bakers.  Provisions then came in on all sides.  They all began eating in
the hall with much clamour."

At midnight Lafayette arrived at the head of twenty thousand men of the
National Guard.  To the amazement of the soldiers and onlookers, he dared
to pass unattended through the palace doors to the Bull's Eye.  "He
appeared very calm," says Madame de Staël, Necker's observant daughter.
"Nobody ever saw him otherwise."  When he had reported his arrival to the
King, Lafayette stationed guards about the palace, and, worn with hours
of marching in the rain and mud, so far forgot his duty to his Sovereign
and his command that he retired to his house in the town of Versailles to
seek sleep.  In the masses of people outside the gates were thieves and
men of violence.  "What a delightful prospect was opened for pillage in
the wonderful palace of Versailles, where the riches of France had been
amassed for more than a century!" exclaims the commentator, Michelet.
Here follows a dramatic account of what followed, based on the story of
Madame de Staël, who witnessed many of the bloody scenes in person.  "At
five in the morning, before daylight, a large crowd was already prowling
about the gates, armed with pikes, spits, and scythes.  About six
o'clock, this crowd, composed of Parisians and people of Versailles,
scale or force the gates, and advance into the courts with fear and
hesitation.  The first who was killed, if we believe the Royalists, died
from a fall, having slipped in the Marble Court.  According to another
and a more likely version, he was shot dead by the body-guard.

"Some took to the left, toward the Queen's apartment, others to the
right, toward the chapel stairs, nearer the King's apartment.  On the
left, a Parisian running unarmed, among the foremost, met one of the body
guard, who stabbed him with a knife.  The guardsman was killed.  On the
right, the foremost was a militia-man of the guard of Versailles, a
diminutive locksmith, with sunken eyes, almost bald, and his hands
chapped by the heat of the forge.  This man and another, without
answering the guard, who had come down a few steps and was speaking to
him on the stairs, strove to pull him down by his belt, and hand him over
to the crowd rushing behind.  The guards pulled him towards them; but two
of them were killed.  They all fled along the Grand Gallery, as far as
the _Oeil-de-boeuf_ (Bull's Eye), between the apartments of the King and
the Queen.  Other guards were already there.

"The most furious attack had been made in the direction of the Queen's
apartment.  The sister of her _femme de chambre_, Madame de Campan,
having half opened the door, saw a guardsman covered with blood, trying
to stop the furious rabble.  She quickly bolted that door and the next,
put a petticoat on the Queen, and tried to lead her to the King.  An
awful moment!  The door was bolted on the other side!  They knock again
and again.  The King was not within; he had gone round by another passage
to reach the Queen.  At that moment a pistol was fired, and then a gun
close to them.  'My friends, my dear friends,' cried the Queen, bursting
into tears, 'save me and my children!'  At length the door was opened,
and she rushed into the King's apartment.

"The crowd was knocking louder and louder to enter the _Oeil-de-boeuf_.
The guards barricaded the place, piling up benches, stools, and other
pieces of furniture; the lower panel was burst in.  They expected nothing
but death; but suddenly the uproar ceased, and a kind clear voice
exclaimed: 'Open!'  As they did not obey, the same voice repeated: 'Come,
open to us, body-guard; we have not forgotten that you men saved us
French Guards at Fontenoy.'

"It was indeed the French Guards, now become National Guards, with the
brave and generous Hoche, then a simple sergeant-major--it was the
people, who had come to save the nobility.  They opened, threw themselves
into one another's arms, and wept.

"At that moment, the King, believing the passage forced, and mistaking
his saviors for his assassins, opened his door himself, by an impulse of
courageous humanity, saying to those without: 'Do not hurt my guards.'

"The danger was past, and the crowd dispersed; the thieves alone were
unwilling to be inactive.  Wholly engaged in their own business, they
were pillaging and moving away the furniture.  The grenadiers turned that
rabble out of the castle.

"Lafayette, awakened but too late, then arrived on horseback.  He saw one
of the body-guards whom they had taken and dragged near the body of one
of those killed by the guards, in order to kill him by way of
retaliation.  'I have given my word to the King,' cried Lafayette, 'to
save his men.  Cause my word to be respected.'

"He then entered the castle.  Madame Adelaïde, the King's aunt, went up
to him and embraced him: 'It is you,' cried she, 'who have saved us.'  He
ran to the King's cabinet.  Who would believe that etiquette still
subsisted?  A grand officer stopped him for a moment, and then allowed
him to pass: 'Sir,' said he seriously, 'the King grants you _les grandes
entrées_.'

"The King showed himself at the balcony, and was welcomed with the
unanimous shout of 'God save the King.'  'Vive le Roi!'

"At that moment several voices raised a formidable shout: 'The Queen!'
The people wanted to see her in the balcony.  She hesitated: 'What!' said
she, 'all alone?'  'Madame, be not afraid,' said Lafayette.  She went,
but not alone, holding an admirable safeguard--in one hand her daughter,
in the other her son.  The Court of Marble was terrible, in awful
commotion, like the sea in its fury; the National Guards, lining every
side, could not answer for the center; there were fire-arms, and men
blind with rage.  Lafayette's conduct was admirable; for that trembling
woman, he risked his popularity, his destiny, his very life; he appeared
with her on the balcony, and kissed her hand.

"The crowd felt all that; the emotion was unanimous.  They saw there the
woman and the mother, nothing more.  'Oh! how beautiful she is!  What! is
that the Queen?  How she fondles her children!'"

The King, overcome by dread, was forced to agree to the demand of the
people that he go to Paris.  In leaving his palace, he realized that he
was finally surrendering all his claims to royalty.  About noon on the
sixth day of October, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, under the
protection of the Marquis de Lafayette, turned their faces forever from
Versailles.  Little they knew that they were even then traveling the long
road to the guillotine.  A rabble of men and women surrounded them, some
on foot, some in carts and carriages.  "All were very merry and amiable
in their own fashion, except a few jokes addressed to the Queen."

Such was the end of royal Versailles.  Who can contest its tragic
grandeur?  In these halls, these gardens, these secluded villas the
supreme destiny of the Bourbon monarchy was achieved.  They witnessed the
apogee, the decline, and the ruin of the dynasty.




CHAPTER X

THE SHRINE OF ROYAL MEMORIES, THE SCENE OF WORLD ADJUSTMENTS

It was not long after the enforced departure of Louis XVI and the Court
that the immense sepulcher of regal glory was dismantled and forsaken.
During the Revolution some of the furnishings were taken to Paris to
supply the needs of the king and his family at the Tuileries.  A number
of pictures and objects of art contained in the palace and the two
Trianons were removed to the Museum of the Louvre, which had been
founded in 1775.  Some of these paintings, including the _Joconde_ by
da Vinci, and famous canvases by Titian, del Sarto, Rubens and Van
Dyck, still hang on the walls of the first national gallery of France.
Agitated discussions arose as to the final destiny of the palace and
its contents.  A group of law-makers would have sold the building
outright.  But in July, 1793, the Convention decreed the establishment
at Versailles of a provincial school, a museum of art objects taken
from the houses of those that had emigrated from troublous France, a
public library, a French museum for painting and sculpture, and a
natural history exhibition.  There were, however, Revolutionaries that
so despised the relics of royalty that they continued to urge from time
to time the complete demolition of the palace and park--chief works of
Louis XIV's reign.  The most diligent defenders of the chateau were the
inhabitants of the town of Versailles, who were keenly aware that the
continued existence of the palace would insure a measure of prosperity
to the community.  They protested, that, just object of the people's
venom as the edifice was, it nevertheless stood as a monument to the
arts and crafts of France during two centuries.  The assailants that
made hideous the days of October fifth and sixth, 1789, had done
comparatively little material damage within the palace precincts.  Gun
shots of the Paris mob had disfigured two statues at the main entry to
the courtyard, had destroyed the grill that separated the Royal Court
from the Court of the Ministers; lunges of their bayonets had broken
the mirrors in the Grand Gallery, while pursuing the Guards to massacre
them.  Otherwise, the historic walls and gardens bore no evidence of
Revolutionary fury.

After several years of contention, plan and counter-plan, the
Convention definitely saved Versailles for the nation by the decrees of
1794 and 1795.  During this epoch of violence and revolt, thousands of
articles were offered for sale at the stables of Versailles, in the
presence of appointed representatives of the people.  Linen, utensils,
mirrors, clocks, cabinets, chandeliers, stoves, damask curtains,
carriages, wines of Madeira, Malaga and Corinth, coffee, Sevres
porcelains, engravings, paintings, drawings, and some fine furniture
went for a song at this colossal auction.  In 1796 the Minister of
finance ordered that remaining pieces of furniture of great beauty and
value be put on sale.  In this way were summarily dispersed chairs of
tapestry and gilt that would to-day command extravagant sums; desks of
exquisite marquetry, at which kingly documents and _billets doux_ had
been penned; dressing-tables whose mirrors had reflected the faces, sad
or gay, frank or subtle, of queens and mistresses; wardrobes that had
held the linens and brocades of princes and courtiers; clocks of gold
and enamel that had registered the hours of portentous births and
marriages.  Tables of mosaic and satinwood, cushions of gold brocade,
cameo medallions, porcelain panels, plaques of lacquer and bronze were
included on the list of articles to be disposed of.  In the original
inventory, discovered in the library at Versailles, were included
pieces of Saxony ware, Watteau figures, Sevres vases, dishes and cups,
Beauvais tapestries, clocks made by Robin and de Sotian, candelabra of
crystal, chandeliers of silver--all from the apartments of the King,
the Queen and the Dauphin.  For 20,000 francs there was sold a tapestry
emblematic of the American Revolution.  Creditors of the new Government
were paid in furniture and art works whose value they estimated to
please their own purses.  A brochure published at Paris by Charles
Davillier recites the romance of "The Sale of the Furnishings of
Versailles during the Terror."  To a certain Monsieur Lanchère, a
former cab driver who had undertaken the conduct of military convoys
and transports for the State, were assigned clocks, carpets, statuary,
chests, secretaries and consoles that embarrassed every nook and corner
of the spacious Paris mansion of which he became proprietor.

"Paris," narrates Monsieur Davillier, "was gorged after the sale at the
chateau of Versailles with priceless furniture and objects of _vertu_."
Newspapers were filled with the advertisements of second-hand dealers
offering to the public these souvenirs--redolent, splendid, tragic--of
a dead-and-gone dynasty, of an epoch vanished never to return.

The institutions whose establishment at Versailles definitely saved the
chateau and its dependencies for posterity, were, at the Palace, a
conservatory of arts and sciences and a library of 30,000 volumes; in
the Kitchen Garden a school of gardening and husbandry; at the Grand
Commune, a manufactory of arms; at the Menagerie, a school of
agriculture.  Halls that had echoed to the dance and the clink of gold
at gaming-tables now heard profound lectures on history, ancient
languages, mathematics, chemistry, and political economy!  Classic
exercises beneath the painted ceilings of these memoried rooms!
Scholastic discourse where music and laughter had vibrated for a
hundred extravagant years!

The galleries at the Louvre contributed to the new Versailles museum
all the canvases of French artists that it possessed.  Fragonard and
Greuze, Lebrun, Claude Lorrain, Mignard, Poussin, Rigaud, Vanloo,
Vernet--all were represented, some of them by numerous examples of
their graceful art.  Besides, there was a Rubens Gallery, and two
salons filled with the works of Paul Veronese.  Some of these treasures
were later removed to the Luxembourg Palace, where the French Senate
was sitting, and to the palace of Saint-Cloud, residence of Napoleon
Bonaparte, First Consul.  Little by little the canvases were dispersed,
until, at the end of the Empire, the Versailles Museum of French Art
ceased to be.

At the beginning of the year 1800, Napoleon Bonaparte established at
Versailles a branch of the _Hôtel des Invalides_ in Paris, and wounded
veterans of the Revolution to the number of 2,000 were installed for
two years in the vast apartments of Louis XV and in rooms overlooking
the garden and the Court of Ministers.  During this period several of
the salons were opened to the people for exhibitions and assemblies,
and the public were free to enjoy the park, the Orangery and the
fragrant bosques of Trianon.  Fêtes of the Republic frequently took
place about a national altar raised near the Lake of the Swiss Guards,
and a Tree of Liberty was planted with great solemnity in the court of
the château, where the equestrian statue of Louis XIV now stands.  In
illuminating contrast to the regal celebrations it succeeded was this
latter ceremony, which was inaugurated by a meeting in the historic
Tennis Court, where loyal republicans took a new oath of hatred for all
things royal, and swore devotion to the constitution.  Into the
dwelling of former sovereigns the people then crowded to witness the
ceremony of breaking a scepter and crown into a thousand pieces.  Next,
they gathered around the Liberty Oak to consecrate it; they hung it
with ribbons of the tricolor of France, a band played "a republican
air," and an orator delivered a speech in commemoration of the glorious
anniversary of the day on which "the last tyrant of the French" had
been guillotined.  Fortunately for the peace of mind of the Sixteenth
Louis, he had no gift of prevision!

With the beginning of Napoleon's reign, Versailles and the Trianon
became once more part of the Crown lands.  The Emperor ordered
necessary repairs to be made.  In the theater the royal troupe of
comedians was sometimes heard.  The canal, which had nearly dried up
during the neglectful rule of the Republic, was again filled with
water.  The park and the facades of the palace were restored, and in
the Gallery and State Apartments artists renewed the colors of the
mural decorations.  Many of the repairs and changes made by Dufour,
Napoleon's architect, have remained to the present time.  Certain parts
of the palace giving on the courts were in ruins, Louis XV and his heir
having had no money to spare for their restoration.  In 1811, after the
Peace of Vienna, Napoleon, then in residence at the Grand Trianon, took
under advisement the complete reconstruction of the palace.  In
consternation he surveyed the tumbling walls and the general confusion
that confronted him during one of his promenades in the park and
Orangery.  "Why," cried he, "did the Revolution, which destroyed
everything else, spare the chateau of Versailles!  Then I would not
have had on my hands this embarrassing legacy from Louis XIV--an old
chateau poorly built--one much favored without just cause."

Architects busied themselves with innumerable plans for re-making the
shabby pile.  Some would have torn down the Council Hall, the
bed-chamber of Louis XIV, the antechamber of the Bull's Eye, and all
the rest of the palace except the apartments of the King and Queen, the
Gallery with the salons at either end, the Chapel and the Opera House.
Napoleon was willing to spend 6,000 francs on the construction of
suites for himself and his family "and fifty others."  "Then," said he,
"we could perhaps come to Versailles to pass a summer."  The disasters
of the year 1812 and the fall of the Empire saved the palace from the
threatened renovation.

When Louis XVIII ascended the throne of his Bourbon ancestors after the
extinction of Napoleon's Star of Hope, he conceived a new plan "to put
the chateau of Versailles in a habitable state."  During the next six
years (1814-1820) the King restored the Hall of Mirrors and all that
was especially associated with Louis XIV.  He finished the facade on
the Paris side, begun by Gabriel under Louis XV, and built a pavilion
corresponding to the one designed and erected by this same architect.
He did away with a maze of small apartments, cleaned and simplified the
interior, restored painted ceilings and gilt embellishments, and with
great care put in order the entire palace and its surroundings.  The
chapel was repaired and blessed anew by the Bishop of Strassbourg.

Many State visitors came to see Versailles, even in the days when it
was shorn of its glory.  Pope Pius VII was there in 1805.  From the
balcony outside the Gallery of Mirrors he bestowed his benediction upon
a crowd that stood below on the terraces.  Two days later the Salon of
Hercules was the scene of a ball in celebration of the coronation of
the first Emperor of France.  In May, 1814, Czar Alexander I of Russia
visited Versailles with his two brothers, following the example of
Peter the Great, who had been there when Louis XV was on the throne.
Another historic cortège was composed of Frederick William III of
Prussia and his two sons, one of whom, Prince William, was to return to
Versailles in the year 1870 on a mission less peaceful.  The gates of
Versailles opened to the Duke of Wellington in 1818.

Other visitors there were that came to Versailles and, by the good will
of Louis XVIII, lodged there--homeless dependents, who dried their
laundry at the stately windows of the palace and installed goats and
cows on the roofs overlooking the inert bronze fountains.

After the reign of Charles X all the occupants at the chateau left,
following the Revolution of July, 1830.  Once more the question arose
as to the disposition of the palace.  Empty, abandoned, "What shall we
do with it?" cried the ministers.  The answer was found in the project
proposed to Louis Philippe that Versailles should become a national
depository for souvenirs of French history, surrounded by the splendors
of Louis the Great.  This suggestion had the king's approval and
cooperation.  A confusion of offices, rooms, staircases and passages
was simplified in the two wings, and the main body of the chateau and
long galleries were created for the reception of thousands of battle
pictures, portraits and pieces of sculpture, reflecting events and
personalities concerned with the story of France.

The Queen's bed-chamber, the apartments of Madame de Maintenon and of
the daughters of Louis XV and Madame de Pompadour were among those that
were altered.  In the entrance court of the chateau were placed a group
of statues from the Paris bridge _de la Concorde_, all of them so
massive that they were out of proportion to the low surrounding walls.

On the face of the north and south wings Louis Philippe caused to be
engraved the dedication of the huge pile and its contents "To all the
Glories of France."  The sum expended under the direction of the
architect, Nepveu, for the creation of the National Museum of
Versailles, exceeded 20,000,000 francs (about $4,000,000).  The
inauguration of the museum in June, 1837, was attended by Louis
Philippe and his Queen, by officers of the Army and Government and
representatives of French Law, Commerce, Art and Education.  Arriving
from Trianon, where they had been in residence, the King and his wife
entered the palace by the Marble Stairway, traversed the Grand Hall of
the Guards (to-day called the Hall of Napoleon) and the halls leading
to the Grand Gallery of Battles, where they saw portrayed on canvas all
the important military engagements of French armies, from Tolbiac to
Wagram.  In the Chamber of Louis XIV the King and Queen examined the
restorations of the furniture, and found them well done.  A royal
banquet was laid in the Grand Gallery and in adjacent salons.  At eight
o'clock His Majesty, the royal family and 1500 guests assembled in the
brilliantly illuminated Opera House, where they witnessed a performance
of Molière's _Misanthrope_ and extracts from the opera, _Robert le
Diable_, by Meyerbeer.  The spectacle was concluded by a piece written
by Eugene Scribe, the famous French librettist, in celebration of the
founding of the Museum.  At midnight the King and his family led a
procession through the galleries of the palace, lighted by footmen
carrying torches.  At two o'clock in the morning the festivities were
at an end and the royal party left for Trianon.

Says a French author, writing two years after the opening of the
museum.  "When Louis Philippe first cast his eye upon Versailles, he
saw at once the impiety of allowing such a monument to sink into utter
ruin. . . .  He determined that the palace of Louis XIV, without losing
its individuality, should become a palace of the entire people; and
that the bygone spirit of absolutism should give shelter to the spirit
of modern liberty.  Versailles, therefore, erected as a homage to
individual pride, has become, under the Orleans regime, a great
national monument--and certainly the most complete and splendid of its
class in all Europe.  The temple of luxury was converted into a temple
of the arts, and French valor was recorded in immortal colors upon the
walls, by French genius."

In the vast edifice Louis Philippe created a pictorial record that
embraced not only the great battles from the beginning of the monarchy
down to his own day, but the chief incidents that distinguished the
reigns of Louis XIV, XV and XVI; the victories of the Republic; the
campaigns of Napoleon; the reigns of Louis XVIII and Charles X; the
Revolution of 1830, and the reign of Louis Philippe.  The kings of
France, the members of their families and immediate entourage, great
French warriors, statesmen, artists, men of letters and science are
depicted on canvases that line the immense halls of Versailles.  The
Gallery of Warriors was arranged by Louis Philippe in that part of the
palace formerly occupied by Madame de Montespan.  The Gallery of
Napoleon, created by removing the partition from a dozen rooms
belonging to various members of the royal family, presents a complete
history of the Emperor's life.  More than a hundred apartments, large
and small, were obliterated to make room for the galleries of
portraits--a most engrossing exhibition to students of French history.
Carlyle said, "I have found that the Portrait was a small lighted
candle by which the Biographies could for the first time be read, and
some human interpretation be made of them."

Unfortunately a considerable number of paintings hung in the new museum
suffered in quality through the desire of Louis Philippe to bring his
achievement to immediate completion.  He gave commissions right and
left, always with the stipulation that the artists _make haste_.  But
many canvases of high merit, artistically and historically, still grace
the walls of these galleries.

Portraits of the four unmarried daughters of Louis XV have been
appropriately arranged by the present curator of Versailles, Monsieur
de Nolhac, in the apartments on the ground floor where Mesdames passed
most of their dull, insignificant lives.  Nattier made flattering
representations of all of them, sometimes in the costume of
mythological characters.  Both Nattier and the great La Tour portrayed
Marie Leczinska, the mother of Louis XV's ten children.  Nattier's
likeness shows a smiling, matronly lady with sweet-tempered brown eyes,
seated in a chair, the face softened by a frill and a black lace scarf.
Many of the portraits at Versailles painted by Charles Lebrun, Madame
Vigée Lebrun, Jean-Baptiste and Michel Vanloo, Boucher, Largillière,
Pierre Mignard, Rigaud, are familiar to us through frequent
reproduction.

In the years following the inauguration of the National Museum,
Versailles was once again the scene of ostentatious fêtes in the halls,
gardens and splendid Opera House.  When Louis Napoleon succeeded Louis
Philippe as head of the French nation, he came to Versailles with his
bride of three days, the beautiful Eugénie, to see the portraits of
Marie Antoinette, for whom the young Empress cherished a special
admiration.

On an August night in 1855, "the grand court of the château shone with
a brilliance resembling day.  The profile of the great edifice was
outlined in small lights.  In the gardens, arches and columns were
raised and the fountains showered rainbow torrents.  The Hall of
Mirrors presented a spectacle whose splendor recalled nights when Louis
XIV strolled here in brocade and ruffles.  Garlands hung from the
ceiling, thousands of lights reproduced themselves in the lofty mirrors
and shed scintillating floods upon the handsome costumes of the invited
ones."  Thus the _Moniteur Universel_ described to its readers the
reception offered by the Emperor of France to Queen Victoria, the
Prince Consort and the future King of England.  A few years later
Emperor Napoleon III commanded another fête amid the grandeurs of
Versailles, this time in honor of the King of Spain.

But the days and nights of royal spectacles at last came to an end--and
for all time.  In the month of September, 1870, the chateau offered
refuge to German soldiers wounded in the short but bitter war with
France.  In the _Oeil-de-Boeuf_, the Council Hall, the little
apartments of Louis XV and those of Marie Antoinete were placed four
hundred invalid cots.  By October, Bismarck arrived in the town of
Versailles.  During the next five months he resided on the Rue de
Provence, in the villa of Madame Jessé, widow of a prosperous cloth
manufacturer.  His quarters were the center of diplomatic action during
the period that preceded the signing of the shameful peace terms.
January 18, 1871, the anniversary of the day on which the first king of
Prussia had crowned himself at Konigsberg (1701), was fixed for the
proclamation of William II as German Emperor, in the Hall of Mirrors.
In the phrase of a chronicler of that time, "It was impossible for the
boldest imagination to picture a more thorough revenge on the
traditional foes of Germany than the proclamation of the German Empire
in the storied palace of the Kings of France.  With the shades of
Richelieu and the Grand Monarch looking down upon them did the Teutonic
chieftains raise as it were, their leader on their shields, and with
clash of arms and martial music acclaim him kaiser of a re-united
Germany."  King William passed from the altar in the middle of the
Gallery to a platform at the end of the hall and there took his place
before the colors, surrounded "by a brilliant multitude of princes,
generals, officers and troops."  When he had announced the
re-establishment of the Empire, and when Bismarck, "looking pale, but
calm and self-possessed," had read to the assemblage the Proclamation
to the German people, "the bands burst forth with the national anthem,
colors and helmets were wildly waved, and the Hall of Mirrors shook
with a tremendous shout that was taken up and swelled till the rippling
thunder-roll of cheers struck the ears of the startled watchers on the
walls of Paris," where roar of cannon night and day summoned the French
to surrender.  Thus the German Empire was born at the very seat of
French Monarchy.

The armistice terms were signed at Versailles on the twenty-eighth day
of January.  One month later the representative of stricken France and
Bismarck, sitting in the Chancellor's headquarters, affixed their
signatures to the Peace Preliminaries, by which France surrendered
Alsace (except Belfort) and Lorraine, and agreed to pay within three
years a war indemnity of five thousand million francs.[*]

After the departure of the Prussians from Versailles (March 12, 1871),
the Deputies of France arrived from Bordeaux, the temporary capital,
and lodged in the Hall of Mirrors, which then became a dormitory, as it
had on occasion been a hospital ward, a ball-room and the banqueting
hall of royalty.

The insurrection of the Commune of Paris compelled the ministers to
seek a place of security at Versailles.  Once more the palace was
chosen as the seat of Government.  The ground floor, the upper floor
and the attic, the picture galleries, even the vestibule of the Queen's
Stairway and the servants' quarters served as offices for ministers and
secretaries.  The Department of Justice was installed in the Guards'
Hall, the _Oeil-de-Boeuf_ and the rooms of Marie Antoinette.  The
Secretary of Public Works directed his affairs within walls that had
sheltered the nefarious Dubarry.  The official _Journal_ was printed in
the palace kitchens.  For several years the Opera House, the north
wing, and the intimate apartments of Louis XV were given over to the
National Assembly.

A Republican fête offered in 1878 by the president, Marshal MacMahon,
was attended by twelve thousand guests.  Once more the fountains of the
north parterre were illuminated, but this time with electric bulbs
instead of oil lanterns.  There were ingenious fireworks on the
_Tapis-Vert_ that would have astounded even the courtiers of the Grand
Monarch.  In the _Galerie des Glaces_, Dussieux tells us, there was a
ball "not exclusively aristocratic, but nevertheless very gay and
animated."

Within the past forty years the treasury of the French Republic has not
infrequently been taxed for repairs at Versailles and Trianon.  More
than a million francs were spent on the chapel alone.  Improvements in
the park, including the restoration of the Basin of Neptune, the
Orangery and the Colonnade, cost another million.

"This Versailles," exclaims a French author, "does it not attract to
our country strangers without number, does it not lend lasting prestige
to the land of France? . . .  Outside of the Invalides and the Louvre,
what edifices equal it in evoking the memorable periods with which they
are associated?  What lasting respect do these annals of stone and
bronze merit from men of taste!  These salons, gardens, statues, works
of art, attached irrevocably to the Past, bid us pause and ponder long
upon the matchless Story of Versailles."


[*]The final treaty of peace between France and Germany was signed in
the Swan Hotel at Frankfort, Germany, on May 10, 1871.





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